Lysa was there to greet us, but it was Dolik Kitai holding on to her rope, not Uncle Roman. Dolik didn’t look me in the eye, but instead stared down at my feet. My bare and dirty feet. He wore sturdy leather boots.
“Why do you have my uncle’s cow?” The words came out more sharply than I intended.
“She was wandering down the road,” he said, kicking a bit of dirt with the toe of his boot. “It was a good thing I was delivering medicine for Mami down this way, or Lysa may have got stolen.”
I took Lysa’s rope and thanked him. Then, with one rope in each hand I turned and led the two cows toward Uncle Roman’s pasture.
“Where is your uncle?” asked Dolik.
“I don’t know,” I said. It wasn’t unusual for Uncle Roman to lose track of time, but to lose track of Lysa? Never. “That’s why I’m going to see if I can find him.”
Dolik caught up with me and took Lysa’s rope back. “Let me help you.”
“Aren’t you worried you’ll get your fancy boots dirty?”
“Why do you have to be so mean, Krystia?” he said. “I’m trying to help you.”
“I’m being mean?”
Two bright red spots formed on Dolik’s cheeks. “It’s not my fault that my parents have more money than your mother. Stop holding it against me.”
Was I jealous of Dolik? I had to admit that I was. But it had nothing to do with his boots or his nice clothing. Every time I saw him with his father, my heart ached. How I wished I could have one more hug from my own father. Tato’s death had blasted a hole into my heart.
I opened my mouth to say something back, but no words came. Worse than that, I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. I brushed my hand across my face and continued walking in silence.
Dolik stomped a metre behind me as we led the cows down the road towards my uncle’s pasture. Strangely, even though Dolik unsettled me, I was grateful for his company. I was getting more worried about what had happened to my uncle.
We tied both cows to a tree to keep them from wandering, then split up so we could check the entire area, calling out Uncle’s name as we went.
The place he most often sat was on a rock at the edge of the pasture. I liked sitting there too, because of the view of the roads and farms. I climbed up onto the rock, shouting Uncle’s name, but he didn’t answer. I turned, looking in all directions. No Uncle Roman. In the distance, I noticed the distinctive blue tile on the roof of Auntie Polina’s farmhouse. She was really an elderly distant cousin, but my sister and I called her Auntie. I had been at that farm when I was little, for a wedding. Most of the land had been taken over by a Soviet commune, but that blue roof never changed.
Dolik met back up with me, his brow creased. “Let’s switch sides and try again.”
About fifteen minutes later he shouted. I spotted him on the rock where I had stood, waving Uncle Roman’s yellow handkerchief like a flag.
I ran over to him.
Uncle Roman lay curled on his side, deep in the brambles behind the rock. I pushed through, ignoring the thorns as they cut into me. The back of his shirt was a wet slick of blood.
Sometimes a shock is so bad that it seems you’re watching your own actions from above. That’s how it was for me. I lay my head on Uncle’s back and begged him to get up.
“I think he’s dead, Krystia,” said Dolik, placing a palm on Uncle’s neck. “Feel how cool he is.”
I didn’t want to believe it, and clung to Uncle Roman’s body, begging him to wake up.
Dolik wrapped his arms around me and gently pried me away. “Take a deep breath.”
I forced myself to think. An image crowded my thoughts. “It was the soldiers.”
“What soldiers?”
“Half a dozen Soviets passed this way,” I said. “And I heard shots, but I thought they were shooting into the air. Why would they shoot an old man looking after his cow?”
“Listen. We need to get the cows home safely,” said Dolik. “But we also need to get your uncle’s body out of here.”
Dolik was right. But I couldn’t think it all through.
“Can you stay here with him?” asked Dolik. “I’ll get help.”
“Go,” I said.
Dolik nodded and left.
Even with Uncle Roman lying dead in front of me, I found it hard to believe that he was truly gone. Poor Borys and Josip and Auntie Iryna — their hearts would be broken. The pain of my own father’s death was still as deep as if it had just happened. And now my cousins and auntie had their own horrible loss. My entire being ached with sorrow.
I looked down at my good skirt and shirt — both now covered with the red of blood and raspberries. I fell to my knees, hugged Uncle Roman and wept.
Chapter Four
A Vat of Soup
July 1, 1941
The day after Uncle Roman’s funeral, I went out to take Krasa to the pasture as usual, but a crowd of people stood in front of our church, hugging each other, laughing and crying. Our neighbour Valentina Zhuk was in the crowd. She noticed me, ran across the road and wrapped me in her arms. “It’s happened,” she said. “Ukraine is free!”
“So the Soviets are truly gone?”
“They are!” she said. “Look at the poster on the church door. It’s a proclamation of statehood for Ukraine, independent of Germany and the Soviet Union.”
I ran back into the house to wake Mama and Maria and tell them the good news. We hugged each other and twirled around the bedroom.
“Let us go tell Auntie Iryna,” said Mama. “This news might cheer her a little.”
Auntie was sitting at her kitchen table, her eyes brimming with tears. “How I wish my dear Roman were still alive to witness this. And that Borys and Josip were here!” She looked up. “I heard all about it on Anya’s hidden wireless. The Ukrainians are broadcasting from the Lviv station. We have our independence!”
By mid-morning, the poster had disappeared and huge German tanks rumbled in from the west. The slave camps, executions, hunger — these were over now. For the first time in my life I was free. I was so excited that I threw flowers in the street. Some of the women made braided rounds of bread to welcome the German Commandant.
I stood in front of our house with Mama and Maria and watched the parade as it passed down St. Olha Street. Across the road, Nathan cheered, while Mr. and Mrs. Segal snapped pictures, just the way they always did. These Germans seemed so scrubbed and orderly compared to the ragtag Soviets. These soldiers brought us coffee and chocolate — far different from the two years of hunger, murder and terror the Soviets had brought us. We were giddy with relief.
They made a big vat of soup in front of our church and invited all of us young people to have some. The lineup snaked down beyond the water pump at the end of our street.
Maria headed for the back of the line because Nathan was waving to her from there. I followed a few steps behind, but Dolik called out from higher up in the line, “Krystia, you can get in here.”
I still felt a bit awkward around Dolik, but since Uncle Roman’s death I had begun to revise my opinion of him. He wasn’t really all that unfriendly and he could be interesting to talk to. I stepped in front of him and Leon, crowded in friendly silence and moving ahead bit by bit.
One soldier stirred the huge pot of soup with a long wooden spoon, and another stood beside him, pouring one ladleful at a time into the outstretched bowls. The Commandant stood off to one side, the metallic SS on his collar glittering as it caught the sun.
Father Andrij stepped out of his house. This was the first time I had seen him since he’d gone into hiding from the Soviets. He walked up to the Commandant and the two men seemed to get into an intense discussion. The Commandant smiled.