Waiting

Deep in the forest there was a cabin. Iryna was grown. For him it had been only a blink before his life had changed. He had always been drawn to the forest, led to the edge of the city by mysterious animals since childhood. To escape being wed to an oppressive prince it was where he ran. With the help of a friend, a curly haired boy he’d grown up with, he left the city and fled where he had been forbidden to go.

The cabin was waiting there. Iryna had no inkling as to how long it had been there. It reminded him of his tato’s woodworking. His friend left him there to hide, and for what reason he didn’t know, there was hot tea and bread waiting on the table. Iryna recalled the aroma as sweet and earthy, as though dripping with magic. He drank the tea, ate the bread and lied down to sleep.

On this day, as he was lost in thought, he creased his brow. His hands ached from kneading dough. He was making bread. He always made bread at the end of the week. He set the dough to rest, covered in an embroidered cloth, and leaned back against the counter. He stared at the flour under his fingernails, his mind elsewhere. His mind always seemed to leave this plane when he tried to remember.

The voice of his daughter brought him back. She was a toddler, a little girl with a round body and a wide smile. Iryna picked up the girl and cooed at her.

After the sweet earthy tea, he fell into a slumber. He had no knowledge of how long. He woke up with a baby daughter. His body had changed. The memory brought a quivering to his hands. He set his daughter down and watched her run across the cabin. He wrapped his arms around himself. His body was softer now, rounder and thicker.

He had no memory of it, but he knew he carried that child.

Iryna had awoken to an elderly man tending his daughter. The man smiled at him and held his hands when he started to panic. The man apologised for being unable to wake him. Iryna still found that odd. He asked the man if the girl was his own, the man said yes. He asked the man how it had happened. The man didn’t know.

Iryna calmed himself by tidying the mess he had made in his kitchen. Time felt meaningless, it was too long, it was too fast–he could no longer tell. The bread was ready to be baked. He wiped his brow after putting it in the oven. Sunlight streamed through the window, dancing on his raven hair.

He remembered the day he met his lover. He knew immediately that his lover was the father of his daughter. On a quiet day a young man walked into the cabin–blond and soft spoken. Iryna saw something familiar in his face. The young man seduced him quickly, nearly tearing his dress off–”You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve met.” Iryna recalled that day so clearly.

His lover would be so harsh if he knew Iryna binded his chest.

When he was younger, Iryna believed that making love must be something to treasure. A special sort of feeling. He learned the day he met his lover that it was not so. The blond man entered Iryna with little care, his hands were rough, and though his words seemed kind, there was a hollowness to them. It seemed as though when Iryna cried out in pain or discomfort, the man mistook it for pleasure. After it was done Iryna looked closely at the blond man’s face. He froze with horror, his stomach knotting. The man had similar features to his daughter.

Iryna learned to let his mind wander elsewhere during sex. He was never able to ask his lover why–why the man had slept with him while he was in his slumber. And just like every time, shortly after the blond man was satisfied, he would leave the cabin.

Iryna’s lover would come to the cabin once a month. Near the end of the month, near the end of the week. As the bread baked, Iryna put his daughter in her crib to nap. Stepping into his bedroom after, for he knew he must change his clothes. He changed his hat for a headscarf, unbinded his chest and wore a feminine vyshyvanka. He changed his pants for a skirt and an apron, and as he looked in the mirror he gave a sad smile to a stranger.

There was a knock at the door. Iryna opened it and his lover stepped inside. The blond man was handsome, with wavy hair, sharp features and a slim frame. He’d said his name was Petruso. Petruso handed Iryna three pink peonies and smiled, “Hello, my love.” His voice was soft, his eyes were piercing. He wrapped his arms around Iryna, feeling his belly, and frowned, “I suppose we’ll have to keep trying.”

Iryna cast his eyes towards their daughter, “But we do have her.”

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“I want another, a son. I’ve already told you this.”

Iryna fell silent as Petruso walked over to the table and began eating grapes. Iryna silently prepared the tea. He knew Petruso was suspicious of him, but he was also unsure as to how he wasn’t pregnant again. With the tea ready they sat across from each other, taking sips and eating the fruit that Iryna had picked.

“Your journey was safe?” Iryna asked.

“I made it here, didn’t I? I confess I was hoping to have something to celebrate.”

Iryna’s grip on his teacup tightened. “We can try again.”

“We will, be sure of that.”

Their tea was finished, the day was still bright. Their daughter was still napping. Iryna offered to stroll through the forest with Petruso, or perhaps to read together. Petruso shook his head and grabbed Iryna, kissing his neck, pushing him through the kitchen, past the small sitting room and to the bed. Iryna fell into the pillows, his arms limply above his head.

Petruso untied Iryna’s belt and pulled his skirt and apron off, tossing them to the hardwood floor. He gripped Iryna’s thighs, his nails unclipped, hands with a self serving hunger. Iryna thought back to the bread he baked, hoping it came out soft.

His lover’s hands pushed his vyshyvanka up past his chest. The scent of ginger tea and fruit still hung in the air. Petruso unclipped and slid Iryna’s undergarments away. Iryna tried to remember if he had any fresh butter left for the bread.

“What is this?” Petruso’s hands caressed Iryna’s chest, tracing along the binding marks. “Did your undergarments cause these?”

“Perhaps it is from when I was working in the garden. It’s nothing, my love.” Iryna’s voice trembled. His lover had no inkling that he wore men’s clothes, that he didn’t see himself as a woman.

“Then you need to be more gentle with them.” Petruso lowered his hands, roughly digging his nails into Iryna’s hips. Iryna stared at the ceiling, at the shadows from the trees that danced along it as the sun lit up the room. Petruso was inside him, a burning ripped through his pelvis and he cried out.

The bread was probably ready to eat.

Their skin was sticky with sweat. Iryna felt greedy fingers dig into the flesh of his breast. A sharp pain tore through him. His curly hair stuck to his face. He gripped the sheets and tried to quell his cries. Petruso thrusted into him with no gentleness.

He would be sure to stargaze when the sun went down, it would likely be a pleasant night.

Petruso grabbed his chin and met his eyes, “Look at me, my love. Be with me, my love.”

Iryna bit his lip to stifle his pain. He felt his eyes water. The smell of sex and sweat was thick.

It had been so warm lately. Iryna worried that it would storm later. Perhaps he wouldn’t be able to stargaze.

Petruso’s grip left bruises on Iryna’s fair skin. He finished and stood. Iryna’s thighs quivered as he sat up, his sex sore, his hips splotched purple. His heart caught in his throat when he saw droplets of blood on the sheets. Petruso only caressed his face and chuckled, “Perhaps I was eager.”

Iryna’s heart was fast, his gut was tight. Petruso spoke as he dressed himself, “I’m sure a bath will clean you up just fine.”

Iryna stood and reached for his undergarments and his skirt. “Are you leaving? It’s a nice day. Perhaps we can spend some time-”

“I’m sorry, my love, I have things to attend to.”

“So fast?”

“It’s a long walk. You understand?” Petruso smiled, his face handsome, his hair disheveled. “I’ll be back, you’re a lovely woman you know? I think of you every day.”

Iryna was quiet as he dressed himself. Petruso gave him a kiss at the door. He spared a passing glance at their daughter. Petruso left. Iryna wrapped his arms around himself, his body aching.

The bread was ready, soft and warm. He set it on the table and searched for butter. As he prepared the kitchen for his expected guest, his daughter began to stir. Iryna helped her from the crib and felt a warmth in his chest as she waddled around the cabin. Her name was Olesea.

Olesea had no name when Iryna awoke from his long slumber. She was his nameless daughter. After his horror settled, he saw his family in her face, a bit of his tato. She was his, and through everything–being in a cabin that was little more than a prison, having a lover who left him to his lonesome, his only friend being an elderly man who lived nearby–he had Olesea.

The bread and butter was ready, as Iryna prepared the tea there was a knock at the door. The old man who had been at his side when he woke entered the cabin. Iryna grinned, “Didus, how was your walk?”

The old man shook his head and leaned his cane against the table before sitting down. He looked Iryna head to toe. “He was here, wasn’t he? That blond boy.” His tone was sharp.

“I’m okay, I promise.” Iryna sat across from his friend. The old man grumbled to himself. Iryna continued, “Really–and it’s good for him to see his daughter.”

“He doesn’t come here for his daughter, lyubyi. And you don’t like dressing like that.”

Iryna bit his lip as he sipped his tea, “He doesn’t know, Didus. I don’t know how to tell him I don’t feel as though I’m a woman.”

The old man was cross, but kind. He handed Iryna what looked to be a hard candy. “Put it in your tea.” The old man always brought him one. Iryna savored the sweetness, he so rarely had candy.

“You make these candies? What is your recipe?”

“My secret.” The old man winked. They laughed and shared the bread. Bread so fresh the butter melted into it, the best time to eat bread, Iryna had always thought. With the sweet tea and the salty butter, and the kind company, his lover was out of his mind. As the sun set, the three walked outside, eating grapes and watching the moon rise, then watching the stars twinkle. The old man showed Iryna the constellations and told their stories. Olesea became tired and snuggled into Iryna.

The old man couldn’t stay all night. Iryna walked with him a ways before returning home and putting Olesea to bed.

He returned to his room and saw the sheets once more. A couple dried spots of blood. A sharp memory. He gripped his tummy and hoped for his own sake that he was carrying another child. His hands shook, he looked down at himself, his body still a stranger.

The leftover bread was on the table. He had to put it away. He always baked bread at the end of the week.