Holy Angels

The smell of burning flesh awoke me to my senses. Lupita was lying on the bed next to mine, her body enveloped in flames. I screamed out her name, but there was no reply. She was dead or passed out; I couldn't tell. Most of the house was gone. Someone called to me. “Anzhela!” It was my brother Olezhka. “Anzhela, Lupita is gone!” He ran to me and took my hand. Tears down my face. I found it hard to leave her.1

Olezhka and I were in a foster home. Our mother, obsessed with angels and holy names, fled Russia for the US when she pregnant with my brother and I. My father had turned on her and threatened her life if she told the police about his drug dealings. She had at first gone on with the deal and helped him out. However, she soon became fed up with it and left him. But even in America, my father wouldn't stop. He hired an assassin to come for her. My mother caught wind of it and taken us to a church. She tried to cleanse herself of everything. I was never told the details but something happened and she killed herself right there in the church. But before she did, our mother named us: Anzhela and Olezhka, 'Angel' and 'Holy.'2

The two of us were put into foster care. And all our lives we lived with a Mexican family in California. Now our house was burnt down. We lived on the wrong side of town. Olezhka had to walk me to school every day, holding my hand, pretending to be my boyfriend so that no one would attack me. The last thing he wanted was to see his little sister getting raped, he said. But he forgets that I am the same age as him, that he was only born a few hours before me.3

But Lupita was like a sister to me. She was my best friend. I told her things that I couldn't even tell my brother, and I told him everything, I never told Olezhka that I'd been raped before. I was thirteen, at the wrong place at the wrong time. But Lupita helped me heal. Lupita was everything to me. Ans now I just stood there, watching her burn.4

Olezhka tugged at my wrist. “Anzhela, come on. We have to go.” I hesitated still. “Now!” he yelled, tugging harder. “Do you want to end up like Lupita?” But my feet were still frozen. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him bend down and the next thing I knew, my brother had me in his arms and he was running as fast as he could. I stared, looking back at the flames. Another timber fell, falling to ashes upon the ground along with the rest of the house. And the fire raged on.5

I opened my eyes to find my back against a wall and my head on my brother's shoulder. “Olezhka,” I shook him awake. “Where are we?”6

“In the church,” he said, staring me in the eye. His cheeks were wet from crying and there were burn marks on his face.7

“A church or the church?” His brown eyes spoke louder than his words could. “Olezhka?” A smile appeared on his face; he knew that I knew. “This is it? The church where Mama left us? H—how do you know?”8

“I just know.” A nun walked by, muttering something I didn't catch. “Sister Ana let us in,” my brother told her.9

An older nun walked by and she and I made eye contact. She gasped and stopped dead in her tracks. “Viktorya Tarasova?”10

I stared blankly and then turned my gaze to Olezhka. We both stared at her in awe. Finally I found my voice. “Anzhela Tarasova and Olezhka Tarasov. Viktorya was—“11

“Your mother,” she nodded. “You have her eyes. I will never forget them. Come,” she beckoned. “Come in out of the hallway.” The nun led us into the church and had us sit down in the pews. “I've been seeing a lot of Viktorya lately.”12

“What do you mean?” Olezhka asked.13

“Out of the corner of my eye, I see her hung by a belt on the ceiling fan.” She point above our heads at an old fan. Every once in a while it creaked as it turned.“It was almost as though she were warning me you'd come.” I imagined that as soon as she had jumped, the fan fell apart. “And I remember seeing her jump down from the rafters seventeen years ago. I screamed out her name, but I was too late. She just looked at me with those same piercing blue eyes, smirking.”14

“Anzhela?” Olezhka called. I averted my gaze to face my brother. “Did you just touch me?”15

I shook my head, too shocked to speak. I pointed behind him. He looked, but he saw nothing. My voice played out only as a whisper. “She's here.”16

My mother's ghost stood close to Olezhka. Her hair was long and dark like my own. She dawned a black dress and a grey coat. And her eyes were as blue as the ocean. Tears fell from my eyes and poured like rain. She walked closer and touched my cheek. I felt my mother's lips against my forehead. 17

When she reached for Olezhka, he trembled at her touch. I grabbed my brother's hand. “It's okay.” I stole a glance at the nun. She only smiled at me and nodded. I stared back at my mother, Viktorya Tarasova. She was beautiful.18

“Did you hear something?” Olezhka asked.19

“Yes,” I smiled, my tears now dry. “It's Mama.”20

She spoke in a think accent. “My children,” she was saying. “Seventeen years is hard without a mother. And for that I am sorry. But I have been there all along. And don't think for a second that I never loved you. I gave my life for yours. He would have killed both of you if he found you.” She turned to me. “Anzhela, your friend is dead, but it's not the end of the world. Olezhka, you've done well in caring for your sister, but you should worry more for yourself. The bottle will only kill you faster.” I looked to my brother, who answered my silent question with a solemn nod. I wasn't the only one to keep secrets. “And one more thing to each of you,” Mama kissed us both once more. “I am always around. Don't forget. Just call my name and I will be there with you.”21

And the hand that once gripped my shoulder had vanished, leaving me feeling as though something was missing. And I cried.