Chapter 25

I pined for Russia. My heart ached for him. Every day that I spent away from him I grew more distraught, and it was difficult to do more than curled up in Georgia's parlor and ache. The household would not let me sleep in my own bed, passing me from room to room. They never left me alone, handing me off from group to group throughout the day. I was not allowed even to sit by him at dinner. I sat between Georgia and Chechnya while a different member of the household took my usual spot every evening. It was torture, and from the few glances that reached me from Russia, I knew he was suffering as well.

Or was it all his suffering? Was my ache simply a reflection of Russia's desires? I wonder now, because while I did ache, a seed took root the day Georgia returned my book. And every day I spent away from Russia, the tendrils of that seed grew and the ache was easier to bear.

The household did its best to tend that little seed within me.

"Make your favorite meal," Armenia said one day, handing me a set of bowls and pushing me toward the pantry. "Anything you wish."

"W-well," I stuttered. "I like palmeni…"

"Puh, Palmeni!" Azerbaijan shook his head and slapped my back. "What do you crave more than anything? What makes your mouth water just thinking about it?"

"Well…I have not eaten…Kugelis…in a long time…"

"Then Kugelis it is!" Armenia said. "Come, we'll help you! Ah, what exactly is Kugelis?"

"A potato pudding," I said, gaining enthusiasm. I entered the pantry and pulled out a bag of potatoes, then searched the shelves. "It has bacon and eggs – we have both, don't we? I'm sure we do. Milk, of course. And we'll need some preserves. Maybe applesauce?" I popped my head out of the pantry. "Do we have applesauce?"

Azerbaijan's face was a mask of horror. Armenia shot him an annoyed look.

"But Armenia, it's like a heart attack waiting to –"

Armenia elbowed him and smiled at me.

"I'm not sure about applesauce, but maybe the preserves? Let's look together."

While the lovers helped me prepare the dishes of my homeland, the Stans tried with difficulty to engage me in conversation beyond Russia.

"Well, Russia's favorite is a toss up between Gogol and Pushkin," I said. I sat in the middle of their circle, off in the sitting room that they long ago claimed as their own.

"Yes, but who is YOUR favorite writer?" Uzbek said, exasperated. "Who do YOU enjoy?"

"I bet it is some obscure Lithuanian poet," Turkmen said, elbowing Kirghiz.

"Well, actually." I blushed a little. "When I was at Mr. America's house I read a lot of…of H.G. Wells. I really like The Time Machine."

The Stans looked at each other, surprised, then laughed. Kazakh nudged me.

"A science fiction fan! Ha! Have you had a chance to read anything like that lately?"

"Well, not lately." I looked down at my knees. "Russia has a more literary mind."

"Oh, no, no, no." Uzbek shook his head. "We will find you something juicy. Oh, if you like Wells, wait until you read Ray Bradbury! I managed to get East Germany to smuggle me in a few things last time he visited…"

Georgia, Chechnya and Ukraine came up with the task of keeping my Lithuanian sharp. We sat in Georgia's parlor and they listening as I read to them from the book of fairy tales.

"That book is getting old," Georgia said one day. "Read this aloud." She tossed me a picture book of Hansel and Gretel. "I'm sorry, but this is all I could scrounge up right now. Trust me, I'll find more for you."

She did. Picture books became translated novels and poems and classics. My hands shook the day I held a copy of S is for Space in Lithuanian.

Russia was always on the edge of this commotion. He stood in doorways, watched down halls, paused as a group of us would pass him by. Always it seemed, for a moment, that he would join us. Always he thought better of it and plodded away, head down. From time to time at dinner he would look up from his plate, smile at me and ask:

"Are you happy, Lithuania?"

Always Georgia cut in.

"How do you feel, Russia?" She said curtly.

Russia sighed deeply and looked down at his plate again.

"You are happy," he mumbled.

How long did this go on? How long did the household use me as a means to disturb Russia? I am unsure. But I know that as they pressed me more and more to remember my homeland, the seedling within me grew strong and stubborn, rooted in my own happiness. And there came a time that my own thoughts broke through the surface of my mind. Oh, the ache and the love and the bliss were still there, threatening to swallow me once more. But from time to time whips of ideas flickered in my head, and I knew them to be my own thoughts.

"Everyone has been good to me," my thoughts whispered. "Whether to ruin Russia or because they actually care for me, does it matter? I have not been this happy in a long time."

"It matters! It matters!" Cried the mad thoughts surrounding my place of joy. "They are using you for their own desires! Stay here and be truly happy!"

Yet again my thoughts were hidden away by the cloud of bliss. But they could not be rubbed out. The seed remained, steadfast.

And Russia knew. He knew his hold on me was slipping. What else can explain how he conceded defeat?

One bright afternoon in late summer all of the household but Bela and Russia were sitting in the garden for lunch. It was Georgia's idea to have a picnic. She passed around breads and cheeses and wines, and the conversation grew lively.

"And he was such a rake!" Georgia said, as the rest of us laughed, pouring the wine liberally. "Persia! Ha! You should have seen how he was around Mother Greece. Like a lovesick puppy! 'Oh, Mother Greece, wouldn't you like to live here in Persia? I promise you'll be the most beautiful jewel in my harem!' As if Greece would just trip along after him after such a proclamation, la-ta-ta!"

"I thought Greece and Persia were constantly at odds," Armenia said, gasping for air.

"Oh, yes, but not out of anger on Persia's side," Georgia said, laughing. "Every rejection made him that much more determined! 'Greece, see these ships?' 'Greece, you'll come now that you've seen my horde!' And every time, Greece smacked him and sent him away, tail between his legs!"

"Excuse me."

The laughter stopped abruptly. We all looked to the voice. Russia stood a few lengths from us, smiling sadly.

"That man can be very light on his feet," Azerbaijan whispered, eyes wide.

"I do not wish to interrupt your gathering," Russia said. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Please, continue."

The household continued to stare at Russia, unsure of what to do.

"Well, then." Russia coughed. He stepped to the side, revealing two figures behind him. I squinted, and slowly stood.

"Latvia?" I whispered. "Estonia?"

My two brothers walked hesitatingly forward, leaning a bit on each other. Their clothes were crumpled and worn, but in fairly good repair. Russia eased behind them, and pushed them into a stumbling walk.

"Here you are," he said. He stopped, a shoulder on each man. "For you, Lithuania. For your…for your happiness."

He turned without another word and stalked away, head down. I looked the Baltics up and down. They did not meet my eyes. The joy inside me, my joy, burst free from the false bliss, and I felt the scales fall from my eyes. I smiled and threw myself at Estonia, squeezing him tight, then grabbed Latvia's arm and pulled him into the hug. I laughed and laughed as my joy bloomed and the insanity stilled within my mind.