Short Story: The Lily
The Lily
My life used to be happy. Not perfect, but happy. My father left us when I was six years old. Our mother raised on her own ever since. I remembered during the spring times, my little sister, Anja, and I would run on the meadows barefoot, collecting flowers, and bringing them to mother. Our mother loved lilies. They used to grow around our house. I thought about those days when life was full of joy and color. Those days when there was a future.
But those days are gone. And here I stood in the middle of nowhere in Lithuania. A nobody. Barefoot, cold, torn, hungry, exhausted, and hopeless. The sky was bleak, like the world had grown cold and mean. Well, it had, ever since the Red Army took over East Prussia. I will never forget that day in May 1945. The memory was stained in my mind and haunted me every day. That was also the last time I saw my mother. All I have left was my sister, the locket mother gave me on my 12th birthday, and a wrinkled photograph of mother, Anja, and me.
Anja and I were lucky to escape East Prussia and so very lucky to escape the drunk soldiers. I watched as some of the girls from school were being harassed and raped by those drunk soldiers. I shuddered at the memory.
“Mathilda,” Anja whined, tugging on my skirt, “I’m hungry.”
“I know,” I muttered. We hadn’t eaten for days.
I glanced at Anja as we walked. She had gotten very skinny. Since our evacuation, she has changed. She was skinny enough for me to count her ribs. Her eyes had become hollow and faraway. Her hair now hung limply to her neck.
As for me, I don’t have a clue what I looked like anymore. I knew that if Anja has changed so much in appearance I must’ve too. But really, even before, I don't have special amazing features like Anja. I have straight brown hair instead of her golden curls. My eyes are a hazelnut color and I have a long, oval face. Nobody would've known that we're sisters if it weren't for Anja, who clung to me as often as possible.
“Mathilda,” Anja whispered, “there’s a man over there and he’s carrying a basket of vegetables.”
We just gazed at him, our mouths watering.
“Go beg, if it doesn’t work, we steal,” I whispered. Anja turned to look at me doubtfully with her pale blue, huge, and irresistible eyes.
“We don’t have a choice!” I hissed, “I’ll be right here, go.”
I watched as Anja trotted to the man. I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Suddenly, Anja turned to look at me. The man followed her gaze. I grew anxious. What now? I crawled out of my hiding place and approached them cautiously.
“You her sister?” the man asked.
“Yes,” I squeaked. What’s going on?
The man stared at me for a long time, looking me up and down, making me uncomfortable. Then he shifted his gaze to Anja. Then back to me. Finally, he said, “You two are strong enough to work. We would need some help around the house, and around the farm.”
I turned to look at Anja with wide eyes. We’re being adopted? My heart raced with excitement.
“You will work for us in exchange for food and shelter,” he said warily, “of course, if my wife agrees.”
He rubbed the back of his neck then beckoned us to follow him, “I’m Domantas Mazeika, and my wife’s name is Leja.”
“My name is Mathilda, and this is my sister Anja,” I said.
He nodded. We walked on in silence. Domantas is a tall and weary-looking man. His hair was parted in the middle. His eyes looked as if he hadn’t slept for days. Domantas is quiet and often speaks slowly and gravely.
We stopped in front of a small, shaggy house.
“Here we are,” Domantas said.
Anja and I exchanged a look of excitement and nervousness.
“We’re gonna live here, we’re gonna be adopted,” I whispered to Anja.
“Leja!” Domantas called nervously, “I–I’m home.”
The door opened and a lady stepped out. Her eyes have a cold and bitter glare. Her messy brown hair was tied in a loose bun. She has wrinkles on her face.
“Domantas, who are these?” she demanded.
“You said we needed more help around the farm,” Domantas replied, rubbing his neck nervously.
“But we don’t need two more mouths to feed!” Leja exclaimed.
“I promise you, it’ll be worth it,” Domantas assured.
Leja stared at us for another moment before she turned and said, “They will sleep in the storage room, it’s big enough.”
Anja and I cautiously stepped into the house. I looked around. The house was simple. A kitchen, a living room, a bedroom, and a storage room. The living room contains a simple fireplace. Next to it hung an old clock, ticking steadily.
We stepped into our new bedroom. Leja took out two mats and two thin, dusty blankets. Random objects and junk were piled up in a corner. Cobwebs stretched from the ceiling to the walls.
Leja handed us two outfits, “Some of my old clothes from when I was a little girl.”
She told us to change and then meet her in the living room. She left and closed the door behind her. I put on my outfit. It was a dress with faded blue stripes and a worn apron. I helped Anja put on hers. Anja has a light pink blouse that goes to her knees.
“You look pretty in that,” Anja whispered.
I smiled, “You look pretty too. Let’s go, Leja’s waiting for us in the living room.”
I held Anja’s hand as we made our way to the living room.
Leja was sitting on the sofa. Domantas was nowhere in sight, so he probably had already gone to work.
“Girls,” she said sternly, “you must know that we are taking a huge risk taking in a German 13-year-old and a German five-year-old.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, trying to remember my manners, which were almost lost along with my memories and sense of identity.
“You must forget that you were ever German,” she said, staring each of us in the eye, “what are your names?”
“Mathilda,” I replied, “and this is my sister Anja.”
“Now, that will be the last time you will ever utter your names. You must forget who you are, who your parents are, where you used to live, and anything associated with your past,” Leja told us.
We quickly nodded.
“Now, Mathilda, your new name will be Nomeda,” Leja continued, “and Anja, your name will be Camilla. I will not hear your old names mentioned. Ever, you understand? Not even to each other.”
We nodded, trying to adjust to our new name. Our new identity.
“Have you brought anything with you?” Leja asked.
“Yes, our old clothes, a photograph, a–and my locket,” I replied.
“Let me see them,” Leja said. I handed them to her.
“What do you have, Camilla?” Leja asked, looking at Anja. It took Anja a moment to register that Leja was talking to her.
“A dollie mommy made for me,” Anja said, holding the tiny doll out to Leja. I didn’t know she kept that!
Leja took it and inspected it.
“Her name’s Lina,” Anja whispered.
“German doll,” Leja muttered.
She inspected our only belongings carefully. She stretched out her arm to hand it back to us. But right before we could get it she suddenly swung her arm away and tossed the contents into the fire crackling in the fireplace.
Anja shrieked.
“No!” I screamed, watching in disbelief as the fire consumed my only possessions. The things that contain the remaining memories of my past life. My happy life. Gone. Memories of mother. Gone.
“Liinnnaaa!!!” Anja wailed, her voice echoing through the walls of this small house.
“That’s Anja’s doll!!!” I yelled. In a flash, Leja turned and slapped me across the cheek.
“Who’s Anja!?” she barked, “I will not hear that name uttered again!”
She struck me on the head with her fist. I tumbled backwards and crashed into the wall. I slid to the floor and curled into a ball as Leja continued to beat me.
“Mathilda!” Anja screamed, sobbing and choking.
Leja turned around sharply with fire in her eyes.
“What did you say?!” she bellowed. Anja’s eyes filled with terror as Leja approached her like a monster.
“Don’t hurt her!” I rasped, struggling to get up.
“Listen, orphans, I could throw you right back to the streets. I don’t want to hear your old names mentioned. Ever. You understand?” she growled.
“Yes, ma’am,” I croaked, staggering towards Anja. Anja was screaming and sobbing in fright.
“Be quiet, you noisy brat!” Leja barked.
Anja shrieked even louder. I seized Anja’s shoulders and shook her, “Camilla, calm down!”
Anja threw her arms around me and sobbed into my shoulders.
“Go to your rooms and come out tomorrow for work. You will not have dinner tonight!” Leja snapped. I picked Anja up, dashed into our room, and shut the door, my heart pounding. I slumped to the floor, holding a crying Anja in my arms. My body ached from the beating and I couldn’t stop shaking.
“I hate it here!” Anja sobbed.
“We don’t have a choice, we need food and shelter,” I said, “Also, you must call me Nomeda from now on, understand?”
Anja nodded but continued to cry. We sat there for the rest of the night.
The next few days were nothing but a blur of misery and abuse. We got up before the sun to labor and toil for the Mazeikas and received little food in exchange. We were fed stale bread at noon and plain porridge in the evening. Domantas was always out at the farm for work and was completely unaware of our brutal treatment at home.
One morning, Anja was unable to get up.
“Camilla, let’s go, Leja would be mad!” I hissed, shaking her. Anja moaned and turned to look at me, her eyes small and weak. I knew instantly that something was wrong. Anja has dark rings around her eyes. Her face was chalk-white. She was shivering.
“Camilla!” I gasped, “are you sick?”
Anja moaned and whispered softly, “My head and tummy hurts.”
“Can you get up?”
“No, I feel dizzy.”
“You must’ve caught a cold or something,” I said. Just then, the door opened.
“Why aren’t you girls doing the laundry yet?” Leja demanded.
“An– Camilla’s sick. She couldn’t get up,” I explained.
“Oh, perfect, now we have to take care of a sick child!” Leja roared. She bent down and inspected Anja.
Leja groaned,“Camilla may rest today. Nomeda, that means double the work for you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, scrambling to my feet.
Anja lies ill in bed for the next few days. Domantas and I were worried. Leja was disgusted.
“Why are we caring for a sick child when they’re supposed to make our lives easier?” Leja spat. We soon agreed to call a local doctor to check Anja. We stayed in the living room while the doctor inspected Anja. After what seemed like forever, the doctor came out.
“Malnutrition,” he said. Domantas and Leja glanced at each other.
“How much are you feeding her?” the doctor asked.
My anger boiled. It’s Leja’s fault that Anja’s sick. I stood up and said, “She’s been feeding us nothing but stale–”
Leja gave me a threatening glare and I shut my mouth. Domantas frowned at Leja, puzzled, but didn’t say anything.
“The child needed rest and nutrition,” the doctor continued, “she was probably ill because of overworking. She’ll also need some medicine.”
“What kind of medicine?” Leja inquired.
“I will give them to you. You can pay the bills and come pick up the medicine at my place tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, we can’t afford medicine,” Leja spat, “or buy any more nutritious food.”
The doctor looked startled, “That child is very sick. If she doesn’t get proper medical attention she could die!”
I gasped. Anja, she can’t die! I can’t lose Anja!
“I don’t care, it’s hard enough feeding extra people,” Leja said flatly.
“No!” I exclaimed, “how could you say that? You can’t let my sister die!”
I looked at Domantas for help. He hung his head and shrugged.
“No!” I protested, “you can’t do this!”
“H–have a great day,” the doctor stammered and left.
“Nomeda, go make some soup for your sister,” Domantas murmured, “maybe she could still recover that way.”
I blinked in disbelief but hurried to the kitchen anyway. I couldn’t believe they’re not helping Anja. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I prepared the soup. I felt so helpless. Why are they not helping her? I cannot lose Anja!
I poured the soup into a wooden bowl and carried it to Anja.
“Camilla,” I whispered, “how are you feeling?”
“Not good,” she moaned.
“Here,” I fed her the warm soup. She drank slowly.
“Oh, Camilla,” I whispered, “ Leja and Domantas aren’t willing to pay for your medical bills. I can’t lose you, Camilla.”
I held Anja close and cried.
Meanwhile, Anja kept getting weaker and weaker. One day, when Domantas was already out at the farm, Leja came into our room. She scowled at Anja.
“Get up, you look fine already,” she snapped.
Anja scrambled to get up but fell right back down.
“Nomeda, get your sister up to work!” Leja barked.
“She’s still sick!” I protested, “you wouldn’t even pay for her–”
Leja struck me with her fist, “Shut your mouth!”
Anja started sobbing again.
“Enough with this racket!” Leja screamed, “get to work! Nomeda, scrub the kitchen. Camilla, sweep the porch.”
Half an hour later, I heard Anja calling me. I scrambled to my feet and frantically hurried outside.
“Camilla? Camilla, what’s wrong?” I cried. Anja was crouched next to a patch of tall grass. She looked up and smiled weakly, “Look, a lily!”
I sighed in relief and walked over to where she was crouching. And there it was, a single, delicate lily. Its soft, cream-colored pedals were open and beautiful.
“Oh, Camilla, this is beautiful!” I whispered, “Remember how mother said that lilies are a symbol of peace, purity, and hope?”
“I want peace,” Anja said sadly.
“I know,” I whispered, fighting back tears. I took a deep breath then stood up, “Well, I better get back to the kitchen before Leja realizes that I’m gone.”
I hurried back to the kitchen. I continued cleaning but I couldn’t stop thinking about the lily. Really, if there was peace among us, none of this would’ve happened. I scrubbed the counter harder as I got angrier. If some selfish leaders hadn’t been so greedy for power, we wouldn’t have had to suffer. Anja wouldn’t have to be sick. Mother wouldn’t have to die.
Suddenly, I heard Anja coughing outside. I hesitated for a moment to see if it’ll stop. It didn’t. The coughing grew more and more intense. I raced outside. I spotted Anja on her hands and knees.
“Camilla?” I exclaimed, hurrying to her. There were a few drops of blood on the grass.
“Camilla, you’re coughing up blood!” I gasped. She’s still coughing.
“Hang on, let me get you some water,” I said. Anja collapsed to the ground but was still coughing.
“Camilla!” I gasped and picked her up. I carried her to our room and brought her a cup of water. She continued to cough hoarsely, barely stopping to breathe. I tried to get water down her throat, but she would only choke on it and continue to cough.
“What’s with all the racket?” Leja barked, storming into our room.
“It’s Camilla, she’s–”
“Take care of her. I don’t want a sick child in this house!” Leja groaned as she stormed away.
“Nomeda,” Anja wheezed.
“Camilla, why are you struggling to breathe?” I said frantically.
Anja looked at me sorrowfully, “Nomeda, I–”
She started coughing again.
“You’re going to be alright,” I whispered, stroking her thin blonde hair.
“You will live in a pink house,” Anja whispered, “life will get easier.”
“What?” I frowned.
“There will b–be lilies surrounding the house, like our old one. All kinds… of lilies. Different… colors of lilies,” Anja continued, struggling to breathe.
“What are you talking about?” I whispered, confused.
“A dream. There is a couple, a nicer one, and a boy about your age,” Anja wheezed.
“A–a dream? What kind of dream?” I was still puzzled.
“You were calling the couple ‘mother’ and ‘father.’ The boy’s name is Saulius. You were strolling in the garden with them. Laughing.”
“Oh, Camilla, that is a beautiful dream. But don’t you mean ‘we’ not…” I trailed off.
“You will have a better life,” Anja whispered softly.
“Camilla, y–you don’t mean…” I stammered.
Anja looked at me with a mix of sadness, sorrow, and hope in her eyes, “You’ve always been there for me, Nomeda. And I will always be with you.”
“Camilla, no,” I pleaded, a tear streaming down my face.
“I love you, Mathilda,” she said with a small, weak smile, “I always will.”
And her pale blue eyes closed forever.
A month later, I was told that I was no longer wanted by the Mazeikas. Luckily for me, Domantas was able to find a friend who was willing to adopt me. And not to adopt me for work but as their daughter. The man who was going to be my father came to pick me up on a bright June day. He smiled and said, “Nomeda, right? My name is Lukas.”
He helped me into a wooden wagon dragged by mules. I forced a smile. After living with the Mazeikas, I had grown cold and quiet. Perhaps Leja’s treatment had wounded me emotionally somehow. Especially after the death of Anja.
“Our home isn’t far from here,” Lukas said as we set out. I nodded. Lukas went on to talk about what a beautiful day it was. He also talked about his family. I slouched in the wagon seat while I half-listened to his chattering.
“My wife’s name is Paulina,” he said friendlily, “I have a son, too. He’s about your age. He’s always lonely. I’m sure he’ll be glad to have a sister. His name is Saulius.”
I sat upright and gasped. Saulius? I suddenly remembered what Anja had said.
“What’s wrong?” Lukas asked, startled.
“N–nothing,” I stammered, “never mind.”
My heart raced with excitement.
“How far are we?” I asked.
“It’s just down that turn,” he said, gesturing to where the road splits.
My head was spinning. My heart was pounding. My fingers were fidgeting.
“You excited?” he laughed warmly. I nodded and searched for the house. We took a left turn. Just a few yards away, stood a bright and cheerful house. A woman and a boy stepped out to meet us. The house has a tiny tint of pink. There were colorful patches of paint around the lower part of it. Funny, how someone would paint little sections of their house in different colors. As we approached, however, I realized that they were not blobs of paint on the wall. They were clusters of lilies. There were white, pink, red, orange, and purple lilies. I smiled. Anja was right. A pink house, surrounded by lilies. A brother, two nice parents, and a better life. A better future.
…
It was a sunny spring day in May, 1955. I am now 23 years old. The grass was green and crisp, stretching out as far as I could see. With a lily in hand, I climbed a small hill. The grass swayed in the spring breeze. I stopped at the top of the hill. Over the past ten years, grass had grown on what used to be a pile of dirt which covers the place where Anja lays. I kneeled next to it.
“I missed you,” I sniffled, “I wish you were here. So many things happened. You were right, I was adopted into a new family. The house has a pink tint, just like you said. Different colors of lilies grew around it. If only you were there to see it all.”
I placed the lily on her tomb.
“It’s been ten years,” I whispered, “But I will never forget you. I love you Anja, and I always will.”
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