The Memory Keeper of Kyiv (64)

Even when she made it home, her nerves wouldn’t settle. Her hands shook as she helped Mama scrape off the corn and cook it down into a mush, saving the cobs to soak and eat later. Mama fed Halya and Alina as much as they would eat before splitting the remainder between herself, Katya, and Kolya.

“Why do you keep looking out the window?” Kolya asked as she put away the dishes. His shrewd eyes appraised her—as if he could see all of her secrets—and her face reddened.

“I like looking out at the night sky.”

Later, when Mama went to bed, he tried again. “What happened tonight? You can tell me, you know. We’re in this together.” His mournful gaze fell on Alina’s pale, sweat-soaked face, lying in bed.

“We are,” she agreed. But the fewer people who knew about her illegal acts, the better. At the very least, it would protect him from having to cover for her if asked by the state. “Nothing happened.” She rocked back and forth to lull Halya to sleep. “I fetched some corn. We fed Halya and Alina.” This wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either, and somehow she knew he realized that.

“If you say so.” His voice lacked conviction, but he didn’t press her. “Be safe out there.”

“Of course. I’m always safe.”

For days, Katya looked over her shoulder, waiting to be arrested. Ivan could turn her in at any time, and that weighed heavily on her, but she was happy to bear that burden if it bought Alina and Halya a few more days of life.





For a week, they sorted through thousands of potatoes from a late harvest. Good ones went into one pile for the state, rotten ones into another for the livestock. There was no pile for the villagers, and each time Katya left work for the night, she was checked to make sure she hadn’t hidden any in her clothes to bring home.

A young activist member had taken great pleasure in running his hands up and down her legs and torso, “searching” for stolen potatoes. Katya’s face still blazed from the violation.

She wasn’t stupid enough to hide any on herself, but she’d left four potatoes buried in the corner of each field she’d helped harvest. She planned to sneak back later and take the hidden potatoes home.

The wind whipped past her, pushing her hair out from the kerchief she’d tied around her head. Her arms ached, her back screamed with fatigue, and it took everything she had to move one foot in front of the other along the dirt path toward home.

Katya’s discomfort disappeared as the house came into sight and she heard Halya’s cries ringing out through the open front door. Cold fear gripped her as she charged down the path.

Mama sat curled up in a ball on her bed. Halya lay next to her, screaming, as Mama absently patted her back. Alina’s bedding formed a path toward the door. Her bed was empty.

“What happened? Where’s Alina?” Katya grabbed her mother’s shoulders with shaking hands.

Mama looked up with glassy eyes. “They took her. They came and took her.”

“Who took her? Why?” Katya picked up Halya and put a finger in her mouth to settle her.

“Prokyp and another man.” Mama spoke so low Katya could hardly hear her. “They said she stole grain from the state.”

As the realization of what had happened struck her fully, Katya clutched Halya close and dropped onto the bed next to Mama. Her stomach threatened to heave, though there was nothing in it to give up.

“Dear God,” Katya whispered, even though she had long ago given up asking anything from God. Panic seized her, and she gave an anguished cry. “Mama, it was me. Me, not Alina. They wanted me!”

Mama’s gaze sharpened as she looked at Katya. “What do you mean?”

“The corn I brought home last week; I stole it from a cooperative field. Ivan Yarkop saw me, but I didn’t think he would tell.”

Mama slapped Katya then. Hard. It seemed to surprise Mama more than her. Katya raised a hand to touch her stinging cheek.

“I’m sorry, Katya.” Mama’s trembling hands covered her mouth. “I don’t know what came over me. It’s not your fault.”

“It is. I stole the corn, not her. It’s me they want.”

“You were only doing what you had to do to feed us,” Mama said, but her eyes told Katya a different story.

“How long ago did they take her?” Katya pushed Halya into Mama’s arms and stood. “I have to go talk to them.”

Mama clutched frantically at Katya’s hand. “No! They’ll take you, too! Don’t go! Kolya can go when he gets home.”

This scared woman barely resembled her once strong mother, and bitterness welled in Katya. Bit by bit, the state had taken Mama from her, just as much as they had taken everyone else.

“Mama, I must go. I can’t sit here while Alina is punished for my crime. Tell Kolya I went after her.” Katya didn’t wait for her response, but she could hear Mama crying out behind the slammed door.

She ran as fast as she could, all thoughts of sore muscles and her empty stomach long forgotten, while memories of her sweet sister flooded her mind. Alina, holding her through the night when she was small and scared. Alina, teaching her how to braid her hair. Alina, handing over her child and trusting Katya to care for her. A sob escaped Katya’s lips and broke her stride.

If she could tell them it was her who had stolen the corn, not Alina, then maybe they would let Katya go in her place. Katya could handle being deported better than her sister. Alina was so frail; she’d never even survive the train ride.