Lost Gifts
Pasha stared hard at the bright orange gourd in front of her. She had set it up on a stool outside of her family’s winter home on that cold autumn day in Moscow. Her parents would bring strange and bad tasting things into their house on occasion, but this had to have been the most strange and most offending in taste.
But the fact that little four (and a half, she is quick to remind people) year old Pasha hated the taste of the vegetable was not the reason she pulled the plant out into the foul weather. She held no ill will for the thing. It couldn’t help the fact that it was disgusting in taste, or that it had slimy guts inside of it, or that its stems gave people splinters when they gripped them. She couldn’t blame it for those things, and it wasn’t for those reason that she brought it outside and was staring at it so intently. She brought it outside because it was about the size of a human head, and she needed to practice.
Pasha shifted on her feet, trying to get into the same position that she saw her brother take two nights before. He had stood with his feet a shoulder length apart, his back was stiff and his head was held high. Pasha imitated the stance as best as she could in her dressy shoes and her expensive lace dress, much different than the dark common clothes that she saw her bother wearing that night.
The child took a deep breath then held out her right hand, her fingers spread wide, just as her brother had done, leveling it on the pumpkin. She frowned at it in concentration then quickly made a fist with her hand.
The pumpkin still sat where it had.
She tried again. And again. Opening the closing her hand over and over. Re-adjusting her position and trying again. The pumpkin reminded unchanged.
Pasha glared at the pumpkin and stamped her foot to the hard ground.
“Break open already!” She shouted at the gourd.
“Pasha? What are you doing out here, little one?”
Pasha turned to the sound of her mother’s voice. The tall, fair woman was always dressed very well whenever possible. It was not a very practical thing to do when they were on the road as much as they were, being in an active side show that traveled around the Russian cities and provinces during the spring and summer. But in the fall and winter the band was stationary, and Pasha and her family got to live out the unforgiving Serbian winter in comfort in their large house. Her mother got to dress far nicer when living here then when on the road. She was invited to real parties and her father and uncles were all very busy with family business during this season. Her brother was also very busy lately. Mother said that he would take over the business one day and had to learn as much as possible. Mother said that he was gifted. That he had old blood. That he was a miracle in a long dead line, whatever that was supposed to mean.
Her mother had told her that someday she would be like her brother and that she should watch him closely to learn. But Pasha didn’t understand how he did that things he did and he never had enough time to play with her as much as she would like. He was always so busy helping father. She knew she would have to help herself.
Which was what she was trying to do at that instant.
“I’m practicing.” Pasha said, her breath making small clouds in the cold.
“Is… That’s the pumpkin that you uncle Yari brought over for us.” Her mother had not moved from the doorway, talking out at her daughter.
“Yes. I don’t want to eat it anyway.” Pasha said and moved her hand out to the pumpkin again and closed it into a fist again. Still nothing.
“What are you trying to do with it, little one?” Her mother asked, looking confused at her youngest child.
“I’m trying to make it explode with my brain!”
Her mother laughed in her abrupt and loud way. “And what gave you this mad idea?”
“I saw Antoliy explode a man’s head. Just like that!” Pasha slapped her hands together to accentuate the exploding sound effect that she was imagining.
“What did you just say?” Her mother was not laughing anymore; her eyes were wide with worry.
“Yes. A few days ago, I heard someone yelling. I was late though, everyone should be asleep so I followed the sound myself. It was coming from the basement!”
Her mother made no sound, so Pasha continued. She always loved telling stories, usually ones that she made up herself, but true stories were even more fun when she could tell them.
“Uncle Pavlov and Antoliy were down there with someone else. A stranger. I think he was crying. He was talking so fast! I think he was talking about money or land or something, I don’t remember that part. But then! Uncle Pavlov said something to Antoliy and he held out his hand, just like this…”
Pasha demonstrated the position she had perfected envisioning exploding pumpkins.
“…then he gripped his hand into a fist and SPLAT! The strangers head exploded into pieces! It was so gross! I saw BRAINS!”
Pasha’s eyes sparkled with excitement retelling the exciting story, but her mother looked like she would be ill. Her smile faltered at the unexpected expression from the listener of the tale.
“Pasha,” Her mother started, her face looking pale, even behind the makeup, “I think you should stop pretending as such morbid games and come inside.”
“But I think I’m really close! I think the pumpkin is starting to crack.” Pasha walked over to the vegetable and gave it closer inspection.
She heard the door close behind her and when she looked up, she saw that her mother had returned inside. She shrugged to herself and returned her attention to the pumpkin. There were some cracks… but she was pretty sure they were there before she started this exercise. She made a mental note to ask her brother how he does those magical things that he does.
After convincing herself that she hadn’t even dented it with her mental attacks, she set it down with a disappointed thump. What else hadn’t she tried yet? Maybe she should close her eyes when she tried to do this, she only saw her brothers back, maybe he also closed his eyes.
Pasha repositioned herself and closed her eyes, taking the same stance as before, trying to remember where the pumpkin was and wondering if she was pointing at it or not. She took another deep breath, held it in and closed her fist.
The sharp sound a crash made her eyes fly open.
Pasha was immensely disappointed to see the pumpkin was unchanged, but the muffled sounds of voices from inside the house perked her curiosity. The last time she noticed something like this, she got to see someone head burst, maybe she would see something better this time.
Pasha saw shadows moving in one of the side windows, where most of the noise seemed to be coming from. She rolled the pumpkin off its stool and moved it under the window. Pasha was pretty tall for her age, but she couldn’t see through the window without some sort of a boost.
She saw her father and brother inside and she immediately wished she hadn’t looked. They were yelling at each other and there was some blood running down Antoliy’s face. When her brother and father yelled at each other, there was usually hitting.
Her father took his far more slender 15 year old son by his shirt and slammed him up against the wall.
“You probably scarred her for life, you great idiot!” Pasha could hear her father’s booming voice through the glass. It was a voice that could be welcoming and mysterious to those that went to the side show that he ran and also terrifying and dangerous when he was cross at those that worked under him. Like his son.
“I didn’t know she was there! I thought she was asleep!” Antoliy argued back, he also had a commanding voice, like his father. His eyes held no fear for the man that held him roughly, only controlled anger.
Antoliy was always controlled. He had told her that he had to be. My anger is too dangerous, Antoliy explained to his sister one time during their play, I can’t really control myself when I am angry.
The older man brought his hand down across the young man’s face, knocking him to the ground with the open handed strike.
“What if it had been someone else? She saw you murder a man! What if it had been someone else, Antoliy?!”
Antoliy didn’t make any response, putting up no resistance and not defending himself. Pasha could see him shaking from the effort.
“It’s no wonder she isn’t showing any koldun blood in her, your carelessness is costing you sister her gifts!” Her father continued, turning away from his downed child. He rubbed his forehead in exasperation.
“Pasha doesn’t HAVE any gifts!” Antoliy spat, standing back up, the side of his face red from the strike. “She is normal! And I hope she STAYS that way!”
Pasha ducked under the window and covered her ears, sitting on top of the pumpkin. She didn’t want to know what happened next. Her brother’s voice echoing in her head.
Pasha doesn’t have any gifts…
52 Short Stories in 52 Weeks Challenge
Week 6 - Finding what was lost