Free The Sky Unwashed by Irene Zabytko

Tato
is too tired right now.
Mama
will be back soon. Come to
Baba
.” Tarasyk shook his head no, until Marusia coaxed him with some chewy apple slices she had dried the previous winter. “That’s my baby,” she whispered to the child, who settled down, sucking on the fruit held in his even white baby teeth.
    People in line were joking and talking until their attention was drawn to two
militsioner
dragging Paraskevia Volodymyrivna.
    “Make way, good people,” one of the
militsiia
shouted. As they approached the village center, Paraskevia wrung herself free from her escorts and sat down in the middle of the street.
    Two men in front of Marusia guffawed when they saw the scene. “Oh, oh!” one of them said, pointing to a goat who jumped away from a group of
militsiia
.
    “Her and her goats! They had a hell of a time getting her out of her cellar with those animals,” an old woman declared.
    The crowd laughed and watched three more uniformed men try to corral the goat after it butted one of them in the rear. A woman
militsiiantka
threw rocks at it, which steered the animal back on the dirt road toward its home.
    “Look, they’re hurting the goat,” Katia cried out. “Why are they doing that?”
    “Now behave yourself,
babo!
” one of the
militsioner
yelled at Paraskevia. He and another man helped her roughly to her feet. She spat in his face.
    Marusia darted her way through the crowds close enough to yell out to the old woman. “Paraskevia,” she said. “Please wait with me and my family. They won’t hurt you.”
    Paraskevia did not recognize her friend and shouted wildly, “I’d rather die here. This is my home. My home, you bandits! I have to wait for my son to come back.” The old woman started to cry. “He is the priest. No one else is here for him to come home to. Just me.”
    Marusia heard someone honking a horn. A driver was in one of the buses, waiting for his instructions.
    “All right, get her in first,” a
militsioner
shouted. Two men forcibly lifted the old woman and carried her into the bus.
    “No! No! I want to go home,” she protested.
    Marusia turned away when she saw Paraskevia’s tattered slip hanging out in full view as they hoisted her into the bus.
    “Hey, don’t be so rough on the
babtsia
,” shouted a blond-haired man in a torn T-shirt. His arms were stained with tattoos.
    “You don’t know what a mean old lady she is,” the
militsioner
with the bullhorn answered. He wiped his perspiring face with his wide black tie. “It took four of us to get her out of her cellar, and she had six goats with her.”
    “What a hero!” the tattooed man shouted. “Is that who we have protecting us? Even the old ladies are tougher than our dear little policemen.” Everybody laughed.
    “All right, your attention now,” the
militsioner
brusquely shouted into his bullhorn. “Keep the lines moving. There is room for everyone on these buses.” As he spoke, more drivers in black leather caps strolled leisurely to their buses, sat down in their seats, and waited for their passengers.
    Zosia returned and led her family to another area of the town square where they stood with other groupsof villagers. Suddenly, the pace of the lines picked up and moved faster than Marusia was used to, and she panicked when it was her turn.
    “Wait a minute.” Marusia turned from the bus doors.
    “
Mamo
, come on,” Zosia said, helping her children to climb in while Yurko struggled with the large suitcase.
    “I’ll be right there.” She forfeited her place in line and went up to the officer with the bullhorn. “Excuse me, please . . . I have a cow. . . .”
    “Don’t worry about your stupid animals. I’m so sick of these damn old ladies and their animals. . . .”
    “But my cow was supposed to calve. She might have a problem. . . .”
    “You’ll be compensated. We have to save people first.” He dismissed her with a shove toward the bus. Marusia’s heart sank, and she had half a notion to sneak