‘He bit his lower lip until it bled’
Welcome to our weekly Ukrainian literature showcase. At a time when Vladimir Putin is calling the very existence of Ukraine into question, we feel it is important to bear witness to the country’s rich and unique cultural heritage. In this extract from Maria Matios’s acclaimed 2007 novel Hardly Ever Otherwise, set in western Ukraine in the last decades of the Austro-hungarian Empire, tensions are running high as the straight-talking patriarch of the Cheviuk clan, Kyrylo, divides up the family farm between his three surviving sons
‘…I’ve summoned you, my children, to let my will be known to you,” Kyrylo said, running a heavy gaze over all three sons. “You are like three fingers on my hand. There used to be four, but that was a long time ago... and what of it now?!
“I have no more than has been left to me. But you still have to provide for your families and maintain your farms. We have acquired some things in our lifetime and will acquire still more. That’s why we work. But I want to let my will be known to you now, because anything can happen. You will listen to me and do as I bid. If you heed my words, you will all fare well.”
Kyrylo inhaled deeply and exhaled just as heavily: “Pavlo and Odokiya will care for mother and myself. To Pavlo I’ve bequeathed our house, five falchi of field in The Meadows and three falchi of pasture in The Hollow.” Oksentiy swallowed loudly. Andriy scraped a finger across the tablecloth.
Pavlo placed both his hands before him.
“The three falchi of forest in
Posich, which were to have been passed on to Dmytryk after he married,” Kyrylo paused for a long time, as if struggling with a piece of something which had become lodged in his throat, “and Dmytryk’s high plain in Kisny I’ve bequeathed to Andriy. The two of them were close from childhood, so I think Dmytryk will be asking from the other world for the Lord to intercede on your behalf, Andriy.”
Kyrylo got up from the table and went over to the window. He pushed aside the linen curtain and pressed his forehead against the glass pane.
Through the window he could see the hills, the most distant of which, rounded like a full moon, was dubbed Kisny, meaning “mowable”, because the hay mown from it was lush and thick year in and year out. For a moment Kyrylo thought he saw a flock of white sheep rambling along the Kisny ridge. Jumping over anthills, a joyous Dmytryk chased after them, a whip in his hand and a reed pipe stuffed under his belt. Behind him, wagging its black and white tail, ran their dog Havchyk. Oh, Havchyk... After Dmytryk’s death the dog had howled outside the Varvarchuk’s stable for a week until some merciful soul had shot it.
“... Dmytryk will be asking from the other world for the Lord to intercede on your behalf, Andriy...” Kyrylo repeated for some reason, and returned to join his sons. Oksentiy sat with his back pressed against the chair and his arms folded across his chest. Andriy scratched the back of his neck. Pavlo was drumming the table with his fingers. Kyrylo again studied each of his sons.
“I won’t leave you emptyhanded either, Oksentiy, even though you married against our will and even though your wife brings our family into disrepute because she rides the rivers with the raftsmen, like a cart without a shaft. You’ve already got stock, a high plain and your own house. For the moment I’ll give you two more pairs of oxen and three horses. Plus the summer stable in Vypchyn. You have the wherewithal to farm, but no! If only you had the desire! So go make yourself some children so that you’ll have someone to look after and someone to
appreciate your work!”
Pavlo looked at his father – and adjusted the clasp on his shirt sleeve.
Andriy smiled into the corner of his thin lips.
Oksentiy bit his lower lip until it bled.
“The Lord willing, in a month or so Pavlo will have a fourth mouth to feed. You, Andriy, put the children you have now in order and make yourself a few more. Because what are two girls in a house without a single boy?
“And Oksentiy will give his Yelena a few good beatings and quickly give her one in the spot that itches so badly. What?” he addressed Oksentiy. “Are you incapable of placating her tempestuous nature, so that she stops defiling the family name? If only she did it on the sly, but no – the whole world has to know about it!”
“People lie about Yelena, dad!” Oksentiy practically shouted and jumped to his feet.
“Sit down and listen to your father!” he pressed down on his son’s shoulder. “I’m not passing on old wives’ tales! I’m telling you what I saw with my own two eyes! And I’m telling you in our family circle, not at the local inn. Think hard! There’s no need to jump up. If you farm, like everyone else, I’ll give you some more. I’m not about to die this very hour. But I’ve written up a will covering you all. Let it be. It’s never too late to add to it.”
And from under the tablecloth he pulled out a document for each of them, witnessed by the notary in Vyzhnytsia, outlining the division of his estate among his sons. At first the three sons silently exchanged glances. Then wordlessly, almost simultaneously, they embraced their father’s shoulders. In the Cheviuk family words alone carried little weight.
Notes: A falcha (plural – falchi) is a unit of measurement of pasture or field, equal to 204.5 x 63.9 m. The name Havchyk means, literally, “Little Barker”