Beyond the Shadow of Night(23)

Mykhail rubbed his eyes, looked around, and sighed with relief. “I was just having a . . . a dream.” Vague imaginings of fighting alongside Borys and other Ukrainian nationalists lingered in his consciousness.

“It sounded more like a nightmare,” Papa said. “Probably all that vodka you drank last night.”

Mykhail shook the thoughts from his head. “Why have you woken me up so early?”

“You have a visitor. And I think you know why.”

“What do you mean?”

“A man at the door. Asking for you.”

Mykhail looked up at Papa. Why was he struggling with a brave smile? And why did he appear glassy-eyed?

Then Mykhail remembered the news from the day before, and his headache became a little worse. “Tell him I’m on my way.”

By the time Mykhail got to the door, buttoning his shirt as he shuffled along, the man was huffing impatiently. But he quickly gathered himself together and his face became almost as expressionless as the whitewashed walls.

Mykhail didn’t speak, just listened. It only took a minute, the man reeling off the words as if he didn’t really mean them. But Mykhail knew the meaning very well. And only at the end, when the man handed him the slip of paper and asked whether he understood, did Mykhail respond, nodding silently.

The man left, and Mykhail turned to his parents. Papa had his arm around Mama, who was dabbing her eyes with a cloth.

“Mmm,” Papa said. “The Red Army.”

Mykhail stared at the slip of paper. “I have to report tomorrow. They’re collecting me at the village clock tower.”

Papa nodded. “They’re picking off the easy targets first. For now, they need me for food production, but I’m sure my time will come soon enough.”

“But . . . it’s the Red Army. The Russians. I can’t fight with them. I just can’t.”

“You shouldn’t be fighting at all,” Mama said. “You’re too young.”

Papa held her closer but kept his gaze on Mykhail. “I know how you feel. In an ideal world you would be fighting for Ukraine against both the Russians and the Germans. But this is the real world—most of the nationalist leaders are locked up.”

“But I don’t know what to do. I mean, are the Germans good for us or not? I . . . I just don’t know.”

“Me neither, I have to admit. While you were out getting drunk last night, I was talking with some of the other farmers. The stories I heard from the west are of the Germans being welcomed. And why not? They can hardly be worse than the Russians. But for you, in your situation? I just don’t know.”

“Aargh!” Mykhail screwed the paper into a ball and threw it against the wall. “I hate this situation. I mean, who are we? Are we Ukrainians? If we are, then why do I have to fight for the Russians?”

Papa pulled his arm from around Mama. She sniffed and nodded, telling him she was okay. Then he approached Mykhail, and the two men stood square in front of each other.

“Son, I know how you feel.” He placed one of his meaty hands on Mykhail’s shoulder and patted it. “I know because I feel the same. I’m a proud Ukrainian, and that’s exactly what I’ve brought you up to be. But it’s time to be a man and not a boy. Sometimes you must compromise. The practical overcomes the ideal.”

“You’re saying I should join the Red Army?”

Papa thought for a moment. “I’m saying you should ask yourself what choices you realistically have.”

“I can run.”

“And be captured and shot?”

“I could join the nationalists.”

“And live rough in the countryside, or in a stinking prison in the middle of a war?”

“At least I’d have my principles.”

“Can you live on principles? Can you eat them? Will they shelter you from the wind and rain?”

Mykhail gulped. “I’m confused.”

“At least in the Red Army you’ll get trained and you’ll have a rifle. You can be sure of having food and shelter.”

“But . . . I’m Ukrainian, not Russian. I want to fight for Ukraine.”

“Remember this, Mykhail.” Now Papa held a hand against the side of his son’s face. “Self-preservation is never an unworthy cause. Sometimes it’s all that matters. Your mama and I want to see you again. In time we want to see you marry and have children.”

“But that isn’t what I want.”

His papa showed him a crooked smile. “Sometimes what you want isn’t the best thing for you. And who knows, the fight for Ukraine could carry on after you’ve helped the Red Army fight off the Germans.”

“I guess it could.”

“You only have a day to decide. But whatever you decide, your mama and I will always be here for you.”

Mykhail nodded. Then he felt his papa’s full embrace for the first time since he was a boy. It felt strong, and Mykhail sensed a little of that strength pass through into him.



After breakfast, Mykhail’s papa picked up his cap and headed for the door. He stood there, readjusting the cap, until Mykhail finished eating and followed.

“Wait,” his mama said. “I’ll come with you.”

“But you only look after the chickens and goats,” Mykhail said.