The Memory Keeper of Kyiv (28)

“There was nothing more you could have done,” Kolya said.

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Pavlo said.

Katya took his cold hand and brought it to her lips, her heart aching for his loss.

“Pavlo,” Mama said. “If you can walk, I think it would be best to bring you to our house. I know we should sit up praying through the night over the bodies, but it’s not safe here.”

“Yes, we can’t stay here.” Kolya wiped the back of his hand over his eyes as he stared at his parents. “They wouldn’t want us to risk our lives. We can come back for them tomorrow after we talk to the priest.”

Pavlo took a deep breath and nodded. “We should go, then. Can you help me?”

Kolya and Katya braced Pavlo up between them as they trudged back across the snowy field. He gritted his teeth and only stumbled once, but never cried out.

They situated him in the bed Alina and Katya normally shared on the side of the pich stove and Kolya made up a pallet on the floor. Tonight, the girls would sleep with their mother. Mama threw another log into the pich and they fell into chairs around it. Katya pulled hers up to Pavlo’s bed so she could hold his hand.

“Talk to me, Katya. Tell me a story.” He spoke through white lips. “I need a distraction until I fall asleep.”

Katya read the pain in his eyes and moved from her chair to perch next to him on the bed. They played this game often, telling each other tales of what was to come and what had passed. She racked her brain for a safe story to tell that didn’t involve his parents or her father.

“Do you remember the time I snuck out of my house with one of my mother’s honey cakes? She’d made it for a party we were supposed to go to, but I took it and found you. We climbed into the hayloft and ate every last crumb.”

A trace of a smile played on Pavlo’s lips. “You told me you’d made the cake for my birthday. But then you cleaned the plate, put it right back where you’d found it, and told your mother a dog must have eaten it.”

“Hush.” Katya didn’t feel like laughing, but she forced a chuckle out for him. “My mother never found out about that.”

The conversation waned and, in the silence, the enormity of the day suddenly overwhelmed Katya. Her mind buzzed with fatigue and her body sagged into the bed. She laid her head next to Pavlo’s and cupped his cheek. Despite her weariness, her voice came out strong. “I can’t lose you. Ever! Do you hear me? We have our whole lives planned out, and you have to be here for it.”

Pavlo squeezed her hand in reply. “I’m here, Katya. You saved me.”

When someone knocked on the door, Alina whimpered and Kolya jumped to his feet, but Mama’s calm voice quieted everyone.

“It’s probably cousin Vasyl, the priest. For the wedding, remember?”

Kolya dropped his head into his hands, and Katya sat up as Mama let Vasyl in and told him what had happened.

He closed his eyes, his lips moving in a silent prayer, then took Mama’s hands. “No one is safe. What’s become of our world?”

Nobody had an answer for him. Mama ushered him to a chair, and he glanced around the room as he went, pausing as he took in Pavlo’s bandages.

“Well, we have a funeral to work out, but I could still marry you today, if you wish.” He stroked his beard and considered each of them in turn.

“No!” Kolya jerked his head up. “Not today.”

Katya nodded in agreement. She didn’t want to marry today anymore either. She’d hadn’t even thought about the wedding until Vasyl arrived. How could she, after all that had happened? And with Tato gone?

“Don’t you think they should wait? It’s too soon after this tragedy,” Mama said. “And my husband would want to be here.”

“Normally, yes. Of course, nobody wants to rejoice so soon after such loss, but during these terrible times, I encourage young people to hold onto whatever happiness they can find, anytime they find it.” He glanced at Pavlo and Katya. “We can never know what tomorrow will bring.”

Alina stifled a cry, and Kolya took her hand. “I’m sorry. I can’t mix what should be the happiest day of my life with the most devastating. I need time. Maybe next week we can revisit it.”

“Of course,” Alina said. “We’ll wait.”

“Well, for the same reason we cannot have a large wedding, we cannot have a typical funeral,” Vasyl said. “Especially because of the way they were killed. They would be labeled enemies of the people, and anyone attending the funeral would be considered the same. It must be quiet and quick. We can have a short service in their home. At night would be best, and no one but immediate family should be included.”





Mama set out the traditional towels and glasses of water for Pavlo and Kolya’s parents to drink and wipe their tears away with in the time their souls lingered before the funeral. This was one of the few post-death rituals they would be able to do for them. When Mama had done it for Serhiy, it had brought Katya some comfort. Now, the seemingly paltry gesture made her angry.

“I’ll need help unloading the coffins and lowering them into the ground. They’re too long for me to handle myself.” Kolya picked at the fried salo and onions Mama had prepared for the wedding that now served as their funeral meal.

The fatty meat stuck in Katya’s throat, along with the tears she refused to let out.