Page 78

Pain and fear.

I don’t ask where we’re going. All I know is that we’re going away from the man who has made my life a nightmare for as long as I can remember.

It’s very late. I know that because there are few cars on the streets, and even fewer people. My mother is clutching a card with a picture of a cross on it and an address written in English. She stops at every street sign, holding the card up to the light and comparing it to the words on the signs. Occasionally she shows the card to someone, pointing to the words on it, but most people turn away, glaring at us as if we’re a disease they might catch.

Finally, after what feels like hours, my mother finds the street that matches the words. She hurries down it until we reach a building with a cross over the door, the same as the one on the card.

Mama tries the door, but it’s locked. She kneels down in the shadows by the narrow steps, gripping my shoulders hard enough that her fingers hurt.

“Look at me, Dimitry.”

I do, trying not to stare at the ugly purple bruises on her face or the dried blood matted in her hair. When Yakov finally left our little room earlier tonight, my fists were bloodied from banging onthe door. I attacked him the moment he came out, just as Mama had instructed me to. Yakov just laughed and slammed me into the wall.

But my distraction worked. She was able to slip a piece of paper between the lock and the door.

We were on the street an hour after Yakov left.

“I am proud of you, synok.” Her fingers tighten on my shoulders, but she doesn’t smile. I don’t really remember the last time Mama smiled. “You were brave tonight. Just like your father. You’re strong, Dimitry. A soldier, like he was.”

I stand just a little taller. I know that I have to pretend Yakov is my father, if anyone asks. I understand that it’s dangerous for us to say anything else, even if I don’t understand why that is.

I don’t remember my real father. He died before we left Russia, when I was little. The earliest memory I have is of my mother telling me not to talk about him.

“You must remember that Yakov is your father now,” she said.

I didn’t like that idea, and I said so. The reason that day is my earliest memory is because it was also the first time Yakov used his cigarettes on me.

“Now you will remember,” he’d said as he crushed the burning tip into my ribs.

“You must listen, Dimitry.” Mama holds my face in her hands. “The people here will take care of you. Be good for them, and do as you’re told.”

“Why?” I frown, feeling a tinge of fear. “Where will you be?”

“There’s something I must do.” She squeezes my shoulders. “Until I come back, you must be brave and strong, just like your papa. Can you do that, malysh?”

“Da.” I nod solemnly, even though I don’t like the idea of my mother going away, even for a short time. “But what if Yakov comes when you’re away?”

“I’m going to make sure he doesn’t.” The fierce look in her eyes scares me a little. “I’m going to make sure he never hurts us again.”She holds my chin a little too tightly as she looks at me. “Because what do we do when people hurt us?”

“We stand and fight.” I say the words automatically.

“Exactly.” Mama smiles with her mouth, but her eyes are still fierce. “And why is that, synok?”

“Because that is how we beat them.” I know the answer to this one, too.

“That’s my brave boy. Never forget that, Dimitry. Soldiers never give up. They never back down. And you are a soldier, just like your father. Now.” She holds up a bottle of milk. “You must drink, synok. It will help you sleep.”

I push the bottle back toward her. “You drink, Mama.” I know milk is expensive. Yakov always says so when he brings it to us.

“I’m not thirsty, malysh.” She unscrews the cap and passes it to me. “This is all for you.”

I drink the milk even though it has a strange taste, because I always do as Mama says.

“You will wake up in a new room,” she says, “but rooms do not matter. Why is that, Dimitry?”

I put my hand on my heart. “Because home is here.”

“Da.” Mama almost smiles, and I feel proud that I know all the right answers.