Written with Yakov, journal form
suadade
(noun)
a feeling of longing, melancholy, or nostalgia for a person, place, or thing that is far away from you.
It's snowing again. Winter is especially merciless this year, it seems. It has been stretching on for longer than it's supposed to. Food is scarce, but her stomach isn't very big to begin with. Evgenija eats little to nothing. She's silent at the table whenever we eat, fiddles with her food every time. It's like she's purposefully trying to not be a burden on my supplies. Probably still scared of me, or afraid of upsetting me. I can't blame her - I hardly look at her.
I can't look at Evgenija, I can't bear it. Just a glimpse sends my mind into a whirlpool of memories. Memories I'm not ready to remember yet.
Teddy went looking for him again. I've given up trying to call him back whenever he does a few rounds around the house. That dog really loved him. I don't think Teddy understands that he's not coming back.
He's warming up to her, though. Quite quickly, as well. Just like when I had first found Simeon and brought him out of the deathly grip of the snow. Maybe Teddy can sense something of Simeon inside Evgenija? Something familiar?
I thought Evgenija would fear Teddy. His head reaches her shoulder, after all. But she seems grateful to have something to befriend. Something other than me. I'm intimidating at first meeting, Simeon told me once.
I still struggle to talk to her. I can't meet her gaze.
She laughed today. Evgenija has such a bubbly laugh, as expected of a child. How old did Simeon say she was? I haven't been around children in such a long time, I can't even begin to guess. It just goes to show how disconnected I am from the rest of the world.
Evgenija was laughing at Teddy. He had pounced into a mound of snow. Her cheeks were red, and I realized that she was missing a tooth as well. Baby teeth, I told myself. But I cannot help but compare that smile to Simeon's as well. It still makes my heart twist, thinking of it. He can't be smiling anymore. I can't give myself such useless hope. Yet, seeing Eva smile, it makes me think to that goofy grin he had. And that sad smile just before we parted.
She's asleep now. Teddy is curled up with her. She's so small, it's a miracle she's survived through everything. That bastard Ferdinand - I'll never forgive him. I don't know if I'll ever see him again, but God help him if I do. I'll drag his soul straight to hell myself.
We talked today. At breakfast. It was silent at first, as it always is. We don't eat anything spectacular, but she's never complained, not once. I can't imagine what she's been living off of this whole time - either mere crumbs or expired food that tastes like shit. The diet of a prisoner, I suppose. Even if said prisoner is a little girl. The meals I make probably seem like a feast in comparison.
She asked me if I hate her. I don't think I do. I doubt I do.
How could I hate something so close to Simeon?
I think today was the first time I really looked at Evgenija. I've been afraid these past few weeks, afraid of finally acknowledging her. She has soft blonde hair, lighter than Simeon's. Grown to her shoulders, with large eyes. A round face. She is so similar to him, and yet so different. Like she's made from the same clay, based off the same mold, but the artist shaped her a bit differently.
I think me telling her I don't hate her was a relief to her.
It's been two months, now. It's easier to be around Eva. We talk. She tells me jokes, and I laugh. I've been teaching her how to read more advanced stories. Her education barely scrapes by as a foundation. Eva says I'm a much better teacher - I don't hit her hands when she gets something wrong.
I pity her, though. Our languages are similar, where she speaks Ukrainian and I Russian, but I can only teach her the latter. She has to abandon her mother tongue. Eva tells me not to worry. The way she scrunched her eyebrows when she said that is so much like Simeon.
I can't help it. All I do is worry.
I cried today. Three months after first accepting Eva into my home - we went sledding. She shrieked with joy and giggled and thanked me for the ride. She hugged me. She is so tiny, so frail and thin. When I hugged her back, I was reminded why I was doing this. Why I was watching over this little girl.
She is Simeon's sister. She is all I have left of him.
I cried today, the first time I've cried in a very long time. The only other time I've shed tears was when Simeon left me, gave himself up to save his sister. I miss him. Dammit, I miss him so much. Eva was quiet, but tears rolled down her cheeks, too. She clung to me, and I carried her back to the cabin.
I miss Simeon. But Eva looks so much like him, and yet she's someone completely different.
I'll raise her. Give her a childhood to make up for that what had been taken away from her.