Our boys launched the stones as if they were firing rockets, straight and true. Volodimir was right at the front and was our best thrower. He had big broad shoulders and was built solid like a barn. He hit a couple of the Moscali boys, one square on the chest and the other on his arm. They both scrambled away.
The Moscali boys scattered and tried to regroup. Some carried on throwing at us, but stones were flying through the air at them non-stop. They couldn’t cope.
The battle raged and, amid the hail of stones, two of the older boys in our group reached inside their jackets and pulled out sawn-off shotguns. The boys throwing stones at the front stepped aside. Those holding the shotguns stepped through the gap and took aim in the general direction of the Moscali. They fired. We covered our ears as the twin blast of the sawn-off shotguns echoed all around us. Two arcs of fire flashed over the heads of the Moscali. They all threw themselves onto the ground, and then ran like rabbits as wisps of gun smoke hung in the air. They fled. Back where they came from.
We all jumped and cheered as they retreated back down the road, until they just looked like a swarm of flies in the distance. We wiped the sweat off our brows with our sleeves or with our shirts as we walked back into the village. Our heads were high and we smiled and joked with each other. The evening sun beat down on us. The older boys lit cigarettes and each bragged about how many Moscali he had hit. I enjoyed listening to their talk. It was a victory for all of us. It lifted us for a day or two. It made us feel like we were a force to be reckoned with. Volodimir and I went home, and after a big mugful of hot milk, we went to bed with the glow of victory still warming us inside.
Following one such occasion I remember waking up the next morning feeling elated, just like I always did. The stone fights with the Moscali didn’t occur that often, maybe every few months, but it was enough to stir the Kozak blood inside us. Even with the Soviet boot trampling all over us we found a way to fight back. Driving the Moscali boys away showed that we could defend ourselves. In reality of course, the overwhelming might of the Soviets was too much for our nation. The stone fight victories were just a shred of hope, a flicker of something.
I got dressed and went downstairs and sat down at the kitchen table. The smell of warm bread filled the room. It made my mouth water, it always did. Mother was standing by the stove heating up some milk. She looked across at me and we said ‘good morning’ to each other with a smile.
I sat and watched her as she busied herself around the stove and the cupboards. Her hair was tied back and flowed like a waterfall down her back. It was black as a raven, the same as my own untidy mop. I loved to watch her. She opened up one of the cupboards and lifted some plates out and placed them on a table. She moved so gracefully. Then she turned to me, ‘Stefan, fetch me some more logs from the yard, please.’
Without hesitation, I stood up. For her, I would have done anything, my beloved Mother. I would have walked through fire, through storms, across deserts or through deep waters, anything at all for her. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes with the backs of my hands, yawned and stepped out of the door to our yard. There was a chill in the air that summer morning so I didn’t hang around and collected a bucket of logs from our shed and carried them back in. I knelt down by the stove, opened the grate, and fed a few logs in watching the flames lick around them, enjoying their warm glow. Mother came and stood next to me to check the milk. She removed it from the stove and poured it into cups. She put the pan down and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. I jumped up and wrapped myself around her. I can still remember her warm aroma even now. She ruffled my hair and picked me up. She looked into my eyes and we smiled at each other.
‘Stefan, you have such beautiful blue eyes. Just like your father. You’re my lovely, beautiful, blue eyed boy.’
I loved the softness of her voice. I could have listened to her talk all day. She sat me back down on a chair and brought me over a cup of steaming hot milk. I blew on it to cool it down. Mother sliced some bread, buttered it and set down a couple of slices on a plate in front of me. It may not sound like much of a breakfast but, believe me, this was a feast compared to what we had during the years of the Holodomor.
A few mouthfuls later it was all gone, and I washed it down with the hot creamy milk. Of course I asked for more, but Mother just looked at me and said, ‘Later Stefan, later. Now go and get ready for school. And tell your brother to get out of bed. You’ll both be late if you don’t get moving!’
I got up and went to the bedroom I shared with Volodimir, put on my jacket and picked up my schoolbag. Volodimir was already sitting up in bed with his elbows on his knees.
‘You’re going to be late for school again and Father won’t like it if he finds out.’ I said.
‘Don’t worry Stefan, I’ll get there on time today.’ He looked at me and grinned. I knew what he was thinking and I grinned right back. We didn’t need to say anything, but we were both still feeling good about the stone fight with the Moscalis.
He said, ‘You get going Stefan, and I’ll catch you up.’
‘Okay.’
He leapt up out of the bed and stood stretching his arms around his head. I left him to get dressed and walked back out into the hallway, and put my shoes on. Then I grabbed a kiss off Mother and left for school. I walked down our path and stepped out onto the street.
There was a golden sun in the sky, it was still rising, but the morning was still a little chilly, so I didn’t hang around. I put my head down and marched on. I knew I would probably meet up with some of my friends along the way, but I didn’t expect Volodimir to catch me up. It always took him a long time to get himself up and about in the mornings. Not like me. As soon as I woke up and opened my eyes I was ready for the day. I wanted to get dressed, get as much breakfast down me as I could and then I just wanted to be out there.
No one else was around this particular morning. The street was completely deserted. That suited me. Sometimes, I liked to feel as though I was the only person in the world, walking along with the birds singing in the trees, with the road stretching out in front of me and a horizon waiting for me. What would the day bring?
The school was right on the other side of the village, it took about half an hour to get there. So I walked along. A gentle breeze shook the leaves in the trees around me.
I didn’t mind going to school, not that I would have admitted it to my brother or my friends, but, in actual fact, they were the reason I liked it. Break times were the best times. We’d play football or running games in the schoolyard. We’d tease each other and there would be the occasional fight when things went too far. But despite any differences we may have had, and putting aside any disagreements or hostilities that may have taken place, we knew we were all brothers and sisters. Descended from Kozaks. Our time would come one day, that’s what we believed. We had to. Whatever the Soviets did to us we had to keep our faith, and our identity as Ukrainians.
Aside from the games we played, there were other things at school that were beginning to have a real effect on me. In my schoolbag I had a battered copy of the poems of Taras Shevchenko. Many of them I knew off by heart. They’d planted themselves right inside me. As long as I live his words will echo inside me. The images he conjured up of our beautiful land were so true. The majestic honesty of his poetry stirred up a storm inside me. I’d never felt such passions. The way he used words was like a Kozak would use them. It was as if he had dug them up from the soil. There was a rawness, a wonderful earthiness. He touched the whole Ukrainian nation with his words. Shevchenko was a visionary, he gave us ideas like no one else, and he made us think about our place in the world:
The days pass, the nights pass,
As does summer. Yellowed leaves
Rustle, eyes grow dim,
Thoughts fall asleep, the heart sleeps,
All has gone to rest, and I don’t know
Whether I’m alive or will live,
Or whether I’m rushing like this through the world,
<
br /> For I’m no longer weeping or laughing…
My fate, fate, where are you now?
I have none;
If you begrudge me a good one, Lord,
Then give me a bad one!
Let a walking man not sleep,
To die in spirit
And knock about the entire world
Like a rotten stump.
But let me live, with my heart live
And love people.
And if not… then curse
And burn the world!
It’s horrible to end up in chains
To die in captivity,
But it’s worse to be free
And to sleep, and sleep, and sleep—
And to fall asleep forever,
And to leave no trace
At all, as if it were all the same
Whether you had lived or died!
Fate, where are you, fate where are you?
I have none!
If you begrudge me a good one, Lord,
Then give me a bad one! A bad one!
While I was walking along, with my eyes following those words across the page, from the corner of one eye I saw a figure emerge from one of the side streets. I looked across and saw it was one of the older boys of the village, one of Volodimir’s friends. He was walking slowly with his head bowed. At the junction, I stopped and waited for him. He stopped a few yards away. It was Sasha, one of the boys who blasted a shotgun at the Moscali only the day before. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. It wasn’t like Sasha to cry. He was a hero to me. Sasha was fearless, he’d take anyone on. If there were ten Moscali in front of him he’d fly into them like a hurricane. Never before had I seen him like this, I didn’t know what to say or do, but eventually, after an awkward moment which hung in the air like an over-ripe apple on a tree, I took a step towards him and said, ‘Sasha, what’s the matter?’
He took a few breaths and raised his head. Clearly, he was struggling to speak, but he eventually blurted out, ‘They’ve taken him. They’ve taken my father.’
There was a stunned silence for a few seconds, but as soon as he said those words I had an idea what may have happened. He carried on, ‘Last night they came for him. Soviet soldiers. There must have been about ten of them. I was in bed, almost asleep when I heard noises. So I went downstairs, and I heard them say it, Stefan, I heard them.’
He was talking about a phrase every Ukrainian dreaded:
Without right of correspondence.
The scholars, the educated, the successful, or anyone who spoke out against Soviet rule was taken away, and their families were denied contact. None came back. It was never made clear what happened to them, and no information was given by the Soviets. But we knew only too well where they were taken. There was a park in the town where the Soviets had built a compound with a 12-foot high wooden fence. The compound was guarded by armed soldiers. We boys went down there many times to observe. Nearby was a tree that we climbed up. We couldn’t see into the compound from the tree, but we got a better view of the comings and goings. It also concealed us from the soldiers. On many occasions we saw people escorted in there under armed guard. A period of time later the Soviets would start up several vehicles within the compound. The engines made a terrific amount of noise - enough to drown out the sound of rifle fire. We never saw any of the people escorted in there come back out.
Sasha’s father was a hard worker; he’d managed his land well, so much so that he acquired a few more acres over the years. He employed several of the local peasants on his land and was a well-liked, successful farmer. Until the time came when the Soviets decided on collectivisation, and then most of his land was taken from him. It must have been a shock to him. At first, he reacted in the same way as everyone else, by keeping quiet. To speak out against the Soviets, to make a fuss in any way was a death sentence, so people held back. Tongues didn’t wag and people’s mouths stayed zipped up tight. Sasha’s father must have finally lost his patience and said or done something, but we didn’t know what it was he might have done. We just knew he’d been taken away.
‘I’ll kill them! I swear I’ll kill them all. I’ll go down to their compound and burn it down!’ Sasha stopped crying and was shaking.
I looked around and saw that, for once, Volodimir had dragged himself out of bed and was approaching and I was glad about that. Straight away Volodimir realised that Sasha was in some distress. I quickly told him what had happened, as much as I knew anyway. Volodimir put an arm round Sasha’s shoulders. Tears started to flow again.
‘Sasha. I know you want to fight them, but if you go down to that compound you’ll just get shot and that’ll be that.’ Volodimir tried to reason with Sasha.
‘I’ve lost my father. He’s gone. They’ve killed him.’ Sasha collapsed in a heap by the roadside and lay there sobbing. Volodimir and I looked at each other. We’d lost many friends and relatives over the years, but to lose your own father was something you just didn’t even want to think about.
Sometimes I think we grew up too fast. I was seven, Volodimir was nine, and Sasha was 11. The things we’d seen and the world we lived in were too terrible for children. Sasha was the oldest child in his family and he would now be the head of the house. It was all wrong. His father hadn’t done anything to anybody. He hadn’t stolen anything or mistreated anyone. The Soviets were merciless. If you disagreed with them, they got rid of you. Not only that, they wiped away all trace of you, as if you never existed.
We gathered ourselves together and carried on walking. None of us said very much. Well, what could you say? The day passed by in something of a haze. We were all in shock I guess. Sasha didn’t say much all day, and at the end of school, as we all walked home; he stormed off with his head down. We let him go, but we hoped he’d be all right.
Later that night I was lying in bed just dozing. I was nearly asleep, when I heard a noise. It was coming from the window. It sounded like a spray of small stones clattering onto the glass. Volodimir was already asleep, so I jumped out of bed. I threw the window open and poked my head out. I looked down into the darkness, but I couldn’t see anything and screwed up my eyes to try and focus. I saw a blurred pair of arms waving at me and looked harder until I made out a face in the darkness, ‘Sasha! What are you doing here at this time?’
‘Stefan, I’ve come to let you know I’m leaving.’
‘What?’
‘I’ve got to get out of here, before they come for me. I know I won’t be able to keep my mouth shut. One day, and it could be any day, might even be tomorrow, I’ll say something against them and they’ll find out. They’ll take me away, just like they took my father. I can’t live like this. I’m going west, to the mountains. I’m going to join the Resistance. We have to fight back. I just know this is what I have to do. Wish me luck.’ He turned away before I could say anything and ran off into the black curtain of the night, but I wished him luck all the same.
We’d heard many stories about the Resistance. They were a band of men living in the Carpathian Mountains, fighting for a free Ukraine, taking on our old enemies, the Poles and the Soviets.
I didn’t know what to think. I closed the window and got back into bed. I lay there for a while thinking about Sasha. Part of me envied him. He was off on a big adventure, but he was leaving everything behind. He was going into the unknown, and that was something I was uneasy about. Even though the Soviets mistreated us and were trying to destroy us, or so it seemed, I loved the place where I lived. Okay, our house wasn’t the biggest around but it was enough for us. I had my family. My grandmother on my mother’s side lived in the next village. We saw a lot of her. We had many friends in our neighbourhood, it was a real community. There were good and bad things about it, but it was where I belonged.
Father came from Stanislaviv, further west. Sometimes we’d go and visit his sisters over there, but I was always glad when we came back. I didn’t know what to make of what was happening to us all. Sasha had run away, that’s
how bad it had become. It seemed like my whole world was always in some sort of turmoil. Eventually, I managed to drift off to sleep again.
The next day I was on my way to school again. It was another bright sunny day. I was just strolling along when I got to the junction where I’d met up with Sasha the day before. My thoughts turned to him and I hoped he was okay. He’d done the right thing in my eyes. Sasha was a true Kozak, ready to fight at any time and tough as they come. And he liked to say what was in his head and in his heart. That was a problem, and that’s why it was better that he’d gone.
The Soviets were a cunning lot. They infiltrated our community. There were boys in the school who were new to the village, and they didn’t really mix. We didn’t trust them, so we kept our distance. Something wasn’t quite right about them. Often we’d see them hanging around on the fringes of our group trying to listen in to what was being said. We kept away from them and certainly didn’t say anything to them, but their eyes followed us everywhere.
And there were also plenty of uniformed Soviet Secret Police officers around, but it was the plain clothes ones you really had to watch out for. They stood in doorways swallowed up in dark shadows, and they watched every move we made. Every word we spoke could have been used against us. We learned to keep our mouths shut, and we changed our language in the way we spoke. We used a mix of lots of different dialects to confuse them. I don’t know if it worked but, anyway, most of the time, we were out in the woods or in the fields playing football or running races. We had to escape. That’s what they did to us. They carved us up. Divided us. They made it so that no one spoke to their neighbour for fear of Soviet reprisal. Anyone could be listening and whoever we mixed with could be a Soviet informer. We couldn’t trust a soul and quickly learnt to keep quiet. It was as if there was a deafening shroud of silence hanging over us. Engulfing us and suffocating us.