The children woke up and got out of the suitcase. They noticed three women sitting on the other side of the barbed wire. One was tall and wore a constant smile on her face; the other was short and sad. The third had a mass of coarse raven hair. The sign beside them, tucked in the ground, said: “Free Life Advice from Madame Xenia Lagonka.”
“Hello, hello. Glad to see that you didn’t get yourselves into trouble.”
“Who are you?”asked Ada.
“We are friends. But you can call us Madame Xenia.”
“We don’t know you,” said Dino.
“Just spend some time with us and we’ll get to know each other. We could even become friends.”
“Mom says that becoming friends takes a long time.”
“Well, we can at least start. Besides, we know your mother quite well. She comes to us for advice often. We’ve been guiding her since she stumbled upon us at the age of five. Very unhappy little girl. She just read books and wouldn’t talk to anybody.”
The tall one was speaking while the other two nodded.
“Indeed you are. Congratulations for reaching that important age. You even look like your mother.”
“What about me?” asked Ada.
“You too, Miss. You strike me as a very courageous girl. In that, you have surpassed your mother.”
“Our mom is courageous!” exclaimed Dino.
“Indeed she is. Now. But it took lots of life advice to get her there. I am not saying she was a coward or anything. She was always concerned about everything in life. We worked very hard to put a smile on her face. Did you know that your mom had a rock band? It was our idea, to take her mind off stupid worries and all those serious books.”
“Wow! A rock band!”
“Yes, my dear. She played that awful electric keyboard with built-in drums. She thought she was going to be a singer and would practice all day. Luckily she gave it up and switched to cooking, so our ordeal didn’t last long.”
“My, she was bad,” muttered the short woman. The tall one pinched her arm and she squeaked. “The instrument was bad. Really bad. It sounded dull and lifeless.”
The children were already riding fast on their fancy, seeing their mom as a rock star.
“She often sings for us,” said Ada.
“I hope she improved,” muttered the short one, this time hiding her arm behind her back.
The children didn’t hear or pretended they didn’t.
The tall one said: “I have to admit that she inspired me to become an artist.”
“I want to be an artist. And I play the piano,” said Ada.
“Enough chit-chat,” interrupted the dark-haired woman. “We are here to give life advice to people. We cannot waste time reminiscing about the past. One should only be concerned about the present. Go ahead, children, ask your questions, and then be on your way. So many are waiting for their turn.”
Ada looked around: there was nobody waiting. She wanted to protest but stopped herself. Better use the opportunity to get advice. She had so many questions.
But Dino blurted, “I don’t see anyone waiting.”
“My dear boy, don’t think that you can see everything. There are many events taking place right before your eyes that you cannot see. You are protected by your age. We are here to help you cope with them once you start seeing.”
The children were perplexed and contemplated her words for a bit. But it is hard to silence curious little boys.
“What is it that I don’t see? Mom!”
Nina was running towards them with a big smile on her face.
“Look who’s back,” said the short woman.
“Mom, where were you? Did David show you the way to the sea?”
“He sure showed her,” said the short one.
“Yes, Ada. He took me to see his boat. And where there is a boat, the sea cannot be far.”
“So, shall we go now?”
“Not yet. We have to continue walking and wait for David to return,” said Nina, her face flushed with longing.
“Right. If he returns,” mumbled the short one.
“Thank you for entertaining my children while I was looking for the way to the sea. Say goodbye to these nice ladies. We have to continue our journey.”
“They say they are your friends,” said Dino.
“My friends? Excuse me, do I know you?”
“Oh, yes, you do.#x201D;
She strained to remember, in vain. Yet she knew she had a life before.
My brain is a moon surface. Nina started composing metaphors in her head, which she would use when she retold the story to her dinner guests some day. Perhaps like Emmental cheese, the metaphor insisted on getting formed. Mmmm, cheese, her mouth started watering. Her eyes wandered off to the suitcase. She was really hungry.
“Don’t you remember us?” the tall one persisted.
The short one said sadly, “I always had to run after you. You wouldn’t talk to me, and I knew it was because you thought I wasn’t smart enough.” Tears appeared in the corners of her eyes.
No, thought Nina. I couldn’t have been so cruel.
“That can’t be true,” she exclaimed. “I am sure you are smart and I loved you. If you were my friend.”
The hollowness of her words frightened her. Nina had no idea who these women were. They must have mistaken her for someone else. She was trying hard to remember, but all that came to her mind was the odd, low, whirring sound, lifted to a whistle, then mounted to a roar and followed by a crash and tremor. All she saw was blood, blood on the pavement. And the black snow.
The dark-haired one reached across the barbed wire and squeezed Nina’s hand.
She closed her eyes, and suddenly she remembered love. And the love seemed to have cracked open memories of a different time. Nina drifted off trying to find a perfect metaphor for this moment. The light at the end of the tunnel? Too banal. The cold moon spotted with black holes gets flooded with love, warms up and turns into the sun, bright and warm…. Quite terrible. A Milky Way?
All right, Nina, what’s with all these metaphors? I hope she is not thinking of becoming a writer! She already has a profession that she loves, or at least claims to love. Perhaps she thinks it’s easy; they all think it’s easy. Now, let me tell you, dear Nina, just because you experience some trouble in your life doesn’t mean you have to write about it. With all the wars raging around the world, we would have millions of writers, all using the same old third-rate metaphors. Stick to your cooking, I say.
“I remember you now.”
But she only remembered the sensation, the warmth, and nothing else.
“I am taking my children to the sea.”
As soon as the children heard her say that, they both jumped back into her pockets.
“I am taking my children to the sea,” she repeated, as if ensuring that she hadn’t forgotten where she was headed.
“They have to learn how to swim again. They learned it a long time ago. But they have been sitting in my pockets for a while now and I think that they might have forgotten. It’s been too long.”
“Yes, you’ve been travelling for two years,” said the tall one.
Two years? But, didn’t David say one year? Nina glanced at her hands, the skin grey, coarse and cracked. She pulled down the sleeves of her jacket. I must have grown old, she thought. Then she remembered the boat. Did David notice this? She blushed.
Self-pity overwhelmed her. Were they ever going to get there? What would happen then, after they jump into the sea? She couldn’t see beyond that moment. It seemed to her that everything would suddenly become right, that they would start a new life, a happy life full of wonderful surprises, so magnificent that she could not imagine them.
“Time for you to be on your way. And for us, as well. We’ll do everything to help you.”
“Wait! Don’t leave.”
“Unfortunately we can’t stay. There are other friends who need us. It’s true, you have been travelling for a long time, but the world hasn’t been suspended in your absence. People are still unhappy and sick, and they also need us.”
Ada thrust her head out of the pocket. “I am hungry.” Dino jumped out. “Me, too.”
Nina took two chocolates out of her backpack.
“Where did you get the chocolates?” they both exclaimed.
She just looked at the sallow skin on her hands.
“The boat captain was giving them away to mothers with children.”
I am not sure whether Nina should be forgiven for this blatant lie. Perhaps she can still learn that one cannot lie to children who have been woken up by bombs, who have been hungry and scared. On the other hand, since I am not an expert in matters of motherly love, I grant that there might be some things children don’t need to know.