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Chapter 2: -Tears on Earth-
She had never cried as much as she had that night, and the nights that followed. Overwhelming grief clenched her gut, twisted with unbearable pain, like a knife slowly driven into a still-beating heart. She was just eight then, but Irina understood, and it killed her. The images flashed in the girl's mind, each sharper than before, each provoking another flood of tears. Her father was dead now, gone, torn away from her and this world forever, and her sister Anya, just four, carried away with him.
It wasn't fair, she wanted to shout, though she had not the will, nor the breath to do so, sobbing and choking back tears as she was. A doctors visit, routine, normal, in their incredibly old, pre-war auto, rarely used as it was now, with gasoline rations small. Who would think that this one time, one ride, would turn into a fiery blaze, and an accident that would engulf them all, leaving even the living feeling so terribly numb, as though they too should be dead.
It was all she felt, and her mother, Irina knew, was no better off, locked and alone in her room, holding her now dead husbands things and weeping, desolate, not only at the loss but at the life he'd left behind. The girl sat on the floor, tear-streaked and grim-faced, eyes focused as she tried to remember her Pa. Her father had been a strong, silent man, rarely laughing, never crying, emotionally withdrawn; His angular, lined face was almost always evenly set in a most serious, slightly pondering expression. He was never very close with his daughters, she knew, but he was fair, never hitting them unless they truly deserved it, bringing some kind of small sweet on their birthdays. These she had accepted gracefully, knowing that they could do no better, that to give presents of any more would be a waste.
Her grandmother came four days after the funeral. The old woman had been living alone for several years, since her own husband had died. It was getting harder, as old age slowly caught up with her, but she had kept silent, not wanting to impose on her married children. Now that her daughter too was a widow, she saw fit to enter their lives, to bring herself into their home.
She looked so old. That was the first thought that entered Irina's mind when she saw her mother's mother, the impression that would stay with her the most. It was true: the woman was stooped over, bones bent from a lifetime of grueling work. Her skin was dark and wrinkled, her hair all but pure white, with deep lines etched into her face like cracks in a stone.
She went first into the room of Irina's mother, comforting her with the words and wisdom of one who had lived on this world longer, and had more experience with the hardships that life could so easily flaunt and throw into a person's face. She told the younger woman encouragements, patted and rubbed her back. Irina had watched silently through the crack of the door, a tentative feeling of warm creeping up into her soul. She too wanted to be held, hugged and told it would be all right; She was just a little girl, and wanted to be taken care of.
This however, was not what the girl got. When to older woman finally left the room and approached her granddaughter, her manner was anything but warm.
"Shame on you for carrying on so" she said. "Your mother is upset at all the loss and you do nothing but cry. You are young, and should be strong, fill in where she cannot" Cold blue eyes bore into her own, and the girl felt ashamed and at loss. She was determined not to let another wave of tears flood her face, not to let her disappointment show. Her grandmother was right, Irina knew, she should be stronger, smarter, more useful. Tears would change nothing.
The accident had been the first great sorrow that Irina Derevko would have to bear in her life, but it would not be the last. Worse, more painful things would happen to her, harder choices she would be forced to make. Never again however, would she cry, and let her pain and emotions be so obviously shown to all the world.