I.
Tatiana’s eyes peered into the darkness between her cabin and the outhouse. The orange moon looked down on the woods that stretched for kilometers in all directions, echoing with the distant gurgle of frogs and the coos of night owls, whispers of the wind’s eerie voice. The lamppost had sputtered out its last beam weeks ago. There it sat: an empty shell with no life, a useless lighthouse.
As long as she could remember the darkness had made Tatiana tremble. She looked up at the faint outlines of the trees swaying in the wind against the midnight sky. If only she had a flashlight, she thought. Mustering her courage, she bolted down the sandy path without stopping until she reached the outhouse.
As soon as she finished, she retraced her steps and sprinted back toward the dim light of the cabin. With any luck, the dorm-keeper wouldn’t notice her brief absence—or that she hadn’t stopped to wash her feet tonight… again.
Without a sound Tatiana slipped through the door and passed the other girls, who bustled around as they finished getting ready for sleep. Tatiana slid under her bed covers, rolled to one side, and closed her eyes. Pretend to sleep, she told herself. She had often practiced this tactic.
The dorm-keeper’s voice crackled, “Lights out in five.” Three swift raps on the door made the floor vibrate. “Everyone in bed.”
Hushed giggles turned to whispers. And the room fell silent as the seven other girls settled into their beds. Tatiana knew the quiet meant each one feared the wrath they would incur by disobeying the dorm-keeper’s orders. Silence. Nights were the worst—for darkness and memories.
A scene flashed in Tatiana’s mind: a babushka and a papa. Her Papa. The babushka’s wrinkled fingers grasped the bent brown cane, which clicked on the floor as she ambled around the kitchen and the rest of their small city flat. Tatiana stood on a small wooden chair and helped her babushka peel the potatoes. When Tatiana saw a plate of sausages placed before her, she felt its steam tickle her face, warming her nose and cheeks. And she inhaled the fragrance.
Papa trudged through the door, his face and arms covered with the same black dust that plastered his clothes. He wore a funny orange hat with a light on top. As Babushka scooped borscht into the bowls, Papa scooped Tatiana into his arms. She switched the hat light on and off, off and on. She and Papa laughed.
“Dinner,” called Babushka over the click of her cane, and they assembled around the butter-wrapped bread and hot vegetables. The fried onions especially tasted like home. Tatiana watched the ripples of light that danced on the brown walls as they moved their spoons in and out of the thick red soup. After supper, Papa walked out the door into the night. Babushka would go silent then.
“Time for sleep, dyevochka,” she would say. And Tatiana would rest with dry palms.
But one morning Tatiana saw tears on Babushka’s cheeks. She climbed into Babushka’s lap to wipe them away, but the tears kept sliding down her cheeks.
“Papa won’t be coming home.”
Tatiana scooted down off of Babushka’s lap and ran to the door. She watched and waited. And waited.
Two weeks went by. Papa did not come.
That winter, Babushka got a cough. The cough got deeper and rattled deep inside of her. Her cane clicked less often. Then one night babushka’s cough stopped. Her cane stopped clicking. And Tatiana held her hand.
A stranger came and took Tatiana to a dorm. Other girls her age stayed in the dorm, too, but Tatiana didn’t know any of them. A kind woman showed her where to put her clothes in the box under her bed.
Four school years had come and gone since then.
Another scene flooded into Tatiana’s mind. A darker night. On her way to the outhouse, three older boys jumped out of the forest and grabbed her. She yelped and tried to run, but one caught her mouth as the others caught her arms. While two forced her to the ground and held her down, the third unbuckled his belt. And the trees watched and the wind laughed while the clouds smothered the shining moon.
“If you ever tell anyone, we’ll kill you.”
Stunned, Tatiana had run to the outhouse and thrown up. Tears poured down her cheeks while her whole body shook. She didn’t know how much time passed, but eventually she returned to her room, where another girl asked her where she had been.
“Sick.” She pointed to her stomach and made a face. And the night-light flickered out.
The next morning Tatiana dug through her drawer—down past the three shirts and two pairs of shorts—to find the sweatshirt buried there with her long pants. She determined never to take it off again. And then she took the rusting scissors from a drawer in the dorm-keeper’s office. Tatiana’s thin black hair cut easily. Soon only short wiry strands remained. Her mirror now showed a boy—or at least what looked like a boy—staring back at her.
II.
One day while Tatiana was flying through the air with the chirping brownbirds, she heard a car horn honking at the entrance of the camp. She dismounted the swing set and ran to see. A huge van with a white trailer careened back and forth through the potholes in the dirt road, kicking up a cloud of dust before coming to a stop outside the dining hall. People, suitcases, trunks, and loudspeakers came tumbling out of the van. Some sort of team had arrived at camp.
“The storytellers!” an older girl exclaimed.
Tatiana cocked her head and wondered who they were, what they would do.
“They come to visit sometimes,” said an older girl. “They do skits and crafts and tell all kinds of stories.” Tatiana had never seen them before since this was her first summer to stay at the dorm rather than in the hostel on the other side of the town.
That night the storytellers dressed up in costumes and danced and sang. Grown ups dressed as animals pretending they lived on a boat—how silly they looked! Sitting on the edge of the last bench in the audience with her hands pressed between her knees, Tatiana kept her eyes fixed on the action. She even laughed out loud once before she caught herself.
The next day the storytellers gathered the children into groups for more stories. The visitors unfolded patchwork blankets of blue and yellow, letting them float to the ground. Tatiana and the others clambered onto the blankets and waited to see what would happen next.
One of the lady storytellers, who looked older than Papa, sat at the edge of the blanket near Tatiana. While another woman stood in front of the group and talked about a man who was running away from a king, Tatiana stared into this lady storyteller’s face. Tatiana noticed a few strands of sunlight sneaking between the trees overhead and brushing the woman’s face. Then Tatiana realized the lady storyteller was looking straight at her and smiling. Tatiana jerked her eyes away. Her heart pounded inside of her chest. Tatiana told herself to pretend like nothing happened.
Afterward, the storytellers handed out drawstring bags to decorate. Markers spilled out onto the blanket—flower purple and sky blue, tree green and star yellow, apple red and moon orange. Tatiana’s eyes squinted as she tried to see all of the colors at once. Her fingers moved from color to color before wrapping around brown. The cap clicked off, and she drew a butterfly on her bag. Butterflies could fly. They flew to bright flowers, with gossamer wings glistening.
That night the storytellers came to the girls’ room before the lights went out. They brought crackers and talked to the children.
A bold thought jumped into Tatiana’s mind. The lady storyteller—the one who had smiled—had a cell phone in her pocket. Tatiana knew most cell phones had lights. Would the storyteller walk along with Tatiana to the outhouse, she wondered. Her heart pounded inside of her.
Having mustered her courage, Tatiana darted to the storyteller and pointed at the phone. The lady didn’t speak her language, but Tatiana pulled her toward the door. The lady looked confused, but she came anyway. She turned back to look at the other girls who were sitting on the floor, but when she looked back into Tatiana’s face, Tatiana hoped the woman could see the desperation.
Tatiana opened the door, tugged the lady’s arm, and pointed toward the outhouse. Then she pointed to the phone. And she made a fist and moved it around as if using a flashlight. The lady finally understood. She turned on the light, and the two walked down the sandy path. Despite the pounding in her chest, Tatiana felt bold. She heard the older kids running through the forest, but they wouldn’t do anything to a grown up from another country.
The lady waited outside, but Tatiana felt safe.
On the way back, Tatiana led the lady to the faucet, which surged to life like a rocket ship. For once Tatiana could take the time to wash her feet. She clutched the lady’s hand as they walked back to the dorm. Once there, the lady tucked her in like Babushka used to do. Then the storyteller closed her eyes and spoke in a language Tatiana couldn’t understand. But her folded hands told Tatiana she was praying. After the lady left, for the first time since Babushka’s cough went silent, Tatiana rolled over, closed her eyes, and fell straight to sleep.
III.
The storytellers stayed at camp for many days and nights, showing pictures of people in ancient clothing and doing skits and bringing crafts. Then one night they explained that the next day they would leave. But before they did, they would have a special store where the girls and boys could come pick toys. Tatiana’s fingers wiggled as she wondered what she might find there.
All morning she tapped her feet and watched the clock. She waited in line. She tried to see inside the covered windows of the small room they had made into the store. Her fingers couldn’t stay still. And finally she entered the shop with one of the storytellers. This storyteller spoke Tatiana’s language and led her around the room, showing her all of the options. Tatiana had never seen so many delights in one room. Stuffed animals and coloring books and sports balls and toy cars. Tatiana picked out some markers and a small tablet—so she could tell her own stories. The storyteller added socks and a toothbrush to Tatiana’s basket.
Then Tatiana saw it.
Shiny silver. Fifteen centimeters long. The hard plastic shell surrounding the batteries. On the carpet beneath the stuffed animals lay a flashlight.
Tatiana’s hands trembled as she lifted it up to her eyes. Her thumb clicked the button, and a fluorescent orange puddle leaked onto the floor below. She had made her selection, so she started putting all of her other toys back where she found them.
But the storyteller stopped her. “You can keep all of them—and the flashlight, too!”
Clutching it to her chest, Tatiana closed her eyes as she felt tears sliding down her cheeks.
The storyteller gave her a hug and helped her put all of her treasures into a box.
Head bowed, Tatiana emerged from the room grasping her box.
The moon had found her light.