Child's Ploy (1984) Anthology by Marcia Muller; Bill Pronzini (eds)

Author:Marcia Muller; Bill Pronzini (eds) [Pronzini, Marcia Muller; Bill]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Ludmila

JEAN L. BACKUS

Contrary to what some may have us believe, day-to-day life behind the Iron Curtain is generally the same as it is here—the same struggles, the same fears and hungers, the same injustices; yes, and sometimes the same tragedies, too, as Jean L. Backus movingly demonstrates in this unusual story about a Russian child named Ludmila. Ms. Backus has also written a novel with a Russian setting, Dusha, about a prima ballerina. Her diverse literary talents include those of an accomplished spy novelist (Troika, Traitor’s Wife, Fellow-Traveler, all under the pseudonym of David Montross); and nonfiction writer and editor (as exemplified in her acclaimed 1982 book on aviatrix Amelia Earhart, Letters from Amelia).

Usually Grandmother screeched at her the minute the door opened, asking why Ludmila had loitered in the woods, or if she’d been bad in school and made to stay for punishment. Sometimes the old woman didn’t even say that much before flinging her pillow at Ludmila, who was always ready to jump to one side or the other. But today was different. No pillow slung at her this late afternoon. No screeching either.

“Babushka?” Risking a glance at Grandmother, she saw the old woman’s thin white braids spreading from under the pillow, and the blankets pulled up high as she’d arranged them hours ago. She wanted to say, “Forgive me for this morning, Babushka. I didn’t mean to be a bad girl. Do please forgive me and say something. Please.”

Because if Grandmother didn’t speak now, then she wouldn’t say anything for days and days. Not one word. Maybe not until after it was time for snow to fly, and the hut to be crowded with Ludmila’s Papa and her brothers, after they returned from harvest.

Quietly so as not to awaken Grandmother, she set a string bag of beets and cabbage and a precious sliver of salt pork on the table, and hurried to throw faggots on the fire. Babushka complained of being cold even in the hottest weather, and now finding fallen wood was harder, and Ludmila had to wander in greater circles through the forest each day. Next spring she’d ask Papa and her brothers to leave a larger wood pile for her before they went off for the summer to cut the grain. If Babushka wanted the hut kept hotter this summer than last, she’d want more heat than ever next year.

But then Ludmila would be thirteen, and surely she’d be able to cut her own wood. At least the lower branches of fir and birch which grew right up to the clearing. If she could do that, the men would be free to dig the well that someday would bring water right inside the hut, or build a shelter of some kind around the vegetables so rabbits and deer couldn’t rob the garden as they had recently. Why, there was almost no food at all for this coming winter. The thought made her hungrier than usual. There were hardly any rubles left either, until Papa got home.

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