Free Letters from Yelena by Guy Mankowski Page A

were interrupted. Suddenly, and to the shock of even Inessa, Bruna gripped the pillow and wrapped it around my sister’s
little head.
    ‘Bruna!’ I screamed. Barely able to believe what was happening. I ran over to Inessa, whose legs were kicking from under the sheets, her young body trying to scream in protest. Bruna
quickly adjusted her body so Inessa couldn’t wriggle free, breathe or even move. ‘Back on your bed.’ she said, her voice rising.
    I couldn’t help it. I ran over to Bruna and threw myself around her shoulders, but with one swift swat she snapped me back against the wall. I hit my head on the doorframe, and fell to the
floor, stunned. I can’t remember how long I remained like that, pulsing and yet immobile. I remember from that position seeing only Bruna’s great shoulders and bowed head, and as I
struggled to compose myself I saw that Inessa’s feet had suddenly stopped moving.
    I screamed. Bruna got up. Inessa lay still. I realised I had no idea how long I had been lying there for, trying to get my stupid head together while my sister squirmed and tried to cry out. At
every moment Bruna’s shoulders had seemed to become wider and stronger, like she was a woman possessed.
    This time Bruna didn’t seem to object to the scream. Perhaps even she sensed that she had gone too far. ‘Get back into bed, you stupid girl,’ she said, pointing me rather
half-heartedly towards my messy sheets. ‘She’s just fainted.’ And with that she slowly made her way to the door, unlocked it, and moved back outside. I could hear my father
shuffling around his desk and Bruna’s plaintive, reassuring voice coming into play.
    Neither my father, nor Bruna, ever came in to check on Inessa. As soon as Bruna was gone I rushed over to her, pushed the pillow from her face and pulled her into my arms. Those moments seemed
to last an eternity. She is dead, I remember thinking. And it’s my fault.
    She seemed so small and helpless, and I couldn’t imagine how she must have felt as she suffocated. It was my job to protect her from this. At that moment, my self-loathing was so strong I
could nearly taste it. And then, one long minute later, Inessa coughed and her thin body squirmed back to life. As I tried to ease her shaking body back into the sheets, she didn’t say a
word. Neither of us did. I knew her bed had now become a prison for her. I am sure the two of us stayed awake for every moment of that night. Both in utter silence.
    The next morning, Inessa and I remained mute. My father went to work, early as usual, and Bruna remained silent and quietly disdainful. She didn’t react when she saw Inessa the next day,
only pausing to order us to get dressed. Any reaction I had hoped I might see in her, relief perhaps, never materialised. Sometimes, the most powerful act can be no act at all, and sadly it was
Bruna who taught me that.
    From that moment on Inessa and I fell completely in line with Bruna’s desires. Through our childish logic, I think we both reasoned that no harm could come of either of us if we simply did
exactly what she asked. I was not to know that she wasn’t acting out of a strong desire for order, that there was something deeper hidden inside her. Consequently, our obedience acted merely
to delay her next violent act, not prevent it. Painfully, in retrospect it all makes sense. But then my mind simply could not grow and advance fast enough to counteract her.
    In the nights that followed I lay stock-still in bed, in a faithful replication of Inessa’s rigid position. The difficulty was that there would always be times when Inessa and I had to
make some noise. However, I was determined that the noise would never come from me. Whenever I was tempted to get up, or speak, or even move around in bed, I only had to look over at my sister to
remind myself of what I had to lose.
    One night, I was foolish enough not to go to the toilet before bed, and rather than move at night, I wet the bed. I