Sliding on the Snow Stone (11 page)

Wulf continued, ‘As part of our war against the cursed Bolsheviks, we require to be able to communicate with other battalions across this region and beyond. That’s why we have facilities such as the ones here in this village hall. But just this morning, someone has cut through the cables leading to the generator. The radio equipment is no longer operational. Not until we can get more cables. That will take some time to organise, at least a week, maybe longer. I will not stand for this! Will you people never learn?’ Then, he barked orders to his soldiers to assemble all the civilians in the immediate area onto the field, the one where we’d played our football match against the soldiers. There must have been about 200 of us, all lined up in four rows of 50 or so.

‘
This time the execution squad will require one hundred. That’s right. One hundred of you will be shot for this act of insurgency.’ Wulf hesitated and scanned across the faces of the people lined up. We all remained impassive. Expressionless. Soviet rule had numbed us and built up our tolerance to pain of all descriptions.

Wulf became more animated. He paced up and down, slapping his baton into a gloved hand. He approached the end of the first line, which, unfortunately, Father and I had been herded into. Slowly he walked along and then stopped. He placed a hand on someone’s shoulder, and then stepped back while two of his men dragged the unfortunate off and bundled them into a covered truck, where they remained under armed guard. Father and I were right in the middle of the front row. I really hoped Wulf would just pass us by, but I had a bad feeling. He made another nine or ten selections as he approached us. My mouth was dry as a dirt track and my stomach was churning like crazy. There was no way he would pass without taking at least one of us, I knew that. I wanted to run, or collapse in tears, but I didn’t. I carried on standing there. The stillness of the day made that moment seem like it was a dream, and I hoped it was, but the taste in my mouth was one of bitterness, like vinegar, stinging me back to reality. It was happening all right. It took every ounce of my energy not to shake and tremble.

An aroma of starch, leather and polish wafted closer as he stepped right in front of us. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he stood right in front of Father. A faint flicker of recognition played across his face as he stared into Father’s eyes. Then he raised a gloved hand. He placed it firmly on Father’s shoulder, his lips opening slightly in a yellow half smile.

Just then, there was the sound of a revving engine. It sounded like a motorbike. Sure enough, two seconds later, it appeared from around the back of the village hall. The rider and his pillion passenger both wore the colours of the Ukrainian Resistance: red and black. The passenger held aloft a glass bottle with a burning rag poking out of the top. As they passed by the village hall he threw the bottle through the windscreen of Wulf’s Porsche staff truck. There was a small explosion, and then a whoosh as the seats caught fire. Everyone turned to look at the motorbike and its two passengers as they wobbled, then regained their balance and sped off into the distance. Wulf turned towards the inferno, holding his arm across his eyes. He stepped back a few paces and barked instructions at some soldiers. They jumped into a truck and one of them kick started a motorbike. They roared off after the Resistance riders.

The fire crackled and spat, and then, without warning, there was a thunderous boom as the fuel tank exploded. The fallout from this threw everybody to the ground and the flames spread and licked higher into the sky. There were other trucks either side of Wulf’s and we watched with a delicious sense of horror as flaming debris floated into the air and landed on these other trucks. Within seconds they too were engulfed in flames. Wulf and his men ran around like demented rabbits trying to organise themselves. Of course, their communications equipment wasn’t working so they couldn’t radio to the town for a fire truck to come.

Amidst this chaos, all those condemned to the execution squad, and those waiting, managed to slip away from the market place. We scurried like ants, our legs a blur as we all followed an invisible line back to our homes. Father and I burst into our kitchen.

‘
What’s happened? I heard some noises, some loud bangs. It sounded like they were nearby,’ said Mother. Father and I looked at her. Neither of us could speak, I know my heart was pumping as if it was about to burst. Then Father said, ‘Let’s go through to the parlour.’

Mother fetched us both a glass of water and the three of us sat down. Father took a few sips of the water and told her what had happened, then he ran his hands through his hair, ‘He’ll track us down, Olha. He knows where we live, I don’t know what we can do.’

Mother sat looking very calm, ‘Mikola. You and Stefan must go west. To Stanislaviv, to see your sister Helena.’ Father didn’t respond, so Mother carried on, ‘I was fetching water from the well today and I got talking to some of the other women there. Things are much calmer in the west. They are further from the front than we are, and so trade and business is starting up again. You might be able to get some work, who knows? But you can’t stay here. Not with Wulf around.’

‘
But Olha, we can’t leave you. How can we leave you here at the mercy of the soldiers?’

‘
I’ll go and stay with my mother for a few days until things calm down, and then I’ll come back. They’ll still need someone to milk the cow and produce their food for them, so they won’t touch me, I’m sure of that.’

‘
But we could all go to Stanislaviv.’

‘
Mikola, you know I can’t leave my mother. She’s old and frail and she hasn’t got anyone else. I’ll stay here and look after the house and our land, and everything we have left. Then, once the war’s over, and they say it’ll only be a few weeks before the Nazis win, you can come back. Things’ll be better then. Wulf may not be here.’

‘
Olha, I don’t want to leave you.’

‘
Mikola, if you stay, then Wulf will kill you, and Stefan. You know that. Please go, for Stefan’s sake if nothing else.’

Well, Father and I knew she was right. Wulf had us in his sights. It was just a question of time. Father slowly stood up and said, ‘Well Stefan, how do you feel about going to visit your Auntie Helena?’ I nodded.

We packed a small suitcase each, put on our sturdiest boots and wrapped ourselves in our coats. Finally, we pulled on our caps. I didn’t want to say goodbye to Mother. I didn’t want to leave her all alone in our house. What would she do all on her own? But as always, we had to swallow down our pain and take this bitterest of medicine. It was another crooked step on the road to survival, but were we following the right path? I, for one, felt like I was heading into the unknown, towards a dark horizon, where the future was so uncertain I felt sick with fear.

Mother packed us up a parcel with some bread and cheese in it. I remember hugging her as hard as I could before we left, and exchanging kisses. Father did the same, but then we were gone. I followed Father blindly, not wanting to think about what was happening to me. We stayed away from the roads, but crossed over fields to get to the town. It was a two mile walk, and when I was younger it felt as if it went on forever, but this time the journey passed quickly. Too quickly. I didn’t want to leave. We maintained a brisk pace, and before long we reached the outskirts of Vinnitsya. I could see the train station tower poking up into the sky. We were nearly there. We made our way through some of the smaller side streets, not even bothering to look at anything, until we stepped into a wide boulevard where the entrance of the station was. It was a grand old structure, with pointed, twisted, fine gilded turrets. The grand old clock above the entrance chimed as we approached. It was 12. Normally, I would have been ready for some lunch, but I wasn’t a bit hungry. My stomach was all knotted up.

Father and I approached the revolving doors slowly. It was as if we were walking on silk, so lightly did we step. We clattered through the revolving doors a little too noisily, or so it seemed, but when we stepped out on the other side we could see no one was paying us any attention at all. It wasn’t busy. There were groups of soldiers dotted around, and one or two civilians. There were a couple of armed guards positioned at strategic points, but they looked half asleep. Father pulled the bundle of Marks out of his pocket and said, ‘Come on, Stefan, we’d better see if we can buy some tickets.’

When we got to the ticket office, we found the shutters down, the lights off, and no sign of life. Father looked at me, ‘We’ll just have to go down on the platform and see what’s happening.’ I nodded. It was a small station. There were only two platforms. So we went down the stone steps to platform number one, the one from which the trains travelled west. There were quite a few Nazi soldiers stood around in small groups. They were all talking together, smoking and some of them were drinking from metal flasks. Some of them had their arms in slings, others were on crutches. Father and I sat on a bench, ‘Well, Stefan, let’s wait and see. These soldiers must be expecting transport to arrive to take them home to Germany.’

I nodded. We sat quietly and waited.

We were lucky. Within a few minutes we heard a train approaching. Everyone on the platform looked up expectantly. A train pulled in, steam pouring into the air and with a thudding and a hissing of cranking machinery. The sign on the front of the train read ‘Munchen’.

‘
Come on, Stefan,’ said Father. We approached one of the doors. There was a group of Nazi soldiers congregated in the doorway. They were laughing and joking, and drinking bottles of beer. Father opened the door, ‘Excuse me sir, would it be okay if my son and I board this train? We need to visit my sister who is very ill.’

One of the soldiers looked at him and then said, ‘Of course, of course, climb aboard.’

That’s how easy it was. Within a few minutes the train pulled away from the station. I sat next to Father, and I wondered how long it would be before we could come home again.

Chapter 6

Ukrainian proverb: To see a friend no road is too long.

‘
Here, take this, Stefan.’ Father held out a piece of bread and cheese. I took it and chewed away at it, but I didn’t feel hungry at all. We were in a compartment with eight seats in it. Somehow, we’d got ourselves two berths right next to the window. I was glad, because more and more people, mainly soldiers, were pouring into the train. I wouldn’t have wanted to stand in the corridors in the middle of all those German soldiers. For them it was all a long party. They were going home. Some had their arms in slings, others were on crutches. They were drinking and smoking. Now and again they broke into song, and there was lots of laughter. The atmosphere was one of gentle celebration. Before too long they’d be back with their families, and so, they were happy.

Meanwhile, I was hurtling away from Mother. We’d left her behind and as we hurtled along, mile after mile, I began to feel uneasy, as if I had an itch. It wasn’t right. I wanted to be with her, so she could put her arms around me, and watch out for me. So she could fill me up with her beautiful bread and delicious dinners. To leave her behind was like losing a part of myself. I knew Father would look after me as best he could, of course he would, but it just wasn’t the same. As a 15-year-old boy, I didn’t want to show how I felt. I just carried on, making out I was okay, but inside I was hurting.

The train rumbled down the track, with its unrelenting click clack rhythm. I tried to lose myself in this rhythm, to let it invade my head and my heart, so I couldn’t feel anything else, but at the same time, through the window, I could see only too clearly the lush countryside we were leaving behind. The final glow of summer was filling the sky and, even though the sun was shining, you could sense that icy winds were on their way. The deep green was turning to a golden brown. These images would remain etched inside me and I hoped that I’d be able to return one day.

We stopped at several stations along the way and picked up more passengers. Mostly, they were more German soldiers on their way back home. Before long, their singing became more raucous. The corridor outside our compartment was overflowing with them, all smoking and drinking, with their arms around each other, swaying from side to side. So much so that, at times, I thought the train might topple onto its side. Their hats were tipped back, and they wore a smile that stretched right across each and every face.

Inside our compartment, the mood was more sombre. Father was very quiet. No doubt he was thinking similar thoughts to mine. Why should we have to leave our home? The invaders had forced us out, made us run, and abandon everything. Strangely, there were no soldiers in our compartment. There was an elderly couple who sat quietly by the doors, the man with a newspaper on his lap and the woman holding a cat basket on her knee. They reminded me of Mr and Mrs Popovic, they were well dressed and their clothes and luggage looked expensive. Every now and then the woman cooed and clucked into the basket. As the singing and general behaviour of the soldiers became more boisterous, with lots of booming voices and general commotion, I noticed the elderly man look a little worried. He took off his wrist watch and signalled to his wife to do the same. Then he stood up and stashed them into a holdall on the luggage rack above his head. The other passengers in the compartment were all men of a similar age to Father. It wasn’t possible to tell whether they were Ukrainian or German or whether they were from one of our neighbouring countries. They could’ve been Soviets for all I knew. They all sat slumped in their seats with their hats pulled over their faces, either asleep or pretending to be so. I wondered why these men were on the train. Where had they come from and where were they heading?

Despite such distractions, it wasn’t long before my thoughts turned once again to Mother. We’d left her all on her own. I hoped and prayed to God she’d be safe. I imagined all sorts of things in my head. Of Wulf arriving at our home to find we’d fled and summoning Mother to the execution squad instead. This thought trampled through me, leaving me battered and bruised inside, it was all I could do to stop myself from shaking and trembling. Father looked at me,

‘
Don’t worry, Stefan, everything will be all right,’ he whispered, ‘I expect this war will come to a close soon.’

One of the men sitting next to us heard this and stirred briefly, he poked up a finger and raised his hat, using one eye to look us up and down. It scared me. After that, Father and I didn’t speak to each other for the rest of the journey. We didn’t know who could be listening.

I thought about Wulf, though. How I wished he’d left us alone. Ever since he’d arrived as the chief of the occupying Nazi army, he’d given us nothing but trouble. I really hoped that one day a bullet would find its way to him and rid us of him for good. Surely, one day someone would put an end to his brutal ways.

The journey from Vinnitsya to Stanislaviv was about three hours long, covering a distance of just over 200 miles. We passed through many more stations and more passengers jumped aboard. Very few got off. The train became so crammed that for those in the corridors it was like being squashed into a goldfish bowl. More than once I saw a couple of the soldiers look into our compartment and then nod to each other in a discussion. I feared they might storm in and throw us out of our seats, but then more bottles of beer were passed down to them and they got caught up in the merriment once again.

I pressed my face up to the window and watched the world go by. We travelled through more countryside and the sun got lower in the sky. Shades of purple and pink layered themselves into our view. It was a typically beautiful early evening. Before long we arrived at our destination, Stanislaviv.

‘
Right then, Stefan, this is where we get off.’ Father stood up and pulled our cases down from the shelf above. We squeezed past the legs of our fellow travellers. The men with hats over their faces didn’t move, they didn’t stir at all, even when we brushed against their knees. But the elderly man and his wife both looked up and smiled at us, and they both nodded a goodbye. I nodded back, but couldn’t manage a smile. Father led the way as we virtually had to wrestle our way off the train, through a boiling mass of drunken, but happy, German soldiers. They had every reason to be happy. They were going home, but me, I was far away from my home. I could have been a million miles away, the world seemed so alien to me at that precise moment.

We stepped onto the platform, and then we looked up and down. There was a large clock suspended on an ornate overhead cast iron construction. It said five. Father passed me one of the cases and we made our way out of the station. Once out of the station we continued across a cobbled concourse. Then we were on a boulevard, heading away from the station, towards an area on the outskirts of the town. I suppose I could have said it was fortunate that Aunt Helena’s house was within walking distance of the train station, but it most certainly didn’t feel that way. We plodded on. We walked for about two miles and then Father lifted up an arm and pointed,

‘
That’s it. Helena’s house. Come on, Stefan.’

I’d been to Aunt Helena’s house on more than one occasion. It was a house similar to our own, so that was some comfort for me. We walked up the approach, and I wondered what she’d say, since she wasn’t expecting us. Father led the way and we climbed some steps to a side entrance. Father rapped on the door. Within a few seconds it opened and a face peered out from a gloomy interior,

‘
Hello?’ It was Aunt Helena. She looked at us more closely and then her eyebrows jumped, and she stepped out of the doorway with a big smile,

‘
Mikola! Stefan! Oh, it’s good to see you.’ She pulled us both towards her in a big embrace, and I was comforted by her maternal arms.

‘
But what brings you here? And where is Olha?’

‘
Helena, can we come inside?’ Father’s face was drawn, he looked so weary.

‘
Of course, of course!’ Aunt Helena ushered us into her kitchen, sat us down and made us a hot cup of tea. Father spoke at some length about how The Nazis arrived in Vinnitsya and why we’d travelled west to escape an execution squad.

‘
But what of Olha?’ asked Aunt Helena.

Father’s face dropped. ‘I wanted her to come with us, Helena, but she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t leave her mother.’ A wave of guilt washed over me, and I sensed that Father was churning inside in much the same way.

‘
Well, Mikola, you and Stefan can stay as long as you like. Don’t you worry about that. We’ll arrange things so there’ll be room.’

We drank our tea and Aunt Helena made sandwiches with slices of meat. Father and I were hungry, and so we pushed them down like we’d never been fed. Before too long Uncle Yaroslav and my cousin, Oleg, returned from their toils in the fields of their smallholding. Oleg and I looked at each other and exchanged smiles. He and Yaroslav sat down and ate some dinner, and then Yaroslav pulled a bottle of
horilka
out of a cabinet. He and Father remained at the kitchen table and he poured the spirit into glasses. They both took heavy draughts and then Yaroslav topped up their glasses. He produced some cigarettes and he and Father lit up. Then they began to talk. All about everything. The war, the Nazis, the Soviets. Everything that had cut into our lives. Oleg raised his eyebrows and tilted his head towards a door. So, we both stood up and I followed him into his bedroom. Oleg was 12 years old, younger than me, but in his room he had more toys than I’d ever seen. He had many tin soldiers, and he had a wooden castle, which he’d made with help from Yaroslav. It was quite a release to play with Oleg and lose myself in such pursuits. We’d always got on well, and it reminded me of how I used to play with Volodimir.

With Oleg being an only child, it was relatively easy to rearrange things so that Father and I shared a bedroom, small though it was. We hadn't seen Aunt Helena or her family for some years so we stayed up quite late. It was midnight by the time we got to bed and I was very tired, so I fell asleep almost as soon as I lay down.

The following morning was a Monday and I opened up my eyes to see Father standing over me, ‘Come on, Stefan, get up. It’s late. We need to get ourselves up and about, and see what’s happening in this town.’

‘
Yes, Father.’

‘
I’ll see you in the kitchen.’ He left me to pull my clothes on in the chill of the early morning. A couple of minutes later I followed him. We had a wash down and a bit of breakfast. Then Yaroslav left the house to get to work, and shortly afterwards Oleg also left for school. Aunt Helena poured Father another cup of tea. Steam rose from it and wafted in the air. I gulped down my milk.

‘
So, Mikola,’ said Helena, ‘what do you think, eh? About what Yaroslav said last night.’

‘
Well, if Yaroslav can get me some work on his building site, of course it would make sense for us to maybe stay here for a couple of months while there’s some money to be made. I don’t want to be away from Olha too long, though. I don’t like to think of her back there all on her own. But you see, Helena, we had to leave. Wulf would have hunted us down. Maybe in a few weeks things will change. Maybe Wulf’ll be posted somewhere else. But while we’re here, I would like Stefan to get some schooling.’

‘
I don’t see any problem there,’ replied Helena, ‘There are plenty of spaces in all the classes, in fact, more so in the older children’s classes.’

‘
So, is that because the Nazis have cleared out all the Jews? This is what we’ve heard.’

‘
Well, that’s right, Mikola. Lord knows how many they’ve slaughtered. Some have been shipped out of town, and many, many others have been shot. First of all, I prayed for all of us. I thought they would turn Stanislaviv into a ghost town. Then, it became clear that it was the Jews they wanted to be rid of. We’ve been lucky. Now, with so many gone, there is more work for the men. All we can do is work hard and keep praying to the Lord that we’ll be spared.’

Despite everything, even with Wulf’s murderous intentions towards us, I wished right then we’d stayed at home. I missed Mother, and, if what Aunt Helena said was true, Stanislaviv was no different. The people there lived day to day, always waiting for the next wave of brutal Nazi actions.

After finishing our drinks, Father and I slung on our coats and tied up our boots. We left the house and headed for the town. Father wanted to have a look around. We walked for about a mile without seeing a single soul. It was eerie. Monday mornings were usually busy, certainly back home in Vinnitsya, but, there was not a soul about. However, as we arrived in the town square we began to see more people going about their business. The market place was full of traders, and there were many shops open. We were careful to skirt the edges of the market place and we kept our eyes and ears open. On the way into town, Father had drilled into me the need to stay invisible. The last thing we wanted was to fall foul of the Nazis again.

Father still had the Marks left in his pocket so we had a quick browse around the stalls, and Father bought some meat. There wasn’t so much available and we queued for almost an hour just to get a small cut. We made our way back to Aunt Helena’s, and Father slapped the parcel of meat down on the kitchen table. Helena wasn’t around, but she walked in a few minutes later, carrying a bucket of potatoes,