I would have stepped forward and hugged her right then, but she was praying, and I didn’t want to disturb her. Instead I stood and watched in silence. On her feet were sturdy leather boots and that made me think of Martina’s handmade boots — the ones that replaced her postoly.
I said a silent prayer myself — for Martina. She and Lida would have loved each other.
As Lida made the sign of the cross and began to stand up, I had a moment of doubt. Would she be happy to see me, or would she be angry that I had left her in the camp when I’d escaped?
She stumbled and nearly fell.
I dashed over and caught her elbow. “Let me help you.”
Lida looked up, squinting in the sunlight. “Luka? … Luka!”
“They told me I might find you here,” I whispered. I wanted to give her a kiss on the cheek, but I thought that might frighten her. Instead, I knelt in front of her and placed her arms around my neck and together we stood up.
“Dear Lida. I am so glad I found you.”
Her arms were still wrapped around my neck and that was fine with me. She rested her head against my shoulder and it was the happiest moment of my life. But then I thought I heard a sob, and that got me worried. Maybe she wasn’t really happy to see me. She took a deep breath, then said, “I dreamt of you the night you escaped.”
So she wasn’t angry, just sad. I had been thinking of her as well. Maybe we’d been thinking of each other at the exact same time? “I hated leaving you behind.”
She took her arms from my neck so she could look me in the eye. “If you hadn’t left when you did, I doubt you’d be alive now.”
“And how did you stay alive?” I asked.
Her eyes clouded over. “It wasn’t exactly easy,” she said. Then she looked up at my face. “Sometimes you have to fight back.”
I would have to ask her how she’d fought back, but not right now. And I would tell her about the Undergound — but not right now. Instead, we talked of the people we both knew from the camp: Julie’s bravery and Zenia’s escape.
“Have you found your sister?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Not yet.” Then she said, “What about you? Have you found your parents?”
“No,” I told her. “But the American Red Cross thinks they may be able to find Mama. After all, they found you.”
Lida smiled at that. “I’m glad they did.”
“It’s my father I’m most worried about, though,” I said. “With him being in Siberia, the Red Cross can’t contact him.”
Lida brushed a stray lock of hair from my cheek. “That may change.”
As we walked out of the church together, I longed to hold Lida’s hand, but I didn’t know if she’d want me to. We talked about a thousand other things — I don’t even know all that we said — it’s just that I loved being with her. If I could keep her beside me for the rest of my life, I knew I’d be happy.
* * *
Over the next days and weeks, I spent every day with Lida. Together we helped families patch together temporary homes, assisted with first aid, organized ball games with younger children. It was good to see these young boys and girls laughing out loud and running. After all the horrors they’d lived through, this was a gift for us as well as them. Lida’s feet were weak and sometimes she stumbled, yet she never complained. But when her socks slipped down to her ankles, I saw her scars.
At night, we parted ways. I found a group of boys my age who also hadn’t found their families. We took over a small room in one of the buildings towards the back of the complex. It had been overlooked by others because it had been entirely filled with rubble, but before my first night there was over, we organized one team to clear it out and another couple of boys to find us bedding and supplies.
Each morning, the first thing I’d do was to go find Lida. Together we would stand in line at the Red Cross. She was still looking for her younger sister, Larissa, and I was still waiting for news of my mother. Deep down, I hoped that by some miracle my father would be found as well. I had recently heard rumours of people who had been in Siberia, yet later turned up in refugee camps.
Larissa had only been five years old when she was taken. What were the chances that she had survived? That was a question I would never ask Lida. She lived in the hope of finding Larissa, just as I lived in the hope of finding my parents.
The adult Ukrainians set up schools and insisted that all Ukrainian children attend. I was offended to be treated this way. In years my age was only thirteen, but I had made bombs, assisted in surgery and defended my country. Now I was forced to sit on a bench with children and learn English grammar.
“But we need English,” said Lida. “If we can get to England or Canada or America, that’s what they speak there.”
“Don’t you want to go back home?” I asked her.
“I would love to,” she said. “If I can find Larissa first, and if there is a home to go back to.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Home Again
Weeks went by, and as July warmth turned to August swelter, we settled into a comforting routine, but then one morning, two friendly-looking Red Army soldiers waited patiently just inside my classroom door. One of them fidgeted with a piece of paper as we all streamed in and took our seats. Pan Semoniuk approached the door — a few minutes late as usual — and looked up in surprise when he noticed the Red Army men.
“Good morning, Comrades, can I help you?” Pan Semoniuk asked.
One of the soldiers stepped forward. His face broke out into an earnest smile. “Maybe,” he said. “We would like to ask your students some questions.”
Pan Semoniuk looked hesitant for a moment. “If you wish,” he said finally.
The soldier walked into the middle of our classroom and faced us. He opened up his folded sheet. “I have information on family members for all the following people. If you know who they are, please help me find them.”
“Taras Melankovich?”
No one reacted.
“Mykola Boyko?”
No response.
“Ivan Tataryn?”
No response.
“Kost Chornij?”
A girl in the back of the class put up her hand. “He’s not here,” she said. “But I know he’s in this camp.”
“Do you know where I can find him?”
“He helps out in the soup kitchen,” she said. “Try there.”
The soldier took a pencil out of his breast pocket and made a note. He looked up again and said, “Luka Barukovich?”
All eyes turned to me. I stood. The soldier grinned.
“I am glad to meet you, Luka. We have found a Volodymyr Barukovich, a pharmacist from Kyiv. Is that your father?”
“Yes!” I could hardly believe my ears. “Where is he?”
“Back in Kyiv,” said the soldier. “He’s been assigned the job of head pharmacist at State Pharmacy Number Four, and he’d like you to go back home to him.”
“But don’t the authorities consider me a traitor? I was captured by the Nazis.”
“Haven’t you heard?” asked the soldier, smiling. “There’s been an amnesty. Stalin forgives you.”
“What about my mother?”
The soldier looked at his paper. “Raisa Barukovich, correct?”
I nodded.
“We are looking for her. If she’s still alive, we’ll repatriate her when we find her. Your best course of action is to go home to Kyiv now. Pack up and be at the gate tomorrow morning.”
I was so excited that I ran out to find Lida, but she was still in class, so I went back to my sleeping area and threw what little I had into my bag. Could it really be true? My father was alive! And they were searching for Mama. But what about Lida? I couldn’t leave her behind, not now when I’d finally found her again.
The trick would be to convince her to come with me. That made the most sense, seeing as both her parents had died. The American Red Cross and the Soviet Red Cross could keep on looking for Larissa. We c
ould give them our address in Kyiv. Once Larissa was found, she could come live with us. It would be perfect.
When Lida came out at lunch and we sat down together with our bowls of soup, I told her of my news. She was not at all happy for me. In fact, she seemed frightened.
“I don’t believe this soldier,” she said. “My teacher has heard some frightening stories of people who were hurt when they tried to go back. Do you really think that Stalin forgives that easily, after all he has done?”
“If it had been an NKVD agent who was trying to get me back, I’d be worried,” I said. “But it’s not. It’s a Red Army soldier.”
She didn’t seem convinced, and her reluctance made me fume. I knew the difference between regular Red Army soldiers and NKVD agents. I had witnessed the difference in Kyiv and in the Underground. Red Army soldiers were conscripted. They were just regular people. The NKVD was the Soviet version of the Gestapo — trained killers.
“Perhaps you’ve been living with the Nazis for too long,” I muttered. But as soon as the words were out, I wished I could have erased them.
Lida said nothing for a minute. I looked over at her and saw that her knuckles were clenched white. “That is an awful thing to say to me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” I said. “But in the Undergound, we were fighting for everyone to be treated equally. That goes for Soviet soldiers too. Besides, don’t they need workers for rebuilding after the war? It doesn’t make sense for them to hold grudges.”
“What about me?” Lida asked. Tears filled her eyes. “You’ve been gone for two years. I can’t lose you again.”
I set my bowl down and reached for her hand. “Please come with me. The Red Cross will keep on looking for Larissa and my mother, even after we’ve left here. And when they find Larissa, she can join us.”
Lida was silent for a moment. Then she took a deep breath. “I don’t trust that soldier. I think he’s lying to you.”
That was not how I saw it at all. Could she not understand how important it was for me to go to my father now? He was waiting for me. He had asked me to come. If I didn’t go now, I might not get another chance to find him.
I could not believe how stubborn Lida was being about this. But I didn’t want to keep on arguing. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning. I have to, Lida. Please understand,” I told her.
Why couldn’t Lida be excited for me? I had found my father! Couldn’t she see why this was so important for me? Finally I said, “Come to say goodbye, or come with me. It’s your choice.”
She said nothing.
I grabbed my bowl of soup and stood up. I didn’t know what to say. “See you later,” I finally managed.
I spent the rest of the day wandering around the camp. I missed my old life. Soon I would be home, helping to make Kyiv whole again. If only Lida would come with me
* * *
I got up before dawn and walked down to the gate. I watched the sun rise. Would Lida come with me? That was my dearest wish. I never wanted to be apart from her again. She was as much my family now as Mama and Tato.
But maybe she wouldn’t even come and say goodbye.
Footsteps behind me, and then a voice. “You’re going home too, Luka?” said Kost Chornij, the man from the soup kitchen. He set his satchel beside mine.
“I am.”
“You don’t look very happy about it.”
“My friend Lida — I want her to come back with me, but she wants to stay here.”
“Why don’t you go find her? It’s not even six o’clock yet. I’ll watch your bag.”
Lida had just stepped out her door as I got there. Her eyes were red and her face looked tired. She was not carrying a bag.
“You’ve decided not to come with me?”
“I will see you off,” she said. “But I’m staying here. I wish you would stay as well.”
I stood there for a long moment, just staring at her. Why couldn’t she realize how important it was for me to go back to my father right now? Did she not love me at all? I almost asked her that out loud, but I didn’t want my memory of her to be spoiled with an argument. We walked in silence down to the entrance of the camp.
Kost Chornij wasn’t the only one waiting anymore. There were two others.
“Taras Melankovich,” said one man, holding out his hand. “And my cousin, Ivan Tataryn.”
Lida seemed surprised that others were also going back. Would she change her mind at the last minute and come with me? I dared to ask once more if she would, but just then her teacher, Pani Zemluk, arrived. She touched Lida’s shoulder.
“Lida, don’t.”
Lida took a deep breath, then turned to me. “Luka, I will not go with you. I want us to stay together forever. I want you to stay with me now —”
“I’m not staying here, I cannot,” I told her.
“And I cannot go with you,” she replied.
So that was it. Her choice was made.
I hugged her one last time. “Stay safe, sister of my heart. Maybe one day, you and your sister will join us.”
“I would like that,” she said, her voice choked with tears.
Just then a canvas-covered Red Army truck careened to a stop and that same soldier stepped out. He grabbed a clipboard and ticked off the names, then his eyes focused on Lida. “And who are you? Are you coming home with us today?”
Lida’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. For a moment I thought maybe she had changed her mind. She blinked, then said, “I need to find my sister first.”
“The Soviet Red Cross can help with that. What is your sister’s name and where were you two born?”
Lida was about to tell him, but Pani Zemluk squeezed her shoulder and said, “Children should be seen and not heard.”
Lida looked at me, her eyes pleading. “Please, Luka, stay here with me.”
Why couldn’t she understand? If our positions were reversed, would she turn her back on her own father? Why wouldn’t she just come with me? It would be perfect if she’d do that. All I could say was, “I must go back. My father is waiting for me.”
I climbed into the back of the truck. Kost stepped in behind me, and then the other two. As the truck sped away, I watched through a gap in the canvas as Lida got smaller and smaller.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Freight
I had expected the road to be clogged with refugees, but in the direction we were going, it was nearly empty. The driver careened around potholes and puddles with deft last-minute turns while he hummed the Soviet national anthem under his breath. After a few miles, he pulled over to the side of the road and we all got out for a bit of fresh air.
“You can call me Yurij,” said the soldier. “I’ve got some good kolbassa here.”
He dug into a cloth sack and brought out a long coil of it. “And strong cheese.” He pulled a knife from his back pocket and sliced kolbassa and cheese for each of us.
I took a small bite of the kolbassa and broke a bit of cheese. The five of us joked and laughed. I was feeling good about my decision to go back.
“Luka,” said Yurij, his smile suddenly gone. He handed me a second slice of kolbassa. “You escaped the Ostarbeiter camp a while ago, didn’t you?”
I tried to swallow the cheese and meat, but it got stuck in my throat.
“No reason to be nervous,” he said. “What did you do after that?”
I looked at the soldier again. Yurij’s uniform was Red Army, but his curiosity seemed more like NKVD. Petro had told me that I’d know when the time was right to talk about the UPA, and this was certainly not the time. “I hid in the woods.”
“Okay,” he growled. “If that’s how you want to play this game, it’s fine with me. Time to go back to the truck.”
Once we began moving again, Kost leaned in to me and whispered. “Were you in the Ukrainian Insurgent Army?”
His question surprised me. I didn’t answer right away.
“I was in it too,” he said. “In the forests of Polissia
.” He scooted over to the other side of the truck and whispered, “Taras, Ivan, were you in the Underground?”
Ivan shook his head. “I was a slave labourer in a quarry.”
“I was an Ostarbeiter right up until my camp was liberated by the Americans,” said Taras.
We didn’t talk anymore. I closed my eyes and tried to get a little bit of sleep. Finally the truck stopped and Yurij pulled the canvas back so we could get out. He had parked in front of an old brick and stone train station. The building itself had been bombed, but the rubble was cleared away now and the station was clearly still functioning. There were American troops stationed on our side of the depot, and Soviet troops on the other side of the tracks.
“Come in to the depot,” said Yurij. “The Soviet Zone begins just beyond the doorstep.”
I was the last to walk through. As soon as the door closed behind us, Yurij punched me hard in the gut three times. I doubled over and nearly fell. “Don’t be so slow the next time,” he said. Then he took a pistol from his belt and pointed to the far corner with it. “Stand there.”
Kost grabbed my arm and helped me, so all four of us got to the corner at the same time, stunned by the abrupt change. Moments later I was still gasping for breath.
The door opened again and a dozen people were herded in — mostly men, but in this group there were two women and three children as well. “Stand with those men,” said a different soldier who had ushered them in.
We all stood, chilled by the change in attitude, wondering what was going to happen next. And then the door opened again and a third group of people stepped in — six — all my age. Two were girls. One of the boys was Andrij, the villager that Viktor and I had saved from the Nazi death camp. His group was shuttled over to stand with us as well, and he noticed me right away. When the soldiers were talking among themselves, I edged over to him.
“Andrij,” I whispered. “I’m surprised you’re going back. Do you have family there?”
“This wasn’t my decision. They picked me up and threw me into the truck,” he whispered. “I have to get out of here.”
More Soviet soldiers streamed in, swaggering and joking with Yurij. One wearing a grey NKVD uniform and carrying a clipboard seemed to be in charge.
Underground Soldier Page 14
