Baker & Baby
(Signs of the Times is a work of fiction based on true events. Views expressed are the characters’ own. Viewer discretion is advised.)
The best bakery in Kyiv is quiet. It’s tucked away in a University somewhere toward the west end. There, as the day begins, Gerick loads sheet pans full of raw hand pies into a commercial oven. It is warm in the kitchen. There are no customers yet.
Gerick used to have other bakers in the kitchen. Before the war, he employed young men and women with developmental disabilities. The best bread from the best people. But that’s all changed now.
He moves through the kitchen multitasking. With a flour-covered finger, he traces the line of french pastry dough he’s made hundreds of times. This morning is different, though.
He moves to the proofing bins. He checks the bounceback of the dough with a clean thumb. He depresses the dough and watches the dimple remain. No bounceback. He stares at the dough. He doesn’t know how to move forward.
An alarm sounds on a timer taped to a wall. He rushes to silence it. But as the alarm ceases, he forgets what it was for.
It only takes five more minutes of this before Gerick is standing in front of the closed delivery bay doors. It’s in an alley behind the bakery. He wipes the sweat off of his forehead with the front of his t-shirt.
His phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Brother, it’s me.”
“Are you okay? What’s going on?”
“I am fine.”
“And Inna?”
“She is good.”
“Were you in the basement last night?”
“We were.”
Gerick leans his back against the door. He slides down the wall into a low squat. He watches his breath bloom into clouds in the morning light.
“Any word from mom or dad?”
“Not yet.” A breeze sweeps through the alley. A newspaper tumbles by. A bird catches the breeze and sweeps past Gerick.
“I have some other exciting news, though.”
Gerick knows what his brother is going to say. His throat tightens. His eyes look to the sky.
“Inna is pregnant.”
The sky is perfectly blue. The truest shade of blue. Not a cloud in sight. A beautiful slice of the daylit heavens, framed by Gerick’s bakery and the building next door. Gerick’s world is small. It is beautiful.
“Congratulations,” Gerick says. “I’m so happy for you.”
An alarm sounds in the kitchen. The air raid sirens begin wailing.
“I love you,” Gerick says. “You hear that?”
“What?”
“I said I love you.”
The siren grows louder.
“We have to go, brother.”
“I know. Me too.”
“What?”
Gerick ends the call. Slides his phone into his pocket. Goes into the bakery. Turns the ovens off. Turns the lights off. Goes to the gas main. Twists the valve. Opens the door to a closet. Lifts a hatch in the floor. Stares into the darkness below. Flips a switch. Illumination. Goes through the hatch to the basement. Waits.
