Days of the Past

“Katharine, could you please get dressed first and then help your sister? You know Anna needs your help.”
Katharine nodded silently, dressed herself without a word, and obediently walked into her sister’s room. Anna Andreyevna Ivanova, who had already awakened, smiled and held out her hand to her little sister. “Dear Katharine, help me pick out a dress that will make me look as lovely as you.”

A bitter taste filled Katharine’s mouth. She knew Anna was only joking. She herself could only wear those protective garments whose sole purpose was to shield, not to adorn. She had no right to choose her clothing, just as God, when casting trials upon the world, did not carefully select His list of names—He always forgot to cross out the young.

Today was Sunday. As usual, Katharine would accompany her Orthodox parents and her sister to church for the gathering. Though she was baptized from infancy and outwardly professed her faith in God, her already tepid belief had wavered ever since her sister fell ill.

God cared nothing for the suffering of the world. If He truly felt compassion for humankind, why did those of purest faith still endure the deepest suffering?

“May the Lord grant His mercy.” The priest bowed, making the sign of the cross over his chest, then began to converse with Lyudmila Vitalyevna Ivanova and Andrei Khoroshevnich Ivanov. He had long been impressed by this couple who came every week—not because of their diligence, which many others shared, but because their petition, week after week for years, never changed. They only wished for God to help their eldest daughter escape her pain.

Katharine stood behind her sister Anna, her hands pressing down on the metallic custom wheelchair. Though it was much heavier than a regular one, she always insisted that as long as she was present, she would be the one to push it. It was not just a gesture of respect for Anna; she needed this act as a kind of solace, a private form of atonement.

“Katharine, I’d like to go over there.” Anna looked back at her gently. The organ was playing in the church. Katharine did not care for its sound, but her sister loved it. Unlike other gravely ill souls, who were full of resentment, Anna always cherished life. A song, a perfectly shaped fallen leaf—both were enough to make her pause in her journey. Katharine nodded and wheeled her sister toward the music.

After they left the church, Katharine noticed her mother’s reddened eyes but said nothing. Her usually stern father suddenly suggested they visit the mall. Anna smiled and agreed, and Katharine pushed the wheelchair inside.

“Anna, what do you think of this accordion? If you played it, I’m certain everyone would call you the most beautiful angel they’ve ever seen.”

“I would be happy to play for you, my dearest mother.”

“So it’s settled, then?” Andrei smiled at his eldest daughter, though his heart sighed deeply. She should have been the princess in everyone’s heart, but fate consigned her to a wheelchair. Perhaps the Lord loved this fragrant apple too much.

Katharine disliked complicated musical instruments. Once inside the mall, her gaze often drifted to the mechanical clocks on display. She preferred those pure, precise dials that moved predictably—everything orderly, everything as expected.

After making their circuit, they bought only the accordion.

“Papa, how much did the accordion cost?” Anna asked, though she loved it, knowing the family was not well-off.

Andrei hesitated. He knew his daughter, just fifteen, always thought of their family, so sweet and considerate it hurt. At last, he gave her only a third of the real price.

As they prepared to leave, Anna took Katharine’s hand. “We haven’t bought Katharine’s gift yet.”

Angelina bit her lip. Perhaps she should give up her vacation days with Anna and work more overtime. But she betrayed no emotion, only looked gently at Katharine. “Of course. Katharine, what would you like?”

They stopped, watching Katharine, who hung her head. Katharine hated this atmosphere. She shook her head silently.

Andrei patted her head. “If you think of something, tell me. Next time, I’ll bring you to buy it.”

They walked on. The ticking of the clock hands moved beneath blue crystal, and many years passed, yet no one ever bought time itself.

“Mama, I’m going to a party tonight,” Katharine said. She had not refused her friend’s invitation; she cherished her friends, few as they were.

“Be safe.” Angelina watched Katharine put on her evening dress. Her heart ached a little, for there was already a girl of age in this family, one who should have attended such parties. With a smile, she saw Katharine off, then climbed the stairs.

The party was lively, but Katharine felt out of place. Her striking beauty made timid boys watch from afar, while her cool demeanor led the braver ones to think she was unapproachable.

In the midst of the shimmering crowd, the lonely girl was as quiet as the half-finished glass of juice she never touched. She didn’t understand why she was here. In three years, she’d never truly interacted with these so-called classmates; they were always strangers. What was the point of this farewell party?

Katharine gazed at the dazzling lights overhead. Her pupils seemed to hold a shard of blue crystal, glimmering with a cool, ethereal light. The chandelier’s glow tinged her doll-like features with a delicate blush, her porcelain skin setting off her golden hair, which shimmered like the auroras or the Milky Way itself.

For the first time, she felt a desperate urge to escape. So, just as the corpulent principal began to read her name from the script, she walked calmly toward the exit, cutting through the crowd as if no one else existed. Her steps were light and graceful. No one believed she was truly leaving—surely, they thought, she had some other, more important task that only she could do.

It was not until she saw the lighted window of her home that her inner turmoil eased. She was eager to ask her sister why everything was as it was, why she wore the evening dress tonight, when surely everyone should live for themselves. Please, tell her how those who are guilty are to find the meaning of living.

Entering that gentle room, Katharine shed the ornate yet constricting gown, left only in her thin blouse, and handed the dress—never truly hers—to her sister. “Thank you.”

Anna caressed the soft, delicate ruffles and skirt made of satin, taffeta, and sheer chiffon, doing her best to hide her sadness. She smiled. “Did you have a good time?”

Katharine, now in pajamas, shook her head. “No one spoke to me except for a few boys pretending to be mature.”

Anna said nothing, only smiled and opened her arms. Katharine hesitated, then leaned into her sister’s embrace.

Anna gently stroked her silky hair. “My silly little sister, none of this is your fault.”

“Then why?” Katharine asked, comforted by the familiar scent, but still lost in her confusion and doubt.

“The most beautiful flowers are not always those the world dares to pick.” Anna kissed her forehead and whispered, “Put the dress back in the closet—your closet. It belongs to you.”

Katharine did not see the lingering sorrow in Anna’s eyes, thinking her sister was only trying to comfort her. But after that embrace, she no longer had the courage to ask her questions.

The next day, while Anna practiced the accordion upstairs, Angelina spoke with Katharine.

“You shouldn’t have slept with your sister last night,” Angelina sighed.

“But I’ve always shared a bed with her,” Katharine didn’t understand her mother’s meaning.

“Katharine, you’re too selfish.”

“What did I do wrong?”

“You know your sister could never accept an invitation to a gathering. You should have avoided her last night.”

Katharine fell silent. She had only attended a party—if she was at fault, it was not for that. In some ways, she had always envied her sister. Everyone cared for Anna, while after her first party, only her sister asked how she had felt.

“Katharine, Mama loves you too. Don’t disappoint me, all right?”

Katharine nodded, never looking up as her mother left. She had always known she was not her parents’ favorite, but she had believed they loved her.

Balls, dresses, friends—these things were unreachable for her sister, forbidden by their mother as reminders of Anna’s limits. But she didn’t understand that all beauty is a taboo for the broken.

Time blurred her memories. Katharine no longer remembered the details of those days she tried not to think about. Now, her only recollection was the girl who forced a smile through her pain on the hospital bed. Katharine had been accepted to the best high school in the city, but Anna’s illness had grown so severe that she could not leave the hospital, heavy with the scent of antiseptic.

Every day after school, Katharine visited her. She hoped this would make Anna better, though she’d seen her mother cry in the corridor and her father smoke through a whole pack after every visit. Katharine began to pray to God, even going to church of her own accord, not with faith but with desperate supplication. She only wanted to see her sister come home.

One evening after rain, as the air was thick with the earthy scent of damp soil, Katharine finished reading the last line of a novel to her sister in the hospital. “But now my life, my entire life, whatever may come my way, will never again be meaningless as before. Instead, it is imbued with an indisputable goodness, and I have the right to fill my life with that meaning.”

She glanced at the drooping hands of the clock, took her black umbrella from the corner stand, and was about to leave when her sister’s voice stopped her.

“Katharine, I want to talk with you for a while.” Anna’s voice was gentle, her gaze filled with something fragile that words could never describe.

Katharine sat silently by her side, thinking Anna must be afraid of the empty room and deciding to delay her departure.

“I want to apologize,” Anna said, catching Katharine off guard. She looked at her pale and frail sister in confusion.

“I’m sorry I haven’t fulfilled my duties as your big sister all these years.” Anna opened her arms, her eyes as gentle as ever, and stroked Katharine’s trembling back.

Katharine hugged her, tears streaming down her cheeks. “No, Anna, I’m so grateful you’re my sister.”

“And I’m grateful you’re my little sister. That must be the greatest gift the Lord gave me.” Anna patted the trembling girl, just as she had soothed her long ago when she fell and cried. Softly, she began to hum the lullaby that had filled every night of Katharine’s childhood.

Sleep, sleep little hedgehogs,
Little mice, and little bears.
All, all are asleep until dawn.
Only the green carriage
Rushes, rushes through the sky
In the silver quiet of night.
Six fiery horses
With scarlet and green hats
Gallop across the sleeping earth,
With a black carriage behind.
You cannot catch up with this carriage—
Because spring is inside.
Sleep, sleep, sleep little bears,
Little hedgehogs, little mice, and children.
In the quietest, earliest hour
The sound of hooves will wake you.
Just look out the window—
Spring is at your door.

When Anna finished, Katharine still sobbed, clutching those pale but warm hands. “Please don’t leave me, Anna.”

Anna stroked Katharine’s hair, slowly leaning against her. Her voice was calm and gentle. “I want to go home.”

“Dust returns to the earth, and the spirit returns to God who gave it. May she rest forever in His embrace.”
The priest, clad in black, recited the eulogy. Katharine stared blankly at her sister, who lay in the coffin as if merely sleeping. Her mother wept uncontrollably in her father’s arms. The church bells tolled endlessly. It rained a little that day.

After that, Katharine never saw her parents smile again. She studied hard, winning every scholarship and gaining admission to Moscow State University. Even so, her mother could only force a smile and touch her hair.

Sometimes, Katharine would go alone to her sister’s grave, lay a bouquet of Anna’s favorite flowers, and say nothing until the sunset yielded to the stars. Then she would return to that silent home.

More than once, she wished it had been her lying there. Then they could have been a complete family; everyone could have lived happily.

Later she met many people, attended many parties, but never again wore the evening dress that still hung in her closet.

The only person who had ever truly loved her now slept beneath the earth. It had been so long since she’d felt love without reason. She missed the girl who had once reached out her arms to her.

She missed her deeply.