chapter 27
The same pattern
(the continuation)
Luckily, not all the teachers in my mother's school were so awfully disappointing. For instance, her first teacher was undoubtedly good. Otherwise my mother wouldn't be able to help me so much when I was at primary school. So was her teacher of technical drawing. It's a pity I don't remember much about him. But it's obvious that he was really good, because when my 21-year-old mother arrived in the multinational oil-bearing republic of Bashkiria she found a job of a draftswoman without difficulty. Nobody could believe that she learnt the skill of technical drawing so well in her rural school. “But she is from Ukraine,” people usually said behind her back.
These words sound so strange in today's reality when Russians are destroying our cities with their missiles and shouting fiercely at us that there has never been such a country as Ukraine. It might seem incredible to them but I learnt to be proud of being Ukrainian in their favourite country, that is in the USSR. In that country, in spite of its other numerous faults, there were Ukrainian language lessons at schools, and books, and newspapers in Ukrainian, and tuneful Ukrainian songs on every big concert broadcasted by central TV.
That's why it was such a shock for me to discover that Russians, without any convincing reason, suddenly started to hate Ukrainians. At first I took it as a bad joke and tried not to pay much attention to it. Actually, it was easy for me because I stopped watching TV long before that unpleasant discovery and didn't know much about ridiculous tricks and twists of Russian propaganda. I understood how serious it was only after they started to send missiles on our heads. Although even then it took me some time to realize that it was not a nightmare but was happening in real life. Still, who knows, maybe I will live to see my dear country free and prosperous one day. I do hope it will never be a part of Russian empire again. As for Russians, I don't think I will ever be able to forgive them – even if the time comes when they understand what they have done and begin to repent of their present crimes.
It seems that my anxiety about our current desperate situation led my narration in the wrong direction. So I must get a grip on myself and jump back to my young Ukrainian mother, who, 70 years ago, tried to start a new life in the northern republic of Bashkiria, where ill-assorted folk was pouring in from different parts of the USSR. Some of the people were sent into exile there, others were tempted by big salaries in the oil-extracting industry. My mother, however, didn't get much money in her design office. What was more they took her on probation at first and even she (with her bad appetite) couldn't imagine how it was possible for her not to starve.
Fortunately, one of her room-mates had such experience. So, following her advice, my mother started to buy a bucket of potatoes a month, adding to this vegetable diet a bit of sweets with jam inside them and some salt sprats. She didn't have a lot of choice, considering that food was extremely expensive in Bashkiria. In that climate with its long frosty winters and short hot summers only potatoes grew willingly and therefore were cheap. After getting her pay rise, my mother was able to loosen her belt at last and even started to cook borsch in a small iron mug in the common kitchen. Attracted by the delicious smell of the vegetable soup all the dormitory used to gather round just to look at her. It seemed to them very amusing that she could eat her fill from that mug and even found something to give to a cat with whom she became friendly.
I can't be sure why my mother decided to leave Bashkiria after only a year of staying there. She definitely liked her job and was promised another pay rise in six moths or so. Not to mention her popularity among young male population. My mother didn't even mind bitter cold and a lot of snow in winter. Later, she always recalled Bashkiria with warm feelings but not without a touch of bitterness caused by the uncompromising discord between her and two of her cousins. So maybe a letter from her younger sister's room-mate came just in time, giving her an excuse to leave for Odessa and help the poor girl in her predicament with her greedy friends. Anyway, at that time my mother didn't think twice after she made her decision.
She arrived in Odessa without delay and did help her sister giving her avid friends a good talking-to. Besides, my mother found a job of a copyist in some design office soon after that. Her salary there was not high, of course. Only those who worked in privileged branches got more or less decent wages. Mostly labour and especially mental work were poorly paid in the USSR. But, on the other hand, food was much cheaper in our southern city. Here my mother could eat fruit and vegetables to her heart's content. Moreover there was fish - plenty of freshly caught fish in the markets! Even I remember that in my early childhood my young father used to go fishing to the sea at the weekend. Where on earth have all that fish got to I'd like to know? I am aware that I am old but it's difficult to accept the fact that during such a short period as my lifetime people redoubled their population and were able to do so much harm to our planet. In my mother's young days the sea and the rivers were in much better condition, of course, and were swarming with fish. She didn't like it as much as I do, though. Still, she could eat fish in stead of meat and save some money for clothes.
At that time my mother really needed new garments because of some unpleasant episode that happened during her only summer in Bashkiria. It was a real shock for her to learn that one of her room-mates used her clothes in secret. As my mother's informant told her that girl took one of her gowns from the sack with her dirty garments every time when she had a date. What was especially infuriating was that she didn't even trouble herself with laundering – she just put it on in haste and went to meet her sweetheart. Quick in her anger as usual my mother seized the content of the wretched sack and burnt it all. Afterwards, she was told that the unscrupulous girl wept bitterly when she learnt about it. She just couldn't understand why my mother didn't give all of that to her if she didn't want to wear it any more. But it was not in my mother's nature to treat her offenders like that. I couldn't do it either. Yet, it's difficult for me to imagine what I would do in her place.
Anyway, I don't recollect the details, but I do remember my mother telling me with amusement that she had only one summer dress when she arrived in Odessa from Bashkiria. Perhaps she bought it here, in our city, not having enough money to buy anything else. It was a good gown though and some of her ill-wishers started a rumour that my mother owned at least ten identical dresses. Otherwise how could she always look so neat and clean in her only garment? But my mother's secret was really simple. As her dress was made of some high quality fine-spun fabric she washed it every summer evening and put it on in the morning as fresh as new.
It's a pity I don't remember anything about the colours of that gown. My son can't help me here. He remembers his grandmother's stories much better than I do but he forgot about the colours, of course. Such things mean very little to men. But a new nice dress means so much when you are a young girl. Even now when I am sixty-five I remember my own feelings at that age. Not that I often had a garment that I really liked but if I did it gave me a completely incredible sensation. It seemed it was a part of my body that turned me into a new creature, much more attractive and self-confident. Still one can't be young forever. I think my mother realized it when she was twenty-four and that was one of the reasons that urged her to accept her old friend's proposal at last. She did it just in time from a common point of view. At the time of my youth women of all generations believed that a girl, who reached the age of twenty-five, had little hope to start her own family. I think there might have been another reason for my mother's decision. By that time she had to get tired of fighting alone for the better place under the sun. She really needed someone reliable beside her and her old friend was definitely of that kind. Not to mention that he loved her faithfully since their school days.
To be continued...
(c) Anna Shevchenko
