Mother Tongue

Julie Mayhew - 20 Jul 16

This is an extract from Julie Mayhew’s book  ‘Mother Tongue’ which will be released August 25th and is published by Hot Key Books.

I’m going to speak to you in Russian. If I speak in English, I won’t know enough words. In the language of home, I know too many.

I got up early that day – neither light nor dawn. Word had spread the night before that the Day of Knowledge ceremony would begin one hour earlier than expected. I took the call. Everyone knew to speak to me, and not Mama. They had forgotten that I was Nika’s sister. Afterwards, they remembered. Afterwards, it was an important distinction. I became a child again then, not a mother, so what would I know about pain?

My alarm went off and the moment that it did Nika was jumping on my bed. We shared a room. In that way we were like sisters. On one side: Nika’s Barbie dolls, an alphabet poster, a mug of coloured pens. On my side: stacks of Elle Girl and Oops! magazine, a basket of stubby make-up. I had my latest collection of books from Yelena across the hall, not yet explored. I was hoping for more tales of romance but could see at least one dystopia in the pile. Nika stopped jumping – dropped the whole weight of her warm body on top of me. I pulled her close, squeezed a breath from her, then let her go. Today, I thought, in one small sense, is the day I can let her go.

Nika and I had been looking forward to the first day of school all summer. For different reasons. Nika said hers out loud, mine were kept wrapped in paper. I was her protector and that meant saving her from the ugliest of my thoughts too. I am drowning, Nika, my mind cried, I am so desperate for someone to share the weight of you. I was ready for that day, you understand. My little sister had been my responsibility for a long time. But, please, also understand that I loved her with all my heart. I loved her more than anything else in the world. More than my brothers. More than Papa. More than Mama. But when she started school, I would have some time to myself during the day. Time to work out what I was going to do with the rest of my life. The thing we did agree on, the thing that we could both say aloud, was that July and August needed to hurry up and end. Those months were there only to infuriate us and keep September out of reach.

Nika was giggling, chattering, full of energy. She kept saying that she had woken up ‘bigger’.

‘I am older today,’ she said, as if someone had cast a spell overnight. Or removed one, perhaps. I knew that this could happen, because it had already. To me. When newborn Nika came home from the hospital but Mama stayed – abracadabra! A fizz and a pouf! – I became older. But there was no change in Nika that I could see – long, black hair, a buttery scent to her skin, a tilt to her head that meant one of her beautiful eyes was always ready to pin you down and make you do as she asked. Still a baby-girl though. She had Zaychik in her hand as she bounced about on my mattress that morning. Little bunny had come home with her from the hospital in lieu of Mama. It had been there from the start. Patches of its fur were worn away with love.

Julie Mayhew

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