The Memory Keeper of Kyiv (51)

Katya stood up from where she’d been sitting next to her sister, fear knocking her knees together. Alina closed her eyes and rubbed a hand down her tiny baby’s back. Born only a few weeks ago, Halyna—or Halya, as they’d all taken to calling her—was somehow thriving through this ordeal that had become normal life. Alina, however, had remained very weak after birth, and Mama insisted she rest as often as possible to try to increase her milk supply.

“Open up! I know you’re in there! I see the smoke!” the voice at the door shouted again. Katya recognized it now. Prokyp.

“I’m coming,” she called, trying to buy some time and thinking frantically. If he caught them with the stolen potato peels and goat’s milk, he could arrest them all. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for a hiding spot. She ran over to the chest full of linens and opened the top, then waved at her mother.

Mama pulled the pot off the stove, quietly placed the lid on it, and tucked the pot under some sheets. Closing the chest, she nodded toward Katya, who’d already walked to the door.

Katya smoothed her skirt and tried to put on a calm face as she opened the door. Prokyp pushed past her, and a young man she’d never seen before followed. Prokyp looked the same as he always did, with mean eyes, dirty hair, and rotten teeth. The activist with him was more of a boy. Most likely, he was a member of the Komsomol, Stalin’s youth group.

Katya thought about the flyers the activists had thrust into her hands when they first arrived, trying to lure her and other young people like this boy into the Komsomol. She was glad Pavlo had crumpled that paper—glad she hadn’t succumbed to the brainwashing that allowed these people to enforce unspeakable punishments, sometimes even against their own flesh and blood.

“It smells good in here,” Prokyp leered, baring his filthy teeth toward Mama. “You’ve been cooking something.”

“You’re mistaken,” Mama said in a firm voice. “My son-in-law brought home some food he earned from working at the collective yesterday. That must be what you are smelling.”

Prokyp glanced around, his eyes finally falling on Alina. “Where is that strapping young son-in-law of yours? Working today, eh? Too bad he’ll miss this.”

“We have nothing,” Mama said. “We work hard for the collective. Please, leave us be.”

“You know it’s not that easy. We need grain for the spring planting, and we know you people are hiding it from the collective.” Prokyp waved his hand at his companion. “Check the room!”

The young man pulled a long, thin metal rod out of his bag, raised it high, and plunged it into the empty bed. His rod ripped through sheets, pillows, and blankets and fury burned in Katya at the needless destruction of their possessions.

“This is ridiculous!” she shouted. “You’re ruining our things! And we have nothing!”

He ignored her protests and moved on to the next bed. “Move!” he ordered Alina.

Katya and her mother rushed over to help Alina up. Mama grabbed the baby and Katya put an arm around Alina’s back and pulled her to a sitting position, but he hardly waited until she was gone to thrust the metal rod into her bedding. Katya yanked her sister to her feet before he rammed his metal rod through her while systematically poking holes down the length of the bed.

“Nothing inside!” he finally announced. Katya closed her eyes and thought of Pavlo and how she had continued the trips into the woods to hide whatever food they obtained. Once again, it had saved them.

“Did you check that?” Prokyp pointed at the linen chest.

“No, sir,” the young man replied as he strode across the room. He flung open the lid and shoved the rod inside. Metal clinked on metal.

Katya sucked in air through her teeth as cold sweat sprang up on her back. Mama crossed herself and closed her eyes in defeat. Prokyp stormed over to the trunk and began ripping linens out. He squealed like a stuck pig when his bare hand hit the hot pot.

“No food, eh? You’ve lied to me and the state!” Gripping the pot with a sheet, he pulled it out and set it on the table. He pushed the lid off, grabbed a spoon, and began poking around in the contents.

“Potato peels? I wonder where you could have found potato peels,” he mused. He brought the spoon to his lips. “Ah, you make this garbage taste rather good.”

Food splattered from his lips as he began shoveling their only meal of the day into his rotten mouth. When there was almost nothing left, which didn’t take long because there was hardly anything to begin with, he turned the pot upside down and began banging it out onto the floor.

“No!” Katya and her mother gasped simultaneously.

“This is stolen from the state! I should arrest you all!” He shook the pot, flinging precious bits of potato peels all over their house.

He set it down and walked over to Alina. She turned her head, refusing to look at him as he ran his filthy hand down her cheek “Even after childbirth, still so beautiful. It’s a shame you didn’t choose me. You wouldn’t be starving here. You would be the wife of someone important. I could have taken care of you, unlike the idiot you wanted.”

“You animal!” Katya pointed her finger and stepped toward him, the words snapping off her tongue like bullets. “You speak your lies of love to her, but you may have killed her! She’s weak, and she needs food! The baby is taking everything from her, and you just ate her only meal of the day!”