Buffalo Seminary - Seminaria Yearbook (Buffalo, NY)

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Z0 SEMINARIA 1942 Pomieshchik gave it to my mother. In the old country the samovar is-how you say-- she paused. A symbol? gently prompted Miss Snow. Marusza nodded. In brass, in copper, in those things are made the samovar. But not one in my village was so. She gently traced the intricate silver design inlaid in the brass. Samovars are so- her hands described straight sides. No one but mine is so- her worn palms passed caressingly over the urnfshaped sides of her treasure. A tear trickled down her cheek and she sighed. But that is in the old country. Here the samovar is no thing--not any. Here no one need samovar. No one use charcoal-tum on stove. So I think to give my samovar to Kati-but she laugh. Marusza shrugged her shoulders and smiled apologetically at the woman across the desk. So, Miss Snowfdear, it is my thing. My Casimir's son Alex, he is in the army camp. My son Dimitri, he works hard and his daughter Anna, she works hard too. But me-I do nothing. I want to do! Sol say 'Marusza, you take the samovar to Khazyalka and she will get money from the man and you can pay for bond !' Unnerstan'? But you are giving your family to our country. You need not sell your most valuable possession. What is this 'most valuable possession'? Miss Snow explained and Marusza shook her head. She stood looking thought' fully at the exquisitely wrought, old, brass samovar, polished and gleaming- a perfect museum treasure the man had said. But she didn't see the samovar-she saw the bearded face of her husband, Ivan Peteroff, and heard his voice just as it was when he left her alone in a strange land. I leave us, Marusza, you and our children. But there is no need to fret. We have had a good life and here in America you are safe. There is food and warmth for all, there is opportunity to learn, and work for our children and theirs-and for each man his soul's own God. Ivan was gone. Now the samovar must go-the Russian samovar that would buy an American bond, a bond to keep the safety, the warmth and plenty, the opportunity-and God, Marusza shook her head again-this time definitely and firmly. My samovar is not-my most valuable possession, Khazyalka. I sell my samovar! GLOSSARY Vonmmv--water-sprite IcoN-a holy picture BA'roosKA-father, priest Pomnzsi-icnnc-land owner, lord Brsitms-a party KHAZYALKA-lady, mistress LETT-a state of old Russia MARY'LOU Hovicms '42

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SEMINARIA 194gWMA ig gr- IQ the many dreams she had seen born in her kitzhen when she and Ivan had lived on 6th Street and her children were young. All those bo, s-Michael and Tim Hurley, and Colin O'Brien's father-the first Colin, the Urbanski boys and the shy dark Phillip who ached so much to be a doctor. All su:h big things those boys had wanted. And Tim had his gas station and Phillip was a doctor-a fine doctor, and her own sons, Casimir whose son was in the army, and Dimitri who was a foreman at the factory-how far they had gone! Mad dreams-which she had seen come true before her wondering eyes. Marusza paused to shift her burden to the other hip, and slowly climbed the steps of the settlement house. How pretty it was. All the hallways trimmed with red paper hearts for the Valentine dance. Kati had a new dress for the party. That was good- irls-all girls-American girls or Lett girls-should have retty dresses for Iuesiias. Soon-too soon, one was too old for the gayety of hcsidas-the whirl of a mursurka and the musi: of concertina and balalacka. Now music was radio. It was keen or smooth or l.ot. Marusza walked to a door whizh stood ajar and knocked- Come in. She entered the large office where a pleasant white'haired woman sat behind a desk and a young gir worked at a typewriter. Mrs Peteroffh how nice to see you. Come in, come in and sit down here. How are you? GoodH-thank you. I stand! I stay one minute. I bring this. Will you get the much money from the man-the man please, you know?' The old woman spoke slowly and carefully. To her, English would always be a foreign tongue. She placed the package on the desk and unwrapped it. ' Mrs, Peteroff-your samovar! Why do you want to sell it-now? Your family are all well and working? Marusza nodded. But I don't understand, said the woman gently, and a perplexed frown touched her brow. Five or six years ago when you really needed the money badly you refused to part with it-and now- Miss Snow paused and looked into Marusza Peterolf's worried eyes. The man-he still buy-no? she asked quickly. Oh yes, I'm sure he still wants it. It's very beautiful-the most unusual one I've ever seen. And Russian antique brass brings a very good price. But are you sure you want to part with it? Yes, please. ' Will you tell me why? The Russian woman stood for some seconds in silence. There was a quiet dignity about the still figure in the black shawl, the dark eyes fixed on the gleaming samovar. The samovar-it is my own thing. From the old country I bring no things but the Icons and my samovar. In my village there is not one like it. The

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UiMlNf'L1?,IA L9 ff? W Failure PRIZE POEM I clutched at moss and scraped at stone to climb An ancient wall. The fragrant smoking pine Seeped through the moldy cracks to lure My frantic footfsteps on. A gentle whir Of robin's wings enticed my eager soul. My grasping hands now felt the harsh rock smoothed With spicy grass, like beaver's fur, dewfcooled Atop the wall. Soon every woodsy cone And fat brown mushroom would be mine. The beat Of fairy drums made me forget my goal. These elhn throbbing notes swelled clouds and stars With siren's song. Upward I stretched my arms To catch their brilliance. Falling to earth, I Poured forth my painful words against the sky Which set the silver bell of dreams aftoll. RUTH Fowuza, '42 fr lf MF W 53 ' - X 2 P N A5 ' . , XXX Q sxrfxa xl tix V 3 J V X I 'A 1 N I gag