Beyond the Shadow of Night(84)

“What did you do then?”

“I survived. That’s all that matters. And now I pay my way, have a few friends, just one or two luxuries, and I manage to do a little charity work when I have the time.”

“As long as you’re happy.”

“Oh, that’s a work in progress. When you’ve survived Treblinka, you should never be ungrateful, so I try not to be.” He took a long breath in and out. “So that’s me done,” he concluded. “Now, tell me about your journey here.”

Mykhail tried to compose himself, but didn’t speak for some time, instead blinking and breathing heavily.

“Mykhail? You’re trembling. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. You know, I think I will have that glass of water after all.”

“Of course, old friend. Where would I find a glass in this kitchen?”

A few minutes later, half the glass of water drunk, Mykhail started talking, slowly at first, but soon gaining momentum.

“There’s no way I can match your story,” he said. “Let me pitch that one out there first.”

“It’s not a competition.”

“Of course not. Well, as you might imagine, life on the farm continued as best we could manage after your family left. It was tough, but we had big improvements on crop yield year on year. Then, of course, came the German invasion.”

“They called it Blitzkrieg, didn’t they?”

“My God, it was frightening, the speed they came at us.”

“So, what happened when they reached Dyovsta?”

“I was drafted into the Red Army well before that. I saw a lot of action, but we were pushed back and back, eventually as far as Kiev, where we surrendered. I ended up in a POW camp. Such a horrible place, Asher. I can’t bear to describe the conditions in there.”

“I can understand that. I can guess how it was. Move on, if it upsets you to talk about it.”

“Right, well, yes.” Mykhail took another gulp of water.

Asher waited, but Mykhail looked up at the clock.

“And?” Asher said.

“You know we’ve been talking for over an hour?”

“That long?” Asher replied.

“You hungry? I’ve probably got something in the fridge.”

“Well, if you don’t mind.”



Twenty minutes later, they were both sitting at the kitchen table, finishing off the microwaved beef casserole.

“That was delicious,” Asher said, scraping the last of the gravy from the plate. “Did you make it?”

“Diane.”

“Ah.” He placed his spoon down and took a slug of water. “Where were we?” he said.

“What?”

“You were in this POW camp in Kiev.”

“Asher, did I ask you whether you ever got married?”

“You did.”

“Oh.” Mykhail started nodding, then stopped as if something had just occurred to him, and said, “But you didn’t really say why you didn’t marry.”

“You want me to explain that?”

Mykhail gave a confused frown. “Uh . . .”

“Surely I told you about Izabella?”

“Really? She’s the reason you never got married?”

Asher leaned in and lowered his voice. “Mykhail, old friend, I can trust you, can’t I?”

“Sure you can.”

“I can be honest?”

“As honest as you want to be. I’m . . . I’m interested. Really.”

Asher’s jowls seemed to drop a little. “I’m not sure I’ve ever told anyone this before, but . . .”

“Go on.”

“Well, for many years I was kidding myself. It sounds strange after all this time, but I told myself it was somehow disrespectful, even unfair, to have a wife and family when so many others don’t even have their lives.” He stared into space, gritting his teeth a little. “Even growing old sometimes feels wrong when so many will be forever young.”

“You said you were kidding yourself?”

Asher snapped himself out of his trance. “Yes. I was. You see, all that’s true—the feelings I have about finding love, feeling bad about surviving—but in my later years I’ve come to know the truth . . . why I never found a woman. It’s because I lost Izabella. I kept thinking I’d get over her one of these years, but while I was busy thinking that, I kinda went and got old.”

“I know what you mean, old-timer.”

“You know, I feel better for saying that, getting it off my chest.” Asher paused, forced a smile onto his face, then said, “Anyhow, come on, tell me how you got out of this POW camp in Kiev.”

Mykhail hesitated. “Well, there isn’t much to say.”

“I know it’s a hard thing to talk about, but at least tell me what happened between the POW camp and Pittsburgh.”

“Oh, it’s very boring. You don’t want to know.”

“Don’t want to know? Are you kidding me? Mykhail, tell me how you got out of the camp, how you got to America, why you settled in Pittsburgh.”

“Well, I’m not sure I can remember, to be honest.”