Baba Yaga

Baba Yaga is a character from Eastern European fold lore.  She is an evil crone embodying the worst evils of the forests and marshes of Ukraine and Belarus and appears in all three of my novels, serving a different role in each. 

Ikons

In Ikons: Saint Nicholas the Wonder Worker, Baba Yaga represents the independent spirit of the Belarus inhabitants of the village of Hutava centered in the Pripet Marches.  

Baba Yaga

* * *

As each succeeding invasion washed over the Slavic lands the population of the marsh dwellers increased.  Faced with the terrifying choice of death, enslavement, or flight many Slavs chose flight into the Pripet.  The Pripet's inhospitable environment was refuge for the fugitives and death to the unwary.  Even Vikings and Mongols trembled at the thought of the baba yagi, the ravaging marsh demons that were said to rip the flesh from invading armies leaving only stacks of dried bones.

In the marsh the fugitives remained, built their villages and raised families in a place safe from all things, but nature.  Unconquered and resistive, future generations would never know the yoke of the Tatar or the Mongol, or the whip of the Pole.  In time the inhabitants believed it was they, not the baba yagi that kept the invaders at bay.  They, so the new legends would go, were the marsh demons of the Pripet. 

* * *

Banners

In my second novel Banners: For God, Tsar and Russia, Baba Yaga became the boggeyman.  Kataya used the myth of Baba Yaga to terrify her young nephews, Stepha and Vanya.  In this scene I show the effects of Teta Kataya's stories on the two boys.

Stefa's vision of Baba Yaga

* * *

Boris looked with dismay at Stepha.  His grandson had removed his head wrapping and defiantly stood between Ultia and Vanya.  Suddenly Stepha’s lip began to quiver and tears rolled down his eyes.  “I will not let Baba-Yaga eat Vanya,” cried Stepha.  “The witch cannot have him.”

 
Boris grabbed Stepha and held him.  “How dare you speak to this kind woman like that.  She is a good woman, not Baba-Yaga.  Where do you get these ideas?”  No sooner did Boris ask the question than he knew the answer.  A look of disdain came over his face and he turned toward Kataya.   

“Haven’t these little ones suffered enough without more of your stories?”

* * *

Slogans

In my third novel, Slogans" Our Children, Our Future,   Baba Yaga, serves several different roles.  In the first she characterizes the old woman to whom eight-year-old Stepha delivers cheese and butter.  His first encounter with the woman does not go well.

Baba Yaga's hut on fowl legs

* * *

Stepha parked his cart at the end of the weed-choked lane and started up the path to Rosina's hut with a milk jug and cheese box.  He could still vividly recall the first time his mother had taken him to Rosina's and how he had screamed because he was sure it would be his last day on earth.  He was positive Rosina's hut would rise up on chicken legs, chase him and eat him.  But that was when he was little and didn’t understand.  Now he knew the giant bones lining the pathway were from beasts that had died many, many years ago and were there to frighten evil men, not little boys.  Even the immense tusks forming the arch before Rosina's hut now inspired awe instead of terror. 

* **

Rosina's physical characters gave reason for Stepha to fear her.  It also gave her a cover for the dangerous tasks she would take on.

* * *

Nice is not a word usually used to describe Rosina Ashtakova.  Twenty-five years ago it was true, but now Rosina's appearance was truly that of a baba yaga.  A self-exiled crone, Rosina lived in the forest several versti outside Unkurda.  Her widow's black garb covered a dowager's hump right in keeping with the traditional image of baba yaga.  Add a nose flattened by a prison guard's baton and Rosina was every child's nightmare.  In her prime, however, she was anything but.

* * *

I also used the legend of Baba Yaga to illustrate Akulina's position in the Siberian village.  In this exchange between Akulina and Ultia, the older woman explains why the villagers fear Akulina.  Akulina goes on to explain away her gift, but later admits to experiencing unexplainable events.

* * *

Akulina set the cup down and wiped her hands on her apron.  “I am not peering into God's world, Ultia.  I'm just thinking and the leaves help me concentrate.”

Ultia approached the table and stood beside Akulina.  “Thinking?  Some sayest otherwise.  Some sayest thou art in league with the devil.  Some sayest,” Ultia bent toward Akulina's ear and whispered, “thou art baba yaga.”

“Baba yaga?”  Akulina shook her head, laughed and blessed herself.  “Nyet, Ultia Yauhoraka, I can assure you I'm no baba yaga.  If I had magical powers, do you think I’d be happy toiling here in Unkurda?  I would be living in Moscow or Petrograd selling love-potions to nobles.  No, I am what you see, a simple woman.”  Akulina pointed to the chair next her.  “Sit Ultia Yauhoraka and give me your hand.”

* * *

Later in their discourse, Akulina admits to seemingly psychic powers.

* * *

“So, thou dost see the future.”

“The future is there for everyone to see, Ultia Yauhoraka.”  Akulina choked back her tears.  “Perhaps I'm just foolish enough to look."

* * * 

Baba Yaga and Me

Anyone who has followed my dispatches from the writing front, knows there are parallels in Stepha's and my experiences.  So it is with Baba Yaga.  My Baba Yaga was an old women who lived in a second floor apartment off Jefferson street in Joliet.  Her striking feature was her nose, she had none.  Instead, there was a liver-colored gap between her eyes and two holes for nostrils.  

She would lean out her apartment window and call out to us as we passed by.  "Boys," she yelled in a pronounced nasal tone, "can you help me."  The first time we stopped, we stared at her, then each other.  "Please," she pleaded.

Overcoming our fear we stood beneath her window and nodded.  From that day on, whenever we walked by she called out and lowed a basket with a shopping list and a quarter.  Sometimes she sent us to the bakery and others to the pharmacy.  There was no money other than the quarter.  The shop owners recognized her list, gave us the goods and we returned it to her basket.  She always gave us a quarter, no matter how many of us appeared.  Then one day her window was shut, not to open again.  We never did learn the fate of our Baba Yaga.

Using Personal Experiences

Miss Carol Smith

One of the cool things about writing historical fiction is the chance to use your own experiences in the story.  Case in point, Miss Carol Smith.  Miss Smith is a character appearing in all three of my novels.  She plays a very important role in Ikons and lesser roles in the other other two.  She is introduced in Ikons as Rockdale's school teacher.  Her basis was my third grade teacher at Rockdale Public, Miss Smith.  Other than being a school teacher, I knew very little about her, even her first name.  All I really remember about her is, she was strict.  All business.  From her I built a forceful woman who was not afraid to take on anyone, even a big time banker.

Miss Smith, 1950 (That's me in the stripped shirt.)

"Miss Smith was dressed in a simple gray dress that began with a high, white starched collar and ended just above the ankle of her high button shoes.  Her small, round face was topped by jet-black coiffure in the Gibson girl style.  She walked perfectly erect, shoulders back, head high, with just a suggestion of sway in her bustle.  Massey studied her closely and thought she might even be attractive if she smiled.  However, she did not smile or exchange pleasantries.  She simply acknowledged his promptness and ushered him into the pallor."

Miss Carol Smith as she appears in 1912

Miss Smith's name came from the teachers I knew whose name was Carol.  It sounded good and was easy to remember.  I suppose I could have found out what my teacher's name was, but may have opened me to a libel suit or something like that.  So, Carol it was.  As my saga progressed, Miss Smith took on roles other than a school teacher, becaming an avid supporter of women's suffrage and immigrant rights.

I gave an Ikons talk to a book club made up of retired teachers.  They all enjoyed my strong, teacher character and said they could imagine themselves in her situation.

Villains

How exciting would Silence of the Lambs be without Hannibal Lecter, or the Wizard of Oz without the Wicked Witch?  Not very.  Thus, every story needs villains and so did mine.  I used three men to provide the necessary evil.  Two of them, Leonoid Shoko and Mister Wolford W. Scott,  played rolls in all three novels, while the third, Komisar Lev Bogdanov,  appears only in Slogans.

Leonoid Schoko

"In the inn's far corner deep in the shadows, a dark form sat at a table.  A large, black shapka covered his head and disappeared into black greasy beard.  The man wore the coarse, outer garments of coachmen and for all the world looked like a great bear slumbering in its cave.  Only occasional flecks of firelight reflecting from his eyes betrayed his wakefulness and revealed the intelligence beneath his bestial exterior."

* * *

 Leonoid Schoko is Hutava's boogeyman.  Son of the village whore, he is an outcast.  Thus by the village's culture, Schoko is regulated to the lowest jobs: removing the villager's night dirt, disposing of dead animals, and scaring village children into behaving. But like most villains, Schoko has a secret.

Schoko is a character you can almost feel sorry for.  I came up with his name from a Russian phase my father used to utter, "Shoko mako."  I never quite understood what it meant since he used it in many different circumstances.  Sometime it meant to hurry, as in "Let's go.  Schoko mako," whereas other times he would eye my shoddy labor with disgust, shake his head and mumble, "Schoko mako."  Either way, the word had a nice ring to it.

Leonoid Schoko

Shoko plays important roles in Ikons and Banners.  In Slogans he receives only a cameo appearance.  I originally wanted to give him a larger role, but I felt blaming the villagers' horrors on Shoko let the Soviet government off the hook.

Mister Wolford W. Scott

"The vice-president sat behind a large, hand-rubbed mahogany desk to the left of the stairs.  In front of the desk, forming a barrier to its approach, was a rectangular table with several chairs, all on the side away from the desk.  Mister Wolford W. Scott had placed himself as near to the mezzanine as possible so as to command a view of the entire bank while conducting business.   No one could enter or move about without his notice.  Mister Wolford W. Scott was proud of his bank and even prouder to be its vice-president.  He walked, talked and dressed himself as befitting a man of his station.  To many, he looked like the cartoon of the capitalist banker brought to life."

* * * 

Mister Wolford W. Scott is vice-president of the National Bank of Joliet.  He's a pompous, bigoted man who begrudgingly accepts immigrants as necessary for the Joliet's economy.  But that doesn't mean he has to treat them fairly.  I always refer to Mister Wolford W. Scott as Mister Wolford W. Scott.  I seldom used a pronoun since Mister Wolford W. Scott is extremely proud of his name and relishes the sound of it.  Also by repeating Mister Wolford W. Scott so often, the reader quickly tires of it and learns to dislike Mister Wolford W. Scott and all Mister Wolford W. Scott stands for.  

In Slogans Wolford W. Scott's bigotry turns to paranoia of the Red Scare.  Believing all Russian immigrants are Bolsheviks, Mister Wolford W. Scott turns his wrath against Massey.

Mister Woldford W. Scott

I once read bank presidents and collage deans all had names that could be said backward or forward.  Mister Wolford W. Scott was derived from a co-worker named Scott Wolford.  The fact his last name, Scott, is that of a former girlfriend is mere coincidence.

Komisar Lev M. Bogdanov

 

Komisar Lev M. Bogdanov

"While his father’s prayers for freedom went unheeded, Lev’s supplications were heard.  His salvation came not from an indifferent god, but from those who understood the value of a fine suit of clothes.  Even on the frozen taiga of the Chelyabinsk Oblast, a man must look his best and what more could a minor official wish than a suit made by a Jewish tailor.

Fourteen years after Bloody Sunday and four months after Lenin’s October Revolution, Bogdanov walked through the gate of Labor Camp 482 a free man and the city of Chelyabinsk became home not only to a fine tailor, but also an exceptional chess player and a very dedicated Communist."

* * *

Komisar Bogdanov can't be described as evil.  He is true believer in social reform and that communism is the only way to save mankind.  Bogdanov's problems begin when the villagers of Unkurda do not accept his philosophy with bread and salt.  Like too many reformers, he then treats the villagers as children whom must be shown the proper path.  

After a year of futility, Bogdanov receives orders from the Central Committee to increase production or suffer personal consequences.  He responds with increased zeal.  When his glowing plans are met with indifference and outright hostility, Bogdanov feels population must be weeded for the good of all.

Genealogy and Historic Fiction

If you want to really find out about your family history, write a book based on it.  No sooner is your novel published, than the mist clears and memories return.  "That's not right.  This is what really happened." is the phrase most often heard.  Relatives and friends who feigned forgetfulness about things that happened long ago, suddenly develop razor sharp recall.  I received a call from a woman in Tennessee who let me know two streets in my story did not intersect and Massey was a great wine maker.  The fact that many crystal clear memories conflicted with newspaper reports, census data, and each other did not seem to matter.  But my book is published, thus making my version fact.

As my research progressed, I was amazed by the wake our lives' leave behind.  Thanks to such genealogy sites as Ancestor, Family Search, Find a Grave, and others, I could piece together Massey's life.  No more did I have just the cold facts: birth, death, marriage and children.  With the additional information I obtained I could actually put flesh on his bones.  Ship records of departures and arrival dates, provided the length of his voyage and probable route.  Census records told me when he first arrived in Rockdale he lived in a small  boarding house with six other men.  Draft records showed he and Sam registered together and neither could sign their name and did so in a building they normally would not visit.  His son's baptismal record provided the names of godparents and what I assume were his and Akulina's best friends and two more characters for the story.

Massey's Draft Registration - 1918

One of the best sources for genealogy information is the local library.  Every county library has a room, or perhaps an entire floor, dedicated to family history.  While the census showed the bare facts of Massey's neighbors, their nationality and employment, it was old phone books and business listing that told me where he might have shopped and enjoyed recreation.  Old street maps outlined long gone trolley and interurban lines and newspaper ads gave the cost of food, clothing and entertainment.

Rockdale In Early Twentieth Century

Naturalization papers brought both Massey and my father to life.  Home Land Security sent me 38 pages of documents and interviews.  I heard my 19 year-old father's hesitant replies to the questions thrown at him by the interviewer, and I imagined Massey fidgeting as his son struggled to come up with the right phrases to stay in America.  No more was Massey the grandfather who died when I was five a shadowy figure.  Through his footprints, I know him better than I people who now surround me.

Banners: For God, Tsar and Russia

Banners: For God, Tsar and Russia

Banners: For God, Tsar and Russia was published shortly after Ikons and covers the beginning of the First World War to the Communist Revolution.  Like Ikons, Banners is told from several points of view: Akulina, the single mother war refugee; Sergei, Ribba and Kataya,  members of the Tsar's Army; young Igor, the Bolshevik; and Massey, the immigrant torn between two countries.

Russian soldiers honoring their fallen comrades

Just as I wove Orthodox icons throughout my first book, I used banners to tie together the story of my second.  Whether it is men carrying banners into battle or women displaying pleas for bread, the Russian banner is an important part of the story.  Each chapter is heralded by a quote and, as in Ikons, is printed in the index to entice the buyer.

“We Love Our Motherland”. 1

“Give the Command to Fire”. 5

“Deliver Them from Evil”. 8

“We Only Keep the Best Strain Going”. 11

“The General Is a Very Busy Man”. 13

“From Here You Can Smell the Brimstone”. 16

“The 42^nd Returns”. 19

 

Banners opens where Ikons left off.  An assassination in Serbia sets off a World War and the village of Hutava sends it young men off to battle.  As the war against Austria-Hungary deteriorates, Akulina and her sons are evacuated along with all the villagers from the front lines of Belarus to supposed safety of Siberia.

Cossacks burn Hutava

Hutava villagers leaving for Siberia

Meanwhile, Massey can only follow the horror through newsreels and newspapers.  Emotions run high as immigrants' loyalties are stretched between their homeland and their new life in America.  Many of the prevailing attitudes of the period were gleaned from newspaper accounts.  Both archives of the Dayton Daily News and the Joliet Herald News provided a wealth of information.

Immigrant children showing loyalty to America

Finally the Russian people and army, driven to despair by war and hunger, succumb to Bolshevik promises and form a new government.  When Akulina's oldest son Stefan asks if the terror is over, she tells him it has just begun.

Russian soldiers demanding peace

Dayton newspaper articles from that time ran dispatches from a Cox Newspaper correspondent named Sloan Gordan.  I used much of his work as a Greek Chorus in relating activities along the Russian-Austrian front.  His writings allowed me to place Sergei in the midst of the rout of the Russian Third Army and introduce Kataya to the Women's Shock Battalion.  I read so much of his work, I was able to emulate historical reports he did not originate.  I hope his spirit forgives me.

One of the more interesting articles I found while reading the old newspapers was this one from the Dayton Evening News citing the London Times:

Figures Say War Will End Nov. 11

Paris, July 18  To the Paris Pigate one of its readers had contributed a rather original prognostication in regard to the duration of the present war. The prophecy, which is based on a play with figures, reads like this:

Take the figures of the two years covering the last war with Germany and add them up this way:

1870

1871

------

3741

Of the sum obtained, the first two figures, 3 and 7, make together 10, while the last two, 4 and 1 make 5.  The treaty of peace was signed in Frankfort on the Main on the tenth day of the fifth month, that is May 10. 1871.

Apply the same method to the war now going on.  We then get:

1914

1915

----

3829

Adding 3 and 8 gives 11, and 2 and 9 also make 11.  Consequently, reasons this mathematical soothsayer, the great war will come to an end on the eleventh day of the eleventh month, or November 11, of the present year.

Not a bad prediction.   The only problem was the present year in this case was 1915, not 1918.