ZOYA'S GIFT: THE STORY

 

As a child growing up during the Cold War, Gail McCormick dreamed of building a human bridge of peace between the U.S. and the Soviet Union. The nuclear explosion of Chernobyl sparked to life that dormant dream and blew open a door.

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Through that unexpected portal, beguiling eight-year-old Ukrainian twin sisters in need of summer reprieves from radiation exposure arrive in Seattle. Gail and her husband host the Russian-speaking Children of Chernobyl in their home, where seeds are planted for a deep relationship and a new legacy takes root.

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The twins’ arrival coincides with a dark period in McCormick’s life when she is challenged by living with an environmental illness and devastated by the realization that she will never bear children. Soon she discovers that Mystery is conspiring to bend the arc of her life in a new, soul-satisfying direction she couldn’t have planned. When the twins are eighteen, Gail must uproot deeply embedded Cold War fears to reunite with the girls and meet their family of Chernobyl survivors in Ukraine and Belarus. On this soul-making journey to storied cities and villages from Kyiv to Minsk and beyond, she embraces her role as the honorary mother and babushka of a global family that can’t be broken by politics or war.

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Written with humor, gravity, and hope, this heartwarming story illuminates the joys, complexities, and healing power of reaching across the divides that separate us from most others.

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Zoya’s Gift pays homage to the people of Chernobyl and to women without children who mother the world. It is a testament to the courage of those who live with the staggering impact of environmental dangers hidden in our air, food, water, and homes. It is a tribute to the potential that abounds in the wake of destruction.

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EXCERPTS

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With infinitesimal bits of native earth and air still clinging to their shoes, their skin, their breath, the twins perfumed the room with an intoxicating elixir. Their voices called into the room the soul of Ukraine, transporting our friend Ella and her guests back to their villages. Feasting on the tumble of memories triggered by the girls and their ballads, the immigrants recaptured the joys and agonies of former Soviet lives.

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At long last, I was standing in the heart of the former USSR. Ivan hefted a shiny green accordion onto his lap. Quiet fell among us as an ancient voice spilled from the bellows. Achingly beautiful, the music invoked the spirits of ancestors. Their lamentations poured out like healing water as every member of the family joined in singing. As the sea of pasture, fields and forest grew darker, the arc of light from a bare bulb hung from a tree created an aura around our island of souls. I looked from face to face and saw the shine of unshed tears. I thought about my own losses: My brother’s death. The family and roots I’d left behind when I decided to move west. The children and grandchildren I would never have. The toll chemicals had taken on my health.

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We were on the train, chugging across the underbelly of Kiev, when the twins slipped into our compartment. Vika closed the old wooden door and turned to us. “When we stop at border, say you have five hundred dollars,” she said. Her statement set my nerves on fire. I was not prepared for this conversation.

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“We’re not going to lie!” I blurted.

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To my horror, Mike suddenly began slipping money between the pages of his book. I feared it could lead to our arrest when we reached the Belarusian border in the middle of the night, in a dark forest near Chernobyl.