Returning Home

The sun rose high when Zukhra and Baby Girl sat down on the porch of their small house. Baby Girl asked Zukhra to braid her hair one more time.

Baby Girl was an adult, as she used to say; she was already nine years old. She had long, thick hair that turned red and shimmered in the sun. Intricate braids looked beautiful on her little head. This was Zukhra’s merit – among other talents she had deft hands.

“Are you going to stop loving me?” Baby Girl looked back at her sister.

“Don’t be silly!” Zukhra let the hair out of her hands. “Why would you say that?”

“It is just how things work,” Baby Girl scrunched up her eyes in deep concentration. It looked funny on her.

Zukhra turned her head away to hide watery eyes.

“Nothing is going to change,” her voice faltered and she cleared her throat. “I will never stop loving you.”

“Girls, come on, someone needs to set the table,” a pleasant middle-aged woman was coming in their direction from the backyard, where the preparation for the celebration was in progress. 

“We are coming,” Zukhra said. “I need just a few more minutes.”

“Mommy, Zukhra is braiding my hair,” Baby Girl said cheerfully. There were no more signs of seriousness on her face.

Zukhra will never stop loving her.

 “How beautiful you will be, Honey,” mother said and smiled. She stood for a couple of minutes looking at her two ‘baby girls.’ One suddenly appeared to be an adult and was starting her new life with a good guy and the other was still a child. She smiled again as if she wanted to say more but then recalled something and went back to the backyard.

The young woman and the girl were hugging each other and sitting in silence on the small porch for half of an hour after Zukhra finished braiding Baby Girl’s hair.  The sun went down behind the canopy, and a shadow covered them. Then they got up and ran into the kitchen to help their mommy with preparations.

That was Zukhra’s wedding day, more than ten years ago. I finished reading my notes and put them away. My phone showed 8:34. The train was delayed by 8 minutes, which meant that I had 4 minutes left till my arrival at my hometown station. I  picked up my coat and loosened my hair, which had lost its childish abundance but remained thick and shimmering.

The train slowed down. My travel bag was very small– I probably took enough to stay for about three days but no more.  I applied my lipstick and left the compartment.

“Mom?” I went up the steps onto the porch of our old house and knocked on the door. There was no doorbell since Zukhra’s husband accidentally broke it when I was in high school just before the New Year’s celebration. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It had been almost a year since the last time I had been home. The university brought some changes to my life: I found close friends and I got used to my independent life. Though, this had been the first time I had left home for such a long time.

“Mom?” I left my bag on the porch and went down the path leading to our backyard. My mom’s roses had bloomed. The end of May suited our city well. I heard music coming from the backyard. My mom was listening to an old radio and pruning lilac branches.

“Mom!” I shouted louder.

“Honey!” she dropped the scissors and rushed to me. “How you have grown! I missed my Baby Girl!”

“Come on, we talk all the time!”

“It is not the same over the phone!” my mom objected.

She hugged me tighter and I smiled and took a deep breath. She smelled like home. Like Sunday mornings when you wake up by the afternoon and go to the kitchen barefoot to get a glass of water, like unwashed juicy cherries from the garden in the backyard and a new book of Anna Gavalda you both love. It took a second for me to see all those pictures and I felt a small lump in my throat. It seems like I missed you more than I thought, Mom. I took a step back to get a better look at her.

“You look good! How are you doing?” I asked.

“I am ok,” she said, “I put on a kettle of tea for us; come on. My Baby Girl is home now!”

We went into a small kitchen with two worn out and yet the most comfortable armchairs by a small window. My mom was setting the table and I could not stop smiling because of this familiar feeling– feeling at home. I looked at the yellow dandelions on the wallpaper, at a photo of my sister and me over the TV. Then I heard Mom saying,

“Zukhra is coming over later today.”

My heart sank but I tried not to look away.

 “How is she doing?” I asked.

“She is ok,” my mom said after a pause.

Later that day, I walked into my dad’s home library. About two hundred books were stored on the shelves in a particular order. My mom looked after them well. I recalled some of them from my early childhood. Some were about poetry, cinema in the USSR, some about hydrogeology – Dad’s field. I took a small poetry collection written by Gamzat Tsadasa. I started to look through it but found that I  could not concentrate on the words. Mom said that my sister was about to come. A part of me did not want to see her, while the other part begged her to come. We had not talked since my birthday in April. And that was not really a conversation but rather a quick “Happy Birthday” with my apologies for my inability to talk more. Of course, she didn’t want to bother me. I said I had some deadlines.

But there were no deadlines that day.

I tried to recall the last time I saw her. I put the poetry collection aside and took a notebook and pen from my bag. Then, I came back to the kitchen…

“I can’t believe that my Baby Girl is going to live alone,” Mother said.

They were setting the table in the small living room. Baby Girl was no longer a baby. She was an eighteen-year old teenager with a very short haircut. She frowned.

“Not really alone, Mom; freshmen live in four-bedrooms.

“Anyway, this is the start of your independent life, Honey. Did you pack another sweater?”

“YES, Mother. And when are the girls going to come?”

“Zukhra said they will be here in half an hour. I can’t wait to see Aya!” She took a plate from the dinnerware set and wiped it with a rag. The set had intricate golden patterns – some of the traces of past wealth.

“Did she tell you a reason why they did not come for the whole month?”

“Of course not,” Mother smiled. “You know your sister. But, Honey, you shouldn’t be rude, OK? She probably has a reason.”

“Oh yeah, she always has something to say,” Baby Girl rolled her eyes. “Come on, give me that, I will finish it myself,” she took the rag and started to wipe the next plate with feigned accuracy. Mother looked at her. 

“Ok then… I will fry some baursaks,” she said.

When she left the living room, Baby Girl finally allowed herself to cry.

My hands felt numb from stress. But, writing things down in this way helped me to look at things from an outside perspective. Zukhra was about thirty. She did not work because her husband wanted her to stay home and look after the baby. They were always such a good family…

I continued writing.

The door creaked. Baby Girl raised her eyes and turned away immediately to hide her disappointment. Mother came in with a pile of baursaks on a plate.

“I am so sorry, my dear, but it is time to go. Your flight is in two hours,” she said quietly.

“Can we wait just a few more minutes?” Baby Girl begged.

“Let’s wait,” Mother sighed. “Take one.”

The baursak was still hot and it was very hard to hold it. She took a bite and blew on it. Mother’s were the best. Suddenly, she realized how much she belonged to this place. She never actually wanted to live anywhere else. The capital seemed to be cold and foreign.

She took another bite when they heard voices outside. Baby Girl rushed to the window. Zukhra was coming down the path leading to the house. She was wearing a dark sweater. She held little Aya–big green eyes and thin blonde hair. Baby Girl looked back at their mother – she glowed with happiness but then frowned again.

They had just enough time for a cup of tea. Zukhra did not tell about her delay, even if she had a reason. She just said sorry for being late.

Mother seemed to forgive her. She ordered a taxi and started to clear the table while Baby Girl took out her big suitcase and sat down on the porch of their little house. The sun was down.

Zukhra went out after her.

“I feel like I saw this scene already,” she said and smiled.

“What?” Baby Girl turned back at her. She was now able to see her sister closely. Zukhra had become thin and pale. “You look terrible,” Baby Girl said.

“Thank you!” Zukhra laughed loudly and Baby Girl forced a smile.

They were sitting in silence looking straight ahead. The end of August added some new colours to the regular view. Zukhra picked up a fallen leaf from the ground.

“How do you feel? Are you excited to start your study soon?”

“Where have you been?” Baby Girl picked up a leaf and examined it.

“I was at home,” Zukhra said.

“Why didn’t you visit us?”

“I was busy.”

“Then why did you come today?” Baby Girl looked up at her sister.

“Did you want to see me or not?” Zukhra smiled again. Then she touched her little sister’s hair. “This haircut suits you.”

Baby Girl pushed her hand away.

“I cut it because I hate long hair,” Baby Girl said boldly. “And I never actually loved when you braided it.”

“Why?” Zukhra was not looking at her anymore.

“I don’t know,” Baby Girl sighed. Zukhra shook her head.

“You better say it,” she almost whispered.

“Maybe because I don’t like you!” Baby Girl said it quietly. But the words echoed.

“Why?” Zukhra was looking at the leaf in her hand.

“Because you are doing nothing except sitting at home. Because you look sick and we actually care about you but you don’t even bother to call your mother! Because you knew that I was leaving home for a year and you did not come earlier so that we could spend the last day together like a normal family!” She started to cry, but Zukhra was still sitting straight and looking at the leaf.

“Can you just tell me a reason, please?” Baby Girl looked at her sister. “Please, Zukhra, please.”

Then, they heard the sound of the taxi arriving. Zukhra looked at Baby Girl as if she wanted to say something.

The door creaked. I dropped my pen.

Zukhra stood on the doorstep – even more thin and pale. I looked straight in her eyes and they were glowing with happiness. There was nothing left from the past estrangement.

After an hour of conversation about everything and a cup of tea, we finally found a minute to escape to the porch. Zukhra hugged me and looked at the sunset.

“I missed my girl,” she said with watery eyes.

“I missed you, too.” I looked at her carefully.

My heart sank again. Pale skin, a dark sweater with a high collar, bunched thin hair… I got goosebumps.

We kept silent for some time before I finally asked the question I should have asked years ago.

“How does he treat you?”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. The sun disappeared beyond the horizon.

“Can you braid my hair, please?” I asked her quietly and let my hair down. It had grown a little bit over the year.

We were sitting in silence on the porch of our mom’s house, hugging each other for a long time after she finished braiding my hair.

Then the smell of fried baursaks came from the kitchen.