Under the Willow Root

Chapter 17

"Shoulders down, Sasha," Baba Nadia says. "That's it."

I come out of my arabesque and turn to face her.

"Baba Nadia, why did Mom name me after Aleksander?" I ask suddenly, surprising myself. I've been trying to get up the nerve to ask ever since my birthday, but I didn't expect it to just pop out like that.

Baba Nadia doesn't answer right away. Finally, she says, "She didn't. I did."

"Why?" I ask, shocked. "I mean, did my mom call me something else?"

"She didn't call you anything," Baba Nadia says sadly. "She was too sick."

"But...I thought...she died when I was two," I say uncertainly. "She was so sick even then that she couldn't name me? What was wrong with her? You've never said."

"Come sit," she says, and settles herself on a folding chair. When I sit beside her, she puts a hand on my knee. "I don't know what was wrong with her, Sashka, and neither did any of her doctors."

"But...why was she...was she in a coma, or what?"

"No," Baba Nadia says slowly. "Not when you were born. That came later."

"So why...Baba Nadia, what don't you want to tell me?"

"Your mother had...some troubles," Baba Nadia says with a sigh. "It started when she went to college. Perhaps it even started earlier, but no one realized. She would go away, see things that weren't there, hear things...she couldn't sleep, sometimes for days. Sometimes when she talked, she made no sense. By the time you were born, she barely talked at all."

"So my mother was crazy," I say flatly. "And you never told me."

"Lara was not crazy," Baba Nadia says fiercely, gripping my knee tightly. "She was sick. Something neuro...neurological. But the doctors couldn't fix it."

"So she was brain damaged," I say bitterly. "That's so much better. How could you not tell me?"

"You never asked, and there was nothing to tell," Baba Nadia says. "She was sick, and she died. If she had cancer, would you be angry that I had not told you of every time she vomited or fainted or how quickly she lost her hair? No."

"This is different," I cry.

"It is no different," Baba Nadia snaps. "And there is no shame in it. She was sick, Sasha. If you would be ashamed of her for that, be ashamed of yourself first."

***

I wake with tears on my face. I wipe them away, wondering why I feel so terrible. I must have had a bad dream. I've been having a lot of those lately, full of people I don't know and images I don't understand. I look out the window and see that it's just about time to get up, anyway. I get out of bed and nearly fall down. My legs and back feel like they're on fire. It takes me a minute to remember why that is and why it fills me with eagerness of all things.

I glance outside again and wonder if I have time to go to the garden before Dove wakes up. Probably not. With a sigh, I shake Dove awake and put on my clothes from the day before for the trip to the baths. No point in getting clean clothes dusty on the road. I think of the wooden rail and feel like I'm going to pop out of my own skin with impatience. I bring Dove her own dress and shoes. The sooner we start our day, the sooner I can escape into the garden.

The heat of the baths feels good enough on my sore muscles that I don't mind lingering a bit, but as soon as we leave, my thoughts return to the wooden rail and the strange words in my head. On the way home, I barely glance at the little fox with his handsome master. Usually watching the fox dash around acting silly is one of the highlights of my day, but today I just want to get home as quickly as possible. Not even the handsome man's smile can distract me today.

By the time Ismeni dismisses us for the afternoon, I've almost made myself sick with impatience. I do my best to wander aimlessly away from Dove as I normally do, but as soon as I'm out of sight I run for the wooden rail. When I reach it, I heave an enormous sigh of relief. I touch the barre--yes,that's the word!--and tears spring to my eyes.

I hike up my skirts and go through the strange patterns of arms and legs and torso. It's all the more strange because it doesn't feel strange at all. It feels as though I've been doing it my whole life. When I've gone through all the motions from the day before, I keep going, my body moving seemingly by itself. I let it happen without wondering or worrying about where these movements are coming from or what will happen next. It's beautiful--magical.

That night, my dreams are filled with images of people and places that seem both outlandish and familiar. Names tease me, just out of reach. An old woman smiles at me, filling me with longing and grief. I wake up with a tightness in my chest and a lump in my throat that I can't understand. I wonder who she is.