Before the Great Gate

by Heather Sullivan

Katja sensed the morning and woke to see the sunlight peeking between the rough curtains on the window of the plain wooden inn room. The country girl was in her yet, despite Papa's teasing that she would soon be a haughty modern girl of the city. She smiled as she tied her sash and neatened her kerchief; how Papa loved to tease, and laugh that deep rolling laugh of his! Pani Bronska, the old widow at home, used to call it scandalous and say that Piotr doted too much on his daughter, but he would only shake his head and tell her, "She is all I have left now, Bruna." Katja always wondered at Papa when he spoke that way. He was a jolly man, but that tone betrayed a hint of sorrow. No one else seemed to notice, but Katja always heard and hated it. She had resolved long ago to always be "his little Katja"; he must miss Mama very much.

Finishing with the ties on her boots, Katja stepped across the small room to where Papa slept. She touched the mound of blankets to wake him as she had every morning of the past week; he liked to get an early start. But to her surprise, the covers yielded; Papa was not there. Worrying, she packed her small satchel. Perhaps it was late after all, and Papa was waiting downstairs as she lazed in bed -- disgraceful! But just as she tied the little bag closed, the door swung open and his heavy boots pounded the floor as he stepped inside.

"Papa!" she cried, startled. "Where had you gone?" "

"To hitch Fyedke, my little Katja. It is late already, but I did not want to wake you -- you were more tired than you would say." He touched her kerchief-covered hair, then began to collect his own few things.

"But Papa," she continued. "What about our early start? Now we shall have to travel hard all day . . . "

Papa's smile flashed through his thick beard. "No, little Katja. Come outside and see -- we are quite close now." His words sent a tremor of delight through her, and she collected her things and followed Papa downstairs. Through the open door, she could see their small cart standing guarded by Fyedke, the stubbornest mule in all of Ukraine, on the side of the road just in front of the inn. Papa paused briefly to hand a small bag of coins to the innkeeper. The man smiled, nodded at Katja, and wished them luck.

Stepping through the door into the light, Katja blinked. After the darkness of the simple village inn, she was half-blinded by the sun. Papa put his hands on her shoulders and turned her slightly. "Look, Katja," he said, gesturing toward the horizon.

Squinting, Katja beheld a shining gem of a city down the road, near enough to reach in just a short while. "Kiev!" she breathed, taken aback by the sight of it. She had felt such a thrill when Papa told her they would be going there, but as she looked at it, she realized that, even in her imagination, she had painted it too plainly. "Oh Papa -- I had not even dreamed it would be so grand!"

"Yes," he chuckled teasingly. "The only city in Ukraine grand enough to suit my grand Lady Katja. Come, let us go." Taking Fyedke's head, he started down the main village road.

Katja followed Papa, hardly thinking as her feet moved against the dirt road. She could not take her eyes from the horizon. It was a clear day, and the sunshine glittered on the Dnieper as it flowed past the glorious city. How astonishing to a country girl, who has seen nothing but farmhouses and barns and fields of barley in her whole life. Her eyes drank in the skyline, the tall spires of churches reaching towards the heavens. The great walls gleamed in the sun. The road was not empty; rather, it bustled with villagers going about their everyday tasks in the shadow of the city. Katja wondered how anyone could live within the sight of such a great place and not wake each morning with a burning wish to go closer, run to it and drink in all the splendor and beauty it had to offer. How could they eat and sleep and live so ordinarily when the greatest place in all Ukraine was in sight? She scanned their faces, strained to hear their voices, searched for the answer.

Her eyes were caught by the sight of a woman in the doorway of her roadside cottage, sweeping the step. Katja's heart gave a strange beat; Mama had always begun her daily housework in this way. Mama -- oh, how Katja missed her! -- who had left St. Petersburg in Russia to visit friends in the country, met charming young Piotr Kolkhoz, and settled with him on his farm, never to return to the city again. Katja's steps slowed, and she fell behind Papa. The splendor of Kiev, as she beheld it then, reminded her of Mama's exquisite brooch -- her finest piece of jewelry that had symbolized all the richness and wonder of city life to Katja. She had always loved that beautiful jewel with a passionate reverence, had secretly pinned it at the collar of her plain workdress and imagined herself a princess surrounded by all the luxury in the world. It had been sold, along with the rest of Mama's jewelry and all their valuable possessions, when the farm failed. Mama had never spoken of her city life with any sorrow; she had fallen in love with Piotr and the country, and had never missed St. Petersburg. But Katja knew that she would have wept to lose that beautiful brooch. She had not lived to see it sold, though. The woman on the doorstep turned -- oh, if she would only turn a little more, Katja could see her face. She knew the face would be Mama's . . .

Two small children raced through the street, laughing merrily at their play. The younger, a little girl carrying a doll, bumped Katja as she ran past, shaking her from her reverie. Seeing that the child's toy had fallen to the ground, Katja stooped to retrieve it and smiled as she handed it to the little girl. The child beamed and whispered as she accepted her doll, "You are going to the big city?" Katja nodded, thinking the girl must have known her for a stranger to the village. "I wish I could go," the little one murmured. "It is so beautiful!" She gazed wistfully towards the shining walls, brimming with childhood's unmasked hope and imagination.

Katja looked too, and her awe returned. She was herself a child still, and the city's breathtaking beauty stirred the same longing in her. "Yes, it is," she replied, then smoothed the child's hair and got to her feet. Laughing delightedly at their secret agreement, the child ran off again. Katja hurried to catch up with Papa.

Watching her small confidante at play made Katja think of her own dear childhood. The simplicity and joy of her country upbringing clung to her keenly in the shadow of the city. Losing Mama had been a difficult blow, and losing the farm to debts and bad crops had broken Papa's heart, and her own. He had loved it for the happiness it brought him -- Helena his wife, and their little Katja. To Katja, the farm would always mean Papa's great laugh, Mama's smiling face, and her own innocence. Remembering it hurt her heart; how could they leave it, even for the glorious city of Kiev?

Even as she blinked away tears at these thoughts, the bells began to ring in the city. Katja became aware once again of her footsteps, each one bringing her closer to that glimmering place. She gazed at the great white walls as if in a trance, and suddenly realized that they had left the tiny village far behind. They were so close now that the great gate, through which their road would lead them, loomed before them. They were flanked by fields of wildflowers which stretched to the very walls of the city. The breeze ruffled the long hair that fell from her kerchief, and pressed something soft and cool to her cheek. Reaching to feel what it was, she discovered a stray flower had been carried to her by the wind. Touching its pure white petals, her eyes fixed once more on the city . . . the bells rang, their melodies floating on the wind . . . her sad thoughts faded as the allure of that place took hold of her.

Katja felt her rich gown rustle about her, and the flowers rained from above. She was the beautiful and powerful great lady, riding her white horse through the gate of Kiev to meet her bridegroom in the cathedral. The citizens welcomed her in a great cheering crowd, and threw armfuls of flowers from the battlements. Her lord's armed guards stood at attention at the wall, and she paused her horse as she passed through it, surveying all that was to become her new and wonderful existence. The city is hers!

"Katja!" Papa whispered. "Katja, child -- what are you doing? Come along!" Katja felt as if she had opened her eyes from a dream. She stood stock still at the very gate of Kiev, her eyes wide and her hands open, as if to embrace the whole of it, the shining new opportunities it promised. As Papa's voice called her from her fantasy, she saw that a young soldier did indeed guard the gate. She blushed -- how embarrassing that a stranger should see her act so foolishly! What a silly country girl, so astounded and caught up in the sight of a mere city! But the soldier locked Katja's eyes with his own, and for a moment she could almost hear him reassuring her, "It is this way with everyone." Then he grinned at her, tipped his cap to reveal unruly flaxen hair, and with twinkling eyes waved her on. Blushing again, but for slightly different reasons, Katja hugged her satchel to her and hurried through the gate to Kiev.

"I'm sorry, Papa! I was so captured by the loveliness . . . " she gasped. He touched her kerchief-covered head and smiled.

"It's all right, my Katja. You little dreamer -- you always did fall in love with glorious things." Together they looked over the city. "You see hope in its beauty, and perhaps . . . " He turned back and gazed through the gate. Tears rose in his eyes, and Katja knew that he could still see the farm and hear Mama's voice, even more clearly than she.

She had not seen him cry since they left Mama in the small churchyard of their own old village. "Papa?" she questioned, hardly knowing what else to say.

He turned back to her, and his broad smile broke through his tears. "Perhaps we will find our shining future here, after all," he finished, taking her hand in his own. With the other, he urged Fyedke on. Katja held Papa's hand tightly. She knew he was afraid, for she was too; but the beauty of Kiev enveloped her and would let her feel nothing but the bright hope of their new beginning. The bells rang in Kiev, and Katja's heart soared.