It is a terrible thing, to break the earth still fresh from death and to bury a son beside his father. I don’t know how Auntie Iryna gathered the strength to greet all the people who came out for the evening Panikheda at the church. Polina Semko had made the trek from her blue-roofed house in the country.
After the simple wooden casket was carried outside the next morning and we stood at Josip’s open grave, I scanned the faces of people crowded round. Through a haze of tears, I thought I saw Borys, but when I blinked, he was gone.
Auntie Iryna received a steady stream of visitors to her house after the funeral. Mama, Maria and I stayed to lend our support, but also to make sure Auntie didn’t wear herself out. Had she even slept since Josip’s body was found? And her mind must be filled with worry about Borys.
Auntie Polina lingered for an hour after the last person left, sitting with Auntie Iryna and reminiscing about happier times. “When we were children, we had a cow race,” she said. “Do you remember that?”
Auntie Iryna tried to smile. “How could I forget?”
Auntie Polina looked from me to Maria and said, “I got up on the back of our black cow, and your aunt rode our neighbours’ dappled cow.”
“I can’t imagine cows running,” said Maria.
“They didn’t,” said Auntie Polina, grinning.
Auntie Iryna’s smile became wider. “We sat on those stupid cows for about fifteen minutes.”
“Do you remember the bonfire?” asked Auntie Polina.
Auntie Iryna leaned back into her chair with her eyes closed. “That’s when I met Roman. I’ll never forget the bonfire.”
It was good to see Auntie Iryna’s sadness lifted for a short while by the happy memories. When Auntie Polina got up to leave, I followed her out the door. “Let me know if I can help in any way,” she said, giving me a hug.
Mama made Auntie Iryna a cup of linden tea, and we were about to leave when a shadow filled the door.
It was Commandant Hermann.
Auntie Iryna stumbled to her feet to greet him.
“I am sorry for your loss,” he said, but his face didn’t look as if he meant it, and his eyes didn’t focus on my aunt’s face. Instead, his gaze assessed her house. “Your blacksmith shop is now vacant; this house is too big for one person. You cannot stay here,” he said. “A German family will have this house.”
Auntie’s lower lip trembled. “But where will I go?”
“Your family can take you in,” he said, glancing from Mama to me and Maria.
“I have just buried my husband, and now my son, and you are forcing me to leave my house?”
“You were scheduled for removal this morning,” said the Commandant. “It was in sympathy for your loss that we waited for the funeral to be over. Now, good day. Pack up your clothing and some food, but everything else is to remain in the house.”
With that, he was gone.
“That man is vile,” I said. “And of all days to throw you out.”
“What will become of me now?” said Auntie Iryna, collapsing back into her chair. She cradled her head on the table and wept.
“We’re happy to have you,” said Mama. But what she didn’t say was that it would be difficult to feed all of us, especially come winter. The loss of Auntie’s house also meant losing her vegetable garden and patch of wheat, yet we would be gaining a mouth to feed. But one advantage of being poor is that it doesn’t take long to pack. We bundled Auntie’s meagre selection of clothing around jars of preserves.
“What the Commandant doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” said Mama, hastily opening and closing drawers and removing everything she could find. She packed up Auntie’s linens and cutlery and plates. “We’ll store these extra things in Krasa’s loft, beside the items from Auntie Stefa. Now, what about your cow and chickens?”
“I assumed Lysa and the chickens would come with me.” Auntie Iryna paused from her packing. “He didn’t specifically say to leave the cow and chickens.”
“The cow and chickens are not in the house,” I added. “He told you to leave everything in the house.”
“But if the Commandant finds two cows in our shed, then what?” asked Maria. “He’ll think we’ve stolen one of them.”
This conversation was making me very angry. “All I know is that right now Lysa needs to go to the pasture,” I said. “And so does Krasa. You can tell me what you decide about the cow when I get back.”
“You’re right, Krystia,” said Auntie Iryna. “Take the cows to the pasture.”
Maria pulled our milk cart piled with Auntie’s meagre belongings, and I walked close behind her, leading Lysa. Mama and Auntie Iryna walked a few steps in front of us, each cradling a canvas bag with a trembling chicken inside.
As we passed our blacksmith shop, I remembered what Uncle Roman had been working on before he was killed. “Maria,” I said, “hold Lysa’s rope. There’s something I need to get.” I took a towel from the cart and filled it with the small hacksaws.
Once we got to our house, I untethered Krasa and made the sad journey to our pasture with both cows. The incoming traffic was so heavy it was hard to keep the cows out of the way. Mostly the traffic was wide military trucks, but there were also ragged refugees pushing wheelbarrows loaded with their belongings — and others coming with nothing.
I watched an exhausted woman and a girl my age as they approached. The mother leaned heavily on a wooden staff and her shoes were held together with rags. On the girl’s back was a small knapsack. When we were nearly face to face, I greeted them both with a smile. “Good day,” I said in German.
The woman surprised me by answering in Ukrainian, “Good day.” Then she asked, “Could you spare some milk for my daughter?”
“You need it more than I do, Mutter,” said the girl, wrapping her arm around her mother’s waist.
Who were these people? The other soldiers and the civilians who had recently come to Viteretz didn’t understand Ukrainian at all.
“I can spare some milk for both of you,” I said. “Follow me.”
I led the cows down a quiet laneway. The mother sat on a pile of rubble, stretching her feet out in front of her. The daughter knelt on the ground beside her.
Krasa nudged the daughter’s cheek. The girl patted Krasa’s nose. “We had a beautiful spotted cow like yours back home,” the girl said.
“Where was home?”
“Bukovyna,” said the girl.
“So you’re Ukrainian?”
“We’re German,” said the mother.
“Germans, but from the south?” I asked. It didn’t make sense.
“Most people in Bukovyna are Slavs,” said the mother. “Like you, Ukrainian. Or Romanian. But there were German communities in Bukovyna too.”
“The Soviets put my father in a slave-labour camp in Siberia,” said the girl. “Mama and I were rescued by the Germans. This whole area is now part of the Reich, so there will be a lot more of us Volksdeutche settling here.”
“Volksdeutche?”
“Ethnic Germans from the Slavic countries,” the mother explained.
This conversation made me think of the lists the Germans made, and how they thought Germans were better. But even though people from Viteretz were suffering because of the German occupation, this bedraggled mother and daughter hadn’t had it easy either. They were stuck in the middle of warring countries, just like we were.
“Let me get you that milk,” I said.
The girl took a battered tin cup from her knapsack and handed it to me.
I rubbed my face against Krasa’s cheek and whispered, “I know it’s not time to milk you, but just a cup?”
Krasa snorted as if she understood. I knelt down and milked her, then handed the cup to the mother. I felt sorry for them, but where would all these Volksdeutche live? Where would we all live?
“Thank you for your kindness,” said the mother. “And at least tell me your name.”
“I’m Krystia Fediuk.”
“Good to meet you, Krystia Fediuk. My name is Frau Gertrude Schneider, and this is Marga, my daughter.”
“Good luck to both of you,” I said as I grabbed the cows’ tethers and started back on my way to the pasture.
“Get your fill,” I said to Lysa as I let her off the rope so she could graze in Auntie Iryna’s pasture. “Who knows what will happen to you tomorrow?”
As the cows grazed, I sat on Uncle Roman’s rock and watched the road. So many Germans coming to our town — including ragged Volksdeutche fleeing the Soviet Union, better-off civilians coming from Germany, and the military.
Standing on top of the rock, I could see the surrounding countryside where Ukrainian farmers had lived for hundreds of years. It made me wonder whether the whole area would soon be filled with Germans.
I spotted the familiar blue-roofed house and wondered if Polina Semko was home yet. And that gave me an idea. Auntie Polina could take Lysa for now. That way, we wouldn’t raise suspicions by having two cows in our shed, yet Auntie Iryna wouldn’t have to give up Lysa.
“Sorry to do this to you, Krasa,” I said, caressing the cow’s neck one last time as I left her tethered in a hidden shady spot in Auntie Iryna’s pasture. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
I wrapped Lysa’s rope around my fist and led her off the main road and through a grassy shortcut. The walk took nearly an hour, and many of the farms I passed had already been taken over by new people. As I led Lysa onward, I had a growing sense that the Germans had not come to liberate Ukraine, but to take us over.
The familiar blue roof came into view. Thankfully, there was no truck around, or soldiers, but Polina Semko’s buildings and fields were in shambles. Just a portion of her house still stood, and her barn looked like a lean-to. The fruit trees had been hacked down, and where wheat should have been growing, there were only weeds.
I rapped on her door. “Auntie Polina, are you home?”
She stepped out and looked from me to Lysa. “Krystia! What are you doing here?”
“Any chance you’d be able to look after Auntie Iryna’s cow?” I explained about Auntie Iryna being forced out of her house.
“I can keep her here,” said Auntie Polina. “And I’ll appreciate the milk, as my only cow is dry.”
“What happened to your farm, Auntie?”
She threw up her hands in frustration. “The Soviets, of course.”
“Do you have enough to live on?”
Her eyes sparkled. “I have a cow that gives milk now. And the Soviets couldn’t steal or destroy everything. I will get by as I always have.”
By the time I got back to the pasture, Krasa had worked herself free of her tether, but fortunately she hadn’t wandered off. She was happily munching away at a patch of grass under some trees. I wrapped her rope around my fist and gave it a gentle tug. “Come on, Krasa,” I said. “Mama will wonder what is taking us so long.”
Ahead of me on the road were soldiers who were gathering the newly arriving refugees into a work unit. One of them was passing out shovels, and a second was giving instructions. I overheard snippets of conversation — something about digging a ditch in the woods.
I stayed a dozen or so metres behind the group practically all the way home and watched as it grew in size. I felt sorry for these refugees. Even before they could rest for the night or find something to eat, they were being assigned to heavy labour. I didn’t see Frau Schneider or her daughter in the group, but they would have been farther ahead, as it had taken me some time to get Lysa into the country. Had they been assigned work as well?
When I finally got home, Mama was standing on our doorstep, hands on her hips and a worried look on her face. She followed me to the shed as I settled Krasa in. “Where is Lysa?” she asked.
“With Auntie Polina,” I said.
Mama’s face lit up. “Good thinking.”
* * *
In the wee hours of the night, low voices in the kitchen startled me awake. One was Auntie’s, and another … Could it be? I crept silently out of bed, taking care not to wake Mama or Maria. I had to see for myself. With Auntie Iryna was Cousin Borys!
“You’re alive,” I whispered, running to him and wrapping my arms around his neck, breathing in the scent of smoke and pine as I hugged him tight. “I was so worried about you!”
“I’m not ready to die yet, my dear cousin,” he said, planting a kiss on the top of my head.
“I thought I saw you at Josip’s funeral.”
“I was there briefly,” he said. “But I didn’t want the Germans to see me. And I cannot stay long now. Go back to bed, Krystia, and don’t wake your mother or sister. I came to see Mama so we could remember Josip together. And I’m trying to convince her to come with me to the forest.”
“Will you visit again?” I asked.
“There are things that need to be done,” he said. “But I’m never far away.”
“Stay safe, Borys,” I said, hugging him again before reluctantly going back to the bedroom.
As I tried to get to sleep, I thought about what Borys had said about things that needed to be done, and that maybe Auntie Iryna would be going to the forest to live with him. What were they working on?