But Let It Go, And You Learn
"Happiness always looks small while you hold it in your hands, but let it go, and you learn at once how big and precious it is." Maxim Gorky
"People often say that this or that person has not yet found himself. But the self is not something one finds, it is something one creates." Thomas S. Szasz
Author's note: Took a couple day's break and now I have just one chapter left to write, and I can publish everything.
NaNoWriMo is coming up (for those in the future, this is currently October) which means I'll have a month of doing solely original writing, but at the moment this story is is over 30,000 words so maybe I'll be successful this year? Maybe if you guys all cheer me on I will be. I'm trying to stockpile fics to post during November, to keep you coming.
And now, without further ado, sunflowers.
"Eternal peace lasts only until the next war." Russian Proverb
1979
She still hates him. Erzsi sits in the middle of the large bed, the comforter wrapped haphazardly around her, fighting off the cold that is now a part of her bones. She still hates him, Vanya; there's a part of her that can't forgive him for what his people have done, what he has done. He tells her he'd let her go, if he could, but sometimes she doubts that. Vanya has to possess, to be the one everyone else depends on. Nataliya still follows him about, and now Erzsi even pities that nation who for so long was the Russian nation's prized possession.
After Nataliya it was Erzsi, and she can still see that glint in his eyes of "mine, all mine". He is the master, and for all his love and kindness, the Hungarian is, at the end of the day, his favorite toy. Children love teddy bears, but they rarely allow their beloved bears to be loved by others.
Now it's Anastasia. Vanya promised that for the girl's 16th birthday she could have whatever she wants. Tickets, came her answer quickly, tickets to a ballet in Leningrad, and though Anya wanted her mother to come too, Erzsi could not take this from their daughter.
Their daughter.
It's something small, she knows it isn't meant to insult her, but Vanya in passing tends to refer to Anya as his daughter. Someone he possess alone. His.
Erzsi loves Anya, and Erzsi loves Vanya, but she does not know how to keep her hatred from bubbling up again, when every day of this year has been a reminder that thirty years have passed. Thirty years since she first came to place, first came to this prison cell. Thirty years she's had only Gil from the past. Thirty years without Lutz, without helping him grow as she always has. Thirty years with Roderich, and that's the one that gets her. She loved Roderich, she did, but she also hated him. Because she was his, just like now she is Vanya's.
The truth is, thirty years have been spent in this prison, but she lost her freedom so much earlier. She hates Vanya, because he made her see that truth.
The ballet is on the 25th of December, Anya's 16th birthday. Anya has never left this little town that even now, Erzsi does not know the name of. So on the 24th she helps her daughter finish packing, walking behind Gil who brings his niece's bag downstairs. Anya talks quickly, excitedly. In the antechamber Edouard and Toris whisper, the latter standing as Erzsi glances over.
"Something's happening," is all he says. Anya's grip on her mother tightens; deep down Erzsi can't imagine the confusion Anya must go through, never understanding why the people in this house are all different, never aging. They still haven't told her, agreed they would when the new year came, that sixteen must surely be old enough for a human to understand.
"Mama," the girl whispers, and Erzsi knows sixteen is still young.
All the lights in Vanya's office are on; the two women can see nothing but papers covering every flat surface. Anya is too frightened to leave her mother; it's been building with each messenger from Moscow, each whisper to Erzsi that something's come up, each day Vanya locks himself in his office. So Erzsi wraps her arms around the young girl, pulling her close as Vanya finally notices them.
"What happened?" Erzsi asks, a finality in her voice that he knows means she wants the answer, and she wanted it minutes ago.
Vanya slumps in the chair, and there are bags under his eyes like she hasn't seen in years. Anya squeezes her mother closer, taking in her father, and he gestures as if to say, she should leave. There is defeat in his move.
"She's old enough Ivan, it's time she learned the truth. What happened?"
The Russian looks at Erzsi, looks into those emeralds that are as defiant as ever, before looking to his daughter. Her green eyes might be the same color, but they lack the confidence, the rebellious nature her mother has. Vanya told her months ago he's sorry she is so fragile, sorry the world will not let her remain like that. "Next year," he whispers in the room, "next year we will go the ballet." He sounds so broken, but the girl nods at her father's words.
"What happened?" This time Anya is the one to ask, and there is a strength there that lacks her mother's hardness, but possess the soft, almost childlike strength of her father. The kind that scares the others more than it should.
"War," he mutters. "We invaded Afghanistan. This means war."
It's bad, and all the news that comes to Vanya seems to indicate that this war will not end quickly. When the new year comes Erzsi makes sure her lover keeps his promise, and they sit Anya down, explain the whole truth to her. Most of the time the young human watches her hands, fiddling in her lap, nodding at what her parents say. When Vanya has finished, there is a pause before Anya looks up, right at her mother. "So are you a prisoner? Of Papa's?"
Erzsi watches her daughter's eyes, can see herself reflected back. She doesn't miss Vanya drop his head, slouching back in the chair. He'd have to answer for his sins, they both knew that this question would come sooner or later. He's pleaded with Erzsi to explain, and she had said she would because she didn't want her daughter to repeat her mother's mistakes, didn't want her daughter to resent Vanya the way Erzsi had come to resent Roderich.
But in that moment all Erzsi can do is nod and say, "Yes."
Later she explains, holds her daughter while Anya sheds the tears Erzsi has so many times in the last thirty years. Anya understands, as best as a teenager in this situation can, but Erzsi still doesn't feel right. Now the fear that has been growing in her daughter is a fear with names and dates, conflicts and history that could kill her parents. This war is miles away, but in her daughter's eyes lays the Afghan battlefield. Erzsi has no choice for herself, but she will not let her daughter live like this. It is time to fix this sin she has allowed to transpire.
The train station is somewhere in Hungary, near the border with Austria. When they arrive on the platform it's empty; Vanya had arranged it so it would be. So they could say their goodbyes. In private.
Erzsi feels foreign in her own country; the signs and land all seem familiar, but it takes her longer to understand the words and writing than it used to. She's slipping, she's becoming Russian and cannot stop. Vanya had done most of the talking for the two women, in a commanding Russian with stamps in his passport that indicated he is important. They had no problem getting here.
From within the small station a body moves at the window, slowly making his way outside. She could almost cry at the sight, feels guilty and happy all at once. She never even liked Francis that much, but he was kind to her after the divorce, held her when she cried, when she came to him one weekend, lonely and in need of love. During the war she used to have letters snuck to him, telling him as much as she could. It wasn't that she didn't love her German men, but rather that she had also come to care for the French nation. To trust him, in a way.
He's filled out since the last time she saw him, thirty years prior. His body has healed from the physical wounds, always the lesser of the injuries. But Francis's hair still glints in the little sun that escapes sad clouds looming overhead, as if even nature knows what is about to happen.
Under his arm there's a baguette. "Really? That's subtle," Vanya states in sarcastic French. Francis shrugs.
"This station, they don't care so much. Consider themselves less a part of you and more a part of us." Francis is looking Vanya in the eyes, speaks calmly as if this wasn't an insult to the Soviet Union but rather an observation on the season.
"I know," Vanya concedes, shaking hands with Francis.
That's when those deep blue eyes turn to Erzsi, smiling in a bittersweet manner. "Dearest," he sighs before spreading his arms, and she hugs him close, smelling his cologne, feeling his soft fabric on her cheek. He holds her tight, kissing her hair. "I have missed you so much Elizabeta," he whispers.
"And I, you," she finally says, pulling back to look him in the face. His stubble tickles her hand that runs across his cheek. "You and Ivan have-"
Francis smiles, nodding, as Vanya stands behind him. "Yes, I got your letter and his both, have committed them to memory. All for the benefit of the beautiful Anastasia."
It's then that Francis turns to Anya, who is standing awkwardly off to the side. Her shoulders are raised, her arms hugging her body. She was quiet the whole way here, both women were; Vanya read to them from Anya's favorite book just to fill the silence. What words are there for what is about to pass? Erzsi knows it's for the better, but that doesn't stop her eyes from beginning to tear up.
Francis takes the girl's hand, kisses it, bowing for her. "I bought us a baguette," he says, gesturing to the bread, "for the ride. I find many people feel better with warm baguette in their stomach." He smiles, and Erzsi knows he is doing his best to comfort her, turning on all the charms.
But Anya, that's when she breaks down, turning to her mother. She runs to her, and Erzsi holds her tightly, her tears coming as well. Two strong arms wrap around them, and Vanya kisses each of their heads. He had cried, the night before they left. He never would have admitted to it, but Erzsi had heard him, each sob shaking her to the core. For all his faults, Vanya's greatest is he loves too deeply.
"Mama," the girl whispers, and that's when Erzsi knows she has to let go, they cannot delay this any longer. "Mama, please, I don't want to," Anya starts.
A finger to her lips shushes the girl. "Anya," Erzsi starts, and Vanya sighs to keep himself from breaking as well. "The world is so big and wonderful. We cannot keep you in a cage, cannot keep you from seeing all these things. I love you and your father loves you and that is why we need to let you go. Remember?"
"Jóból is megárt a sok," the girl repeats. You can have too much of a good thing. A Hungarian proverb from a forgotten lesson years ago, in a little schoolroom in a big house, in a little town in a very big country.
Her mother smiles weakly. "I want you to see the world Anya. Francis is a good man, he will love you like Uncle Gil does. You can finally meet so many new people, see all those places from your books. You can be free."
Anya shakes her head. "Come with me," she pleads quietly. Vanya tenses.
"It doesn't work like that honey," Erzsi sighs. "Just know that you are the greatest thing I have ever had, but I know that it is better to be free."
She's not sure if her words are helping now, but Erzsi knows that Anya will have them for years, will come to understand what is happening. She wrote Anya a letter, that Francis is to give her on her 17th birthday. And one for her 18th. And 19th. All the way up to thirty because Erzsi doesn't know when she will next be able to see her daughter, but she just couldn't write that letter for thirty-one.
Vanya holds Anya close, whispering in hushed Russian that Erzsi cannot make out beyond "Anastasiya" and "love" and "your mother and I". Finished now, there is only one thing left to do.
From the platform Anya stands beside Francis. Her eyes have deep bags, her breathing is uneven, her face is pink. Erzsi waves out the window Vanya opens for her, waves as the train pulls away. Anya starts to follow, to run, until the platform ends and she cannot run anymore.
"I love you Mama!" Anya screams, and her voice breaks with her tears.
"I love you Anya!" Erzsi manages back before the platform is quickly whisked away, and Francis is left to take Anya back to Paris.
Everything at home seems dead now. Anya was the brightest light in the house, always cheerful and curious, without a care in the world. Now she is gone.
In the dark of night Vanya holds Erzsi close, her tears wetting his chest, his her hair. With time the sting will fade, and that's the worst part of it. Erzsi never wants this sting to fade, never wants to forget the pain of having to let her second chance go. She told herself she would have Anya longer than she had Ferdi, but she thought it would be so much longer than just fourteen years more. She thought they'd have a lifetime. That maybe Anya would be there forever.
The other nations all speak quietly, tell Erzsi how brave she was, wonder at what wonders Anya must be seeing. She's not allowed near Lutz and Roderich, Francis can't let her, but he's doing this, taking Anya in, without seeking permission from anyone, without discussing it with the other nations.
There are so many rules Vanya and her had laid out for him, but she knows he understands. With time, Anya will too.
When summer comes they lay in the sunflower patch, and it's not the same, but it's getting better. Life is becoming easier for Erzsi, as a nation. Vanya has more work, but it's of a different kind and though it leaves him stressed, he now appreciates Erzsi more. He strokes her cheek whenever they part ways, kisses her hand when she comes to dinner. They make love slowly at night, and Vanya always holds her the way she loves, even though it's uncomfortable for him.
"Why?" Vanya whispers, and she's not quite sure if there was more to the question that she missed while musing.
"Why what?" She lays her head against his chest, watches his chin move as he looks up at the sun, one hand covering his eyes.
"Why do we live like this? Nations. It cannot end well, for any of us."
"There is a saying," Erzsi says, rising to look him in the eyes. "Ki mint vet, úgy arat. It means as you sow, so shall you reap." He nods at the Russian translation, but does not seem to grasp the deeper meaning. "The way you live is the way you die."
At that he nods with understanding. "We were born of war. All of us."
"And war will consume us," Erzsi agrees.
In the sun she lays down beside him, her fingers splaying under his shirt to feel the chest beneath. One hand strokes her back as they lay in silence.
"I would give everything," Vanya whispers quietly after several minutes, "to see you smile the way you used to. Before the wars, before your marriage. You used to have the most beautiful smile Erzsi, did you know that? On the battlefield, you used to have the most beautiful smile in victory."
Erzsi looks up, and Vanya looks down to meet her gaze. She wants to say something, something deep, something meaningful. Something that only this moment can give her.
But there is no meaning in her life without Anya, and so Erzsi settles with a kiss on the lips.