Beyond the Shadow of Night(24)

She gave a resigned smile. “I’ll have to do more when you’re gone. I might as well learn now.” She put on her shoes, slung a shawl over her shoulders, and the three of them headed for the fields.

Mykhail did his best to show his mama how the tractor worked, and they spent the morning harvesting barley from the nearest field and plowing the farthest.

It was early afternoon by the time they finished, and they walked back to the farmhouse to eat. Afterward, while his parents took a nap, Mykhail slipped out and headed for the village center.

There, something was clearly different. Few people spoke or even smiled as they passed this way and that.

The conscription men had obviously been busy.

Only subdued nods of hello escaped the purge of greetings, and after a few of these, Mykhail reached the clock tower.

He waited there for a while, but there was no Taras or Borys. Taras’s farm was the closest, so Mykhail headed in that direction, down a narrow track and over a small stream, eventually reaching the edge of a bright amber field where a few people were gathering wheat into bales. He squinted to see but couldn’t quite make out the figures. So he stuck two fingers into his mouth and blew a piercing whistle. The workers all stopped and turned. One of them started trudging toward him.

Mykhail met Taras halfway, and immediately noticed a grimace on his face, a seriousness that didn’t sit well.

“You too?” Mykhail said. “The Red Army?”

“All the younger men in the village.”

“So, what are you going to do? Are you going to join?”

Taras shrugged his shoulders. Then he looked down at his dirty boots and gave a few reluctant nods. He motioned to a nearby felled log and they both sat on it.

“What else can I do?” Taras said. “I’m no revolutionary. All I want to do is sow and harvest. Perhaps if I join I can stay out of trouble. Perhaps the war will be swift and I’ll return.” He pulled a rag out of his pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow. “You?”

“Oh, I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

“And?”

Mykhail shrugged. “I’m still not sure.”

“You haven’t come across Borys, then?”

“Borys? He’s been conscripted too?”

Taras nodded. “He came here earlier. He said he went to see you, to talk to you, but there was nobody home.”

“We were all in the far field.”

“He said he ripped up his conscript papers in front of the official.”

“My God! Really?”

“You know the way he feels about the Russians. He was still angry when I spoke with him. He said he would rather die than fight with the Red Army. That’s what he told the official too.”

“So he’s going to join the nationalists?”

“He said it’s his destiny to fight for his country—Ukraine. That’s what he went to see you about. And he gave me a message if I were to see you first. He said you need to meet him an hour before sunset at the clock tower if you want to join the nationalists with him.”

“Did he ask you too?”

“Borys knows how I feel. He accepted it. We shook hands.” Taras frowned. “You know how long Borys and I have been good friends. And soon we could be shooting at each other, trying to kill one another. And that’s without dealing with the Germans. It’s crazy. But war is always crazy.”

They both stood up, and Mykhail held a hand out. “I can only do the same,” he said. “Whatever happens, we’re friends. And after the war we’ll still be friends.”

They shook hands, and Mykhail noticed fear twitching the flesh around his friend’s eye. “We’ll both live to drink together again,” he said. “I’m sure of it.”

They both tried to laugh, then said goodbye, and Mykhail returned home.



Later that day, just as Mykhail opened the farmhouse door and was about to leave, his papa appeared behind him.

“What are you going to do?” he said.

Mykhail said nothing, just glanced over at the sun, low in the sky.

“You haven’t decided, have you?”

He shook his head. He’d told his parents what Taras and Borys were doing. All they’d said was that he had to make up his own mind, to try not to be influenced by his friends. “I’ll decide on the way,” he said. “I promise.”

“You either fight alongside Taras or you fight alongside Borys. Either way you’ll end up fighting the other one. That’s some decision.”

“I know. But whatever happens, they’re both friends and compatriots. And I should say goodbye to Borys.”

“Of course you should. So go.”

Mykhail’s mama appeared and hugged him. “Don’t be too long. I want a final evening with my one and only son.”

“Of course, Mama. I’ll be back at sunset.”



The journey was less than a mile but seemed much longer. As he turned the corner he spotted Borys waiting for him at the clock tower.

He also passed half a dozen soldiers or armed guards—he wasn’t sure which. They seemed to be going from person to person and door to door, asking questions.

It didn’t take them long, Mykhail thought. Power has gone to their heads.