Beyond the Shadow of Night(6)

The Petrenkos and the Kogans had jointly developed the farm, introducing new crops and improving yields, and there was now more food for the families, so the pain of empty stomachs was gone. Mykhail’s papa, however, never allowed anyone to forget the time of great famine, nor how some desperate people had coped with it, nor—most importantly—who was to blame for it.



For a year or more, food had been sufficient, arguments rare, and smiles easy to come by, but now both boys sensed something else was around the corner. Their parents’ faces became sullen, there were whispered discussions, and there were silent meals. The boys talked on their fishing expeditions, or when tinkering with the tractor, but neither had any answers.

One day, after breakfast, Asher’s papa ushered everyone out of the house.

Except one.

“Not you, Asher. Come over here.”

As Asher’s sisters, Keren and Rina, passed by, they patted his shoulder and showed him pitying smiles.

His papa pulled two chairs over to the stove and they sat together.

“My son, there’s something I have to tell you.”

Asher knew already that this would be no trivial matter, but his papa wore a frown and his voice was deep, his speech slow and staccato, which made Asher even more nervous.

“I know you won’t like this, but . . .”

“What? What’s wrong, Papa?” Asher wanted to smile, but it wouldn’t come.

“We’re leaving the farm.”

“All of us?”

“Just the Kogans. The Petrenkos are staying.”

“Including Mykhail?”

“Mykhail has to stay with his parents. I’m sorry, Asher. We’re going to Warsaw.”

“For how long?”

Now Asher saw his papa’s eyes turn glassy. “I don’t know.”

“But . . . what about the farm?”

“Mr. Petrenko will look after it. In time, Mykhail will help more.”

“And we’ll be coming back, won’t we?”

Asher’s papa took a long breath and held his son by the shoulders. “Asher, I promise you. I give you my word. We will come back here one day, when things are better.”

“Better?”

“You’re a clever boy, Asher. You must have heard how the authorities are closing down Jewish schools and discouraging the use of Yiddish. But politicians change like the tides, and one day the situation will improve for us.”

“I don’t want to go, Papa.”

“I know, Asher, but try to be positive. I can get a factory job in Warsaw. So can Keren and Rina. You’ll probably end up at a better school.” A crooked smile played on his lips. “You might be able to study tractors—even those new motor car contraptions.”

“But I want to stay here.”

“Asher. Listen to me. Your mama misses your Aunt Freida; she’s wanted to go to Warsaw for some time now, but we couldn’t afford it. Now we’ve saved up a little money to get there and we think it’s for the best.”

“You mean it’s best for Mama.”

“Don’t be like that, Asher. She’s . . .” His papa struggled to carry on. As he took a breath, Asher jumped off the chair and ran for the door.

“No! Asher! Wait!”

But the boy was gone.

A few seconds later, Asher wiped the tears from his face as he rounded the corner of the farmhouse, where Mama and Rina were hanging out the washing.

His mama smiled sadly. “So, your papa’s told you.”

“I don’t want to go, Mama. I’ll be lonely and I want to stay here.”

“Oh, Asher. I know you’ll miss Mykhail, but Warsaw is a big city with so many things to see and do. You’ll make new friends, just like your sisters will.”

“But why can’t Aunt Freida come here instead? Why do we have to go there? Why, Mama, why?”

“It’s . . . safer.”

“Safer?”

Rina handed the washing basket to her mama and crouched down in front of Asher, her brown eyes large and warm looking up at him. “Asher. Listen to me. I promise that you won’t be lonely.”

“But why do we have to go?”

“Well . . .” She looked up to the clear sky, using her hand to shield her eyes from the brightness. It wasn’t long before she pointed into the distance. “Look over there, Asher.”

“You mean the birds?”

“Yes. Have you ever wondered why they flock together—why each one doesn’t just fly off wherever it pleases?”

Asher stared at the cloud of dark spots constantly changing shape.

“You see, they do that because they feel safer when there are lots of them together.”

Asher nodded, although he didn’t really understand. But perhaps life in Warsaw wouldn’t be so bad after all, not with a sister like Rina.



At the same time, in the smaller farmhouse, Mr. Petrenko was breaking the same news to his son.

“But we get the farm,” he said. “Isn’t that good?”

“I don’t want the farm,” Mykhail said. “I want the Kogans. I want everything to stay the same. Why can’t everything stay the same?”

Pain briefly flashed across his papa’s face. “Nothing can stay the same, Mykhail. They want to be with their own kind. You’ll learn to accept it, and eventually you’ll make more friends. The harvests are getting bigger. And now the laws have changed to allow us to sell some of what we produce, so we can pay people to work.”