The Memory Keeper of Kyiv (63)

She walked through the woods and approached the back end of the field at a snail's pace, slinking from tree to tree until she could almost reach out and touch the rustling corn stalks. So much food grew right in front of her, sowed by her and her family and neighbors. They would reap it soon, but taste none of it.

She glanced around, assessing her options. The long, flat field held only one guard tower off in the distance. She couldn’t be sure, but she didn’t think the guard could see anyone lurking behind the trees this far away. Katya edged forward on her belly, sweat prickling the back of her neck. Fear, thick and oily, choked her until she was panting as she crawled, inch by inch, toward the rustling corn. This field was feed corn, typically used for livestock, but it would fill her family’s bellies all the same. She pictured Halya’s hungry face, then swallowed down the apprehension so that it settled into a hard knot in her gut. She shot to her feet, hidden under the tall, brown stalks. As noiselessly as she could, she ripped off ears of the corn and stuffed them into her shirt. Her belt caught them at her waist, and they filled out her clothing in sharp contrast to her narrowed, empty abdomen.

When she’d gotten as much as she could reasonably carry, she emerged from the field and slunk back along the ground toward the forest, not breathing until she reached the cover of the trees. As she melted into the woods, she sucked in a lungful of the night air and closed her eyes, relief making her sweat–soaked body tremble. She’d no sooner congratulated herself on the partial victory than a high-pitched voice rang out in the quiet night.

“Stop! Thief!”

Shock froze her for a moment, but common sense prevailed, and she bolted. No shots rang out, and she wondered at the identity of her assailant. The voice sounded young. Perhaps not a guard, but one of the Young Pioneers?

Katya still couldn’t believe how thorough the Communist Party was in its indoctrination efforts. Even the school children were drafted into the Young Pioneers program, and encouraged to report anyone with illegal goods, including family members. And they did. Katya had been appalled when the neighbors down the road had been turned in by their ten-year-old son for hiding grain.

When the voice rang out again, this time much closer to her, Katya halted, certain now that she was hearing a young child. If she didn’t stop the ruckus he was making, he would surely draw the attention of an armed and less easily manipulated assailant before she could escape. She clenched her fists and turned around.

The boy ran toward her and puffed up his chest. “I command you to come with me and turn yourself in!” he ordered, his voice deepening in his best imitation of a man.

Katya recognized the boy—she used to watch him during harvest season. He must be only eleven or twelve by now. Anger coursed through her, straightening her back and raising her chin. This child thought he could stop her from saving her starving niece. Katya’s emotions exploded, taking over her common sense as they had when she was younger, and she marched up to him and slapped him across the face.

He gasped and raised a hand to his cheek incredulously. “You can’t do that.”

“Ivan Yarkop!” Katya whispered as fiercely as she could. “You should be ashamed of yourself!”

“You can’t speak to me like that either,” he replied, his voice now shaky with uncertainty at her lack of fear and respect. “I could have you shot.”

“I changed your pants when you were small and chased you in the yard while you waddled around. I’m like family to you, yet you choose the state over me?”

He looked around, unsure what to make of her tirade, but Katya didn’t give him time to think.

“My niece is dying because she has no food. I work in fields like this every day. Every day! Do I get to have any of that grain for myself? Do I?”

“No,” he said. “But the state gives you food! That’s how it works. You work for the state and the state takes care of everyone. And as a Young Pioneer, it is my job to help the state take care of everyone.” He brightened a bit as he rationalized his actions to himself, but his gaunt cheeks told another story. His precious state didn’t give him enough food either.

“Ivan, you’re telling me that the state giving me one piece of bread a day for my labor should be enough for my sick sister, my mother, my baby niece, and me?” Katya asked. “No! It is ridiculous, it is cruel, and I will not stand to hear it from a child. And you’re one to talk. You look terrible. Are they taking such good care of you?”

He shrunk a bit in his boots. “I’m only doing—”

“I said no!” Katya spoke as loudly as she dared, her voice quaking with fury. “You listen to me, Ivan. This village is dying because of the damn state, and you’re helping. Shame on you as a Ukrainian for abandoning your people when they need you most.”

Poor Ivan had no idea what to say to that. His eyes grew wide, and his lower lip quivered as it fell open.

“I’m going to walk away now, and you should go home,” Katya said. “If you have any brains in that thick head, or an ounce of compassion in your heart, you’ll forget you saw me.”

His mouth clicked shut. He nodded slightly, and as Katya turned to walk away, she looked back over her shoulder. “Forget you saw me, Ivan, but do not forget what I said. You are helping to kill your people. Someday, it will come back to haunt you.”

Katya didn’t look back again to see his response. She meant everything she’d said, but despite the exhilaration she felt at speaking her mind, it wasn’t a wise thing to do. Ivan could still report her, and they would take his word over hers.