Mummy, Come Home: The True Story of a Mother Kidnapped and Torn from Her Children

Three days later my second son was born.

Chapter Five (#ufa4a3453-0c84-5275-a7b4-23fcfcc44ac9)

Pavel, known as Pasha, was small, with thick black hair like a cap and huge blue eyes which were so dark they looked almost black. I thought of my father as I looked at him.

‘He’ll need lots of attention,’ the doctor said as he handed him to me. ‘He has slight jaundice but he should be fine.’

I said nothing as I felt the weight of my son in my arms for the first time. Pasha stirred in my arms and I stared down at him as his eyes fluttered open. Tears slid down my cheeks. Somehow I had to find my love for him, forget the sin I had committed in trying to stop him coming into the world and the fierce beatings Sergey had given me as he raged that another child was coming. My baby needed me.

‘I will look after him carefully,’ I said as I looked up at the doctor.

But even though I was filled with tenderness for my new son, life did not get any easier. Pasha was a sickly baby and I felt scared when I changed his nappy for the first time. His skin was thin like paper, his long legs scrawny and, instead of a fat peachy bottom, his was skinny and slight. He was an unsettled baby who spat out my nipple when it was offered even though he was screaming for food and he would cry for hours on end as Sergey shouted.

‘Shut him up! I can’t stand this noise. Why is this bastard child here? Why am I feeding him, giving him a home?’

Pasha was just as I’d feared he would be—I was sure that his weakness came from the way I had once tried to rid myself of him, and I was certain that his cries were filled with grief. How could he be anything other than sick and unhappy after what had happened? It only made me more desperate to care for him and bring him to health and happiness, like Sasha. My older son was nearly two and doing as well as he could in the circumstances. I tried to make sure that he always had enough to eat and milk to drink, and he was growing big. He toddled about the summer kitchen, chatting away and playing. He even managed to charm Sergey out of his rages, though I was grateful he slept through the worst of my husband’s drunken furies.

I knew that Sasha was strong. My great fear for Pasha was that he wouldn’t be able to survive the life we were living. Even while I fed him, dressed him and kept him warm, I suffered agonies of fear that he would die; when he screamed and cried I felt sure he was telling me of his unhappiness and that he could not bear it.

‘Why don’t you just put him into an orphanage?’ Sergey would shout. ‘He’s going to die anyway so you might as well save yourself the trouble of looking after him.’

My relationship with Sergey deteriorated more every day. I despaired that he would ever be able to care for us. There was a glimmer of hope when he got a job as a labourer, earning the few dollars a day we needed for food and clothes; but he lost it after brawling with another worker. We were back to living on what Sergey stole and did not drink. But even a thieving husband and a few dollars for food was better than no husband at all.

One evening, Sergey was sitting at the table, trying to repair an old radio he had found. Sasha was playing at his feet with some of the bits and pieces that Sergey was discarding as he went. I sat as close as I could to the fire, holding Pasha in my arms. I felt more protective of him than ever because earlier that day we had been to see a doctor who’d told us Pasha had a hernia and muscular problems. I’d known my son was weak but was shocked when the doctor told me he should go to an orphanage where he could have an operation and be cared for.

‘But I can’t do that,’ I said. ‘He’s my son. How could I sleep at night if I left him?’

‘Well, it may be better for him if you did.’

I could see his disgust for me in his eyes. What the doctor really wanted to say was: ‘Why have a baby if you can’t look after him?’

I was full of shame, wanting to explain how things had got this way, but I stayed silent.

Now I looked up at Sergey as he played at fixing the radio. What would it achieve if he mended it? Would he sell it for a dollar and give the money to me so I could buy food? I doubted it. I pulled Pasha close, feeling anger rise up inside me.

‘We have to find work,’ I said. ‘The baby is sick. We need money to buy proper milk. You heard what the doctor said. We have to help Pasha become strong.’

Sergey looked at me. ‘I do my best. I find work when I can.’

‘But we have to do more. We need just two or three dollars a day to buy food and if you can’t find work then maybe I can.’

Sergey’s eyes widened. ‘Me?’ he asked. ‘Look after children while you work?’

‘Yes. It’s the only choice we have.’

‘Well, you wouldn’t need to work if we just put Pasha in the orphanage.’

Fury hardened in my stomach. Pasha, Pasha, Pasha…Sergey wanted to blame everything on him.

‘Why can’t you understand?’ I snapped. ‘We all need food and you don’t provide it. What kind of father are you? Look at us. We’re thin, sick.’

‘But I’m always thinking about you, Oxana.’

Suddenly I forgot all the lessons beaten into me by Sergey in the past. I put Pasha down in his basket and stood up to face him. ‘What?’ I screamed. ‘When do you think of anyone but yourself? You spend money on vodka when your own children can’t eat. All you do is drink and steal. You’ll never change. You’re not a man, you can’t even provide for us!’

Sergey’s eyes blazed but I didn’t care as a river of rage washed through me. I couldn’t look after my children properly, Pasha was sick, we were always hungry and I was hated as a thief just like Sergey because I was his wife. His crime was my crime.

‘You’re a joke,’ I laughed. ‘All you can do is hit women because you can’t stand up to men. You’re pathetic’

His hand cracked across my cheek. ‘You fucking bitch,’ he shouted.

‘Oh go on, hit me,’ I screamed back. ‘You can’t hit a man, can you? Come on. Do it. I’m your wife, aren’t I? That’s what I’m here for.’

Still the words didn’t stop as they poured from my mouth.

‘Come on!’ I screamed as tears streaked my cheeks. ‘Do it. Be a man. Show me what you can do.’

Sasha began to cry and hid under the table. I saw his frightened eyes looking out at us and part of me longed for it all to stop so that I could gather him up in my arms and comfort him. But it had all gone too far for that: Sergey and I were both riding high on a torrent of rage and frustration. Miserable in our lives, we could only blame each other for our wretchedness.

‘You are a laughable excuse for a man,’ I spat.

Suddenly Sergey lunged for me and grabbed my hair. ‘I’m going to take your scalp off,’ he shouted. ‘See if I don’t.’

‘So try it,’ I shrieked. ‘You’ll need to cut me. Do you want to cut me?’ We stared at each other as my challenge hung in the air. I wasn’t scared of him. I was sick of the bruises and split lips.

‘Go on,’ I spat. ‘Do it.’

Sergey pulled off his belt—an army belt made of thick leather with a big buckle which he loved—as he pushed me into the corridor, folded it into a strap and lifted it into the air.

‘No!’ I screamed and tried grabbing it from him, kicking my legs into the air, aiming for his groin. Somehow I wrenched the belt into my hand and hit him with it before running out of the front door and into the yard where I grabbed a piece of wood.

‘I’m going to kill you,’ Sergey shouted as he ran after me and I saw a glint of silver in the darkness.

Fear bit my throat. There was a meat knife in his hand. His eyes were dead and lifeless. I had to run. But Sergey caught me by the hair and started dragging me towards the summer kitchen. What had I done? Had I pushed him too far this time? He pulled me into the corridor and I broke free for a second as I tried to get away. But suddenly I felt a searing pain in my back and saw the knife falling through the air beside me. It landed on the floor and dark drops of blood dripped one by one around it. Whose were they?

I drew my hand around to my back and pulled it away to see a crimson stain. I fell onto the floor, crying as my breath came in gulps. Sergey didn’t move as he stood above me, confusion and fear written across his face. I stayed still as I lay on the ground.

‘It’s the last time,’ I screamed as I looked up at him. ‘I’m going to the police.’

But we both knew I wouldn’t. I’d seen it so many times with my parents. I knew the police couldn’t give me a place to live or money to buy food so what was the point in asking for help?

Sergey bent down and put his arms around me. ‘I’m sorry, Oxana,’ he whimpered. ‘I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry. It’s just a cut, don’t worry. I’ll clean it.’

But I said nothing as the courage which had filled my veins drained away like the blood flowing out of the wound. As I looked into Sergey’s eyes, all I could see was darkness. I was his now. He had defeated me. Finally I knew there were no limits to what he would do to me. The knife may have missed its mark tonight but next time it would not.

I wanted to scream as Pasha cried—a high, thin wail he’d been making all day.

‘Sshh,’ I said as I bent down to pick him up out of his cot.