Page 81 of Pageant

Lie to Dad. Make him believe that I was miserable here so I could stay forever, with someone who really loves me. I picture myself crying down the phone to Dad and begging to come home whileBabushkasmiled and encouraged me. Acting my little heart out for him.

“I could have done that,” I whisper, staring into the middle distance. If it meant I could be with someone who loves me instead of someone who hates me, I could have cried him a river.

Babushkagives me an appraising look, and a proud smile breaks over her face. “I think you are right. You are a quick learner, like your mother. Have a jam tart.”

A warm feeling spreads through me as I pick up a tart and bite into it. I’m like my mother? No one ever talks to me about Mom or says that I’m like her.

Babushkawatches me eat, and then she beams at me. I remember that I haven’t said thank you and mumble it quickly around the crumbs.

“Thank you,Babushka.”

“Call meBabulya. You always used to call meBabulya.”

Granny, not the more formal Grandmother. “Thank you,Babulya,” I say with a smile.

Babulyatakes a sip of her tea and suddenly grows serious. “This is a lesson for you,kroshka. You are a clever girl, and I know you will remember what I have to say. There will be times in your life when you will want something so badly that your heart will ache and you will be willing to get down on your knees and beg. You must never do this. There will be moments when someone is standing in your way or holding cruelty over your head to make you do what they want you to do. What must you do instead?”

“I should…I should find a way to get what I want for myself?” I guess.

“Da. But how, Lilia?”

Babulya’seyes are sparkling and expectant. There’s something she wants me to understand but I don’t know what it is.

“Pretend that I don’t want it, like you did with me?” I guess.

“That will work sometimes,”Babulyaagrees with a nod. “But other times, it will not be enough. Everyone has weaknesses. Your father. Your future husband. His family. His enemies. Your enemies. Your future will be filled with adversaries because of who your mother married, God rest her soul.”

No one’s ever talked to me like this, like I have a brain between my ears.Babulyais preparing me for unknown battles. I try to imagine what they will be, but I can’t fathom anything except a vague sense of dread that it has something to do with what the news is saying about Dad.

“This is not yourbabulyatelling you to become a liar. This is survival,kroshka. Your life is in danger? You fight like a tigress to be free, but you use your wits as well as your claws.”

For years,Babulyapretended to hate me, waiting for the day that she could save me from my father’s wrath. Years of patience and heartache and she never showed one crack. Could I do that? Desperately want something while pretending I don’t, and all the while never know if my plan will work or blow up in my face?

There might come a time when I have no choice. I have no power over my father and men like him. I only have my wits.

“I understand,Babulya.”

“Good,” she says with a sharp nod, and relaxes finally. “Have another jam tart, and then it’s time to go to bed.”

From that day, everything changes.

When I get up in the mornings,Babulyais always there to greet me. After school, she welcomes me home with a smile. She wants to know about my day, and she cares if I’m happy or sad, frustrated or hopeful.

We have no money except for the allowance that Dad grudgingly paysBabulya,and he’s not giving her more even though she has to pay for all my food and clothes and school supplies as well as her own needs. Insulin is fiendishly expensive, and I worry that she won’t be able to buy any because of me.

Money is one thing I’ve never had to think about. Everything I’ve ever wanted has been given to me, and I have never had to dread an electricity bill or worry about the unexpected costs of new shoes and school fees. Suddenly my eleven-year-old mind is teeming with information I’ve never had to know before. The price of bread. Where to buy cheap cuts of meat and on what days. How to make a small portion of leftovers into a meal for two people.

After a few weeks, I notice thatBabulya’snot wearing as many gold rings or necklaces as she used to, and she confessed she sold most of them and put the money in the bank. I cry when I find out because that jewelry belonged to her mother, and she brought it all the way from Russia.

“Don’t cry,” she tells me sternly. “What is jewelry but something pretty to be sold on a rainy day?”

I nod, still feeling wretched because I know it’s not just jewelry to her. “I’d sell Mom’s locket to help, but a boy took it from me and threw it down a drain.”

Babulyahugs me fiercely, and I remember the lesson she taught me about using my head to get what I want.

“If I called Dad and cried to him that we need money, maybe we could get your jewel—”

“No,”Babulyasays sharply, holding up a finger. “We do not beg, and we will not poke the bear. We are left in peace, and that is worth more than everything in the world.”

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