Sliding on the Snow Stone (16 page)

The man snatched it and ran his eyes across it. Then, he screwed it up and threw it to one side, ‘Ukrainian Resistance eh? Pah. Weren’t much use to us last week when we needed them. Some of our boys got killed. We got caught in a skirmish with the Nazis, they had too much for us. We lost quite a few that day. Including Ludvik. He’s dead. Won’t be coming back. So . . . understand me, this is not a good place for Ukrainians right now, because we’re about to send the Nazis off to Hell. We’re going to bomb them and blast them and shoot them up. We don’t want them here. And if there are any Ukrainians in Nazi uniform then they’ll get it. They’ll get it good!’

He stepped forward with murder in his eyes, but was held back by his companion. We didn’t hang around. I pushed the door open and we bundled through it back into the street, and walked back the way we came, but slowly, so as not to attract attention. I looked back several times and we weren’t followed. A few hundred yards later we stopped at the fountain in the town square. There was no water running from it, just a pool of scummy water sitting in the base. Father and I stood and looked at it.

‘
Stefan, it looks like things are going to get dangerous around here, I don’t know what to do for the best.’

‘
Father, I want to go home. I want to see Mother. Please . . . can we go home?’

I collapsed onto my knees, and I’m not ashamed to say it, I cried. Tears flowed from me like a heavy rainfall. Father put his arms around me, ‘Stefan . . . Stefan, my boy, we’ll get home. Of course we will. Don’t worry, son, I’ll get you home.’

He pulled me up and sat me down next to him on the side of the fountain.

‘
Come on, Stefan, I need you to be a Kozak. I need you to be strong, just like you were back there when you got me out of that tavern.’ I knew he was right. There was no use in sitting around weeping, we needed to keep moving. I dried my eyes on the sleeve of my coat and stood up.

We headed south. To go east would have led us right into the arms of the Soviets, while to the west and the north were battle zones. Father and I were not equipped to be in such places. So sure enough, we went south. To get away from the guns, the bombs, and the sounds of war; the explosions, the thudding of nearby hits; the flashes of fire on the horizon.

The sky and the stars above us became our blanket once again as we slept beneath them, night after night. The days passed by without much in the way of food and, despite Sara’s efforts to feed us up for our journey, we got weaker as we trudged along. I turned into a shadow. Father constantly beseeched me to carry on. I remember his voice saying to me, ‘Keep going, Stefan, keep going.’

But I was ragged, I was sick with hunger and fear. I remember being in a train carriage, in the hold with other peasants, I can’t even remember getting on or off that train, I just recall the inside of the carriage. I sipped at a cup of water held for me by Father, warm gritty water, it tasted like soil. It revived me, poured some life back into me. And so, this is how we went. By train some of the time, the rest of time we trod the land in our worn out shoes. Until we reached the border. Once again, the clouds were kind to us as we made our journey, they held the rain inside them, and parted to let a glorious late spring sun shine down on us. My thoughts often returned to those years when I’d run around our village back home with Volodimir and our friends in such sunshine. Even though we were hungry boys with bare feet, we were happy enough, but we’d all been ripped away from there by the dark forces around us.

So, there we stood, with Hungary just in front of us. What would we find there? It was another step into the unknown. Would we find further hostility towards Ukrainians? Father and I were like vagabonds, with wild hair and unkempt, dirty clothes upon us. How would we be received by the Hungarians? Well, we didn’t have much choice, there was no turning back. So we crossed that border, together with many others, and prayed we would find something or somewhere, a place to lay down our heads and get some rest. By day, we dragged our feet over grassland and fields. Insects buzzed around us, crickets chattered, birds sang. I was dizzy with hunger. All this food around me, and yet I couldn’t catch it, couldn’t grasp it in my hand, and then cook it and eat it.

We stopped several times to fish in a stream, pretty much whenever we passed one by and got a bite once or twice. Every time we did, the fish thrashed around as we tried to land it. We were so weak, so feeble, it was a hard battle. The fish was strong, flapping madly, with an eye staring at us, furious in its desire to get back in the water. Father got hold of a rock and bashed it. Then it was still. We cooked it and ate it, but it was never enough.

Many times I’d lie awake at night shivering. The stars twinkled above and many times I saw them transform into fish and swim towards me. They gathered around above my head and, one by one, they dropped into my mouth. On those occasions I got a warm feeling inside and eventually drifted off to sleep.

I lost track of time. I lost myself. I was like a sack, a hollow shell just drifting aimlessly. With guiding hands around me, Father’s hands, somehow I kept moving. Now and again, I got a trickle of water down my throat, but I wanted food.

I remember sitting around a fire, sniffing the air, with my mouth watering. A hot potato burned me as I gulped it down. Where it came from I couldn’t say, but I didn’t care, I just wanted more, but there was none. We walked some more. All around us, early summer was beginning to bloom. The trees were sprouting leaves. The grass underneath our feet was lush. There was birdsong all around. It was maddening.

Without Father I would have surely perished. What little food we found was because of him. He led the way, across field and track, through meadows and mountains. I followed him. He kept me safe. We slept in open spaces, in between boulders, or beneath a tree. Father woke himself many times through the night to tend the fire, to keep it burning, to stop the wolves from coming to us. The days passed in a haze.

Then one evening, just as it was getting dark, we found ourselves walking into a town. The lights dazzled as we approached. What would we find? A line of men with guns ready to shoot us down? Or an angry mob armed with clubs and sticks, ready to run us back out the way we came?

We glided in. As if we were just a flicker in the shadows, like a tree root growing beneath the ground, weaving our way into those streets almost without breathing, without making a sound.

And then we saw it. It made our eyes widen and sent a shiver of expectation down us. There was a large church, and just in front of it was a group of people, just ordinary people, civilians like us. They’d set up some tables and brought out some extravagantly sized pots and placed them on those tables, which creaked under the strain. Steam drifted from the top of those pots. The aroma was good. I licked my lips.

‘
Come on, Stefan, Father put an arm around me, looks like we’ve found a meal.’ We stood in the queue for many minutes until we reached the front and were given a bowl of steaming hot stew and a hunk of bread. We sat on the church steps and ate. It was wonderful. I licked my bowl clean. With the blessing of the priest, we took sanctuary in the church and, for a couple of nights, we slept there. The priest and his helpers gave us blankets. We were fed well during those two days and got ourselves cleaned up a little. The food was good, if a little spicy for us, we got a touch of the runs, but we still went back for more. On the third morning, the priest approached us, ‘Well, Mikola and Stefan. You’ve been here a couple of nights and it’s been gratifying to see you both in the chapel, joining us for prayers. But can I ask you what your plans are?’ It was clear from his tone that we’d stayed the two nights maximum allowed there and needed to move on. I could see it troubled him to say these things, but it was part of his job, so that was that.

‘
We are weary,’ replied Father, ‘we’ve travelled far. Our feet are blistered and sore. We’re grateful to you, and your people, for feeding us and giving us shelter. But we have to keep moving, to stay ahead of the Soviet Army.’

The priest nodded and looked a little relieved. Food was scarce everywhere. The church was doing its Christian duty as best it could and we’d got lucky on this occasion. From somewhere they’d got hold of a quantity of food and were prepared to distribute it to those like us; the driftwood floating through the land, bent and broken, sometimes drifting without direction or purpose. But as it was, we couldn’t hang around. It was common knowledge the Soviets were pressing on the Hungarian border, it was whispered on the breeze from all corners, we couldn’t stay around to see what they’d do to us.

We travelled on, towards the west, caught in a pincer grip of advancing Soviets and desperate retreating Nazis. We kept our heads down and walked in the shadows, like many others around us. There were hundreds and thousands of people lurking in those shadows. Like us, they’d been forced out of their homes and left to wander the earth, scavenging for what they could find.

Germany was our destination. The Soviet war machine would trample over everything in its way and take whatever it could, but we were pretty sure the Allies would hold onto Germany. Late at night, we’d sit around a fire with other travellers and it was believed by everyone that Germany would never become Soviet controlled. Those early summer nights were balmy, we began to feel more hopeful. After all, we’d lived for several weeks on the road, and we’d walked hundreds of miles. Okay, we were bedraggled, filthy and hungry for much of the time, but with the summer sun beating down on us, it revived us. The nights weren’t so cold. Belief was building inside us. Belief that we might somehow survive.

It was decided by Father, the best way to get to Germany was to continue through the northern part of Hungary and then head back up into Slovakia. From there we’d be able to get across the border into the southern part of Germany. It was many, many miles and all we could do was take it one step at a time, and so we continued like this day after day.

We scrabbled around in fields to get food, sometimes we even loitered near to army encampments to see if we could find some scraps, anything, but we didn’t get too close and always stayed downwind.

Somehow, we floated along that summer breeze and arrived at the capital, Budapest. A fine old town it was, with the Danube running through it and so many bridges. I counted eight. It was a magnificent place, but we couldn’t stop to admire it. Our search for food was never ending. Father dropped a fishing line into the river, but we couldn’t get a bite. In the end, we were forced to give up and keep on walking. The relentless trudging, together with so little food, turned us into sticks. We were like dead men.

I had visions. Many times I had them. Of platefuls of hams and sliced sausage. Of thick slices of buttered bread. Of ripe, luscious tomatoes and fresh smelling cucumber. That’s all I wanted. Nothing fancy. As we walked through the town, my head spinning and my legs dragging, I saw a man approaching. He was eating an apple. He finished it and threw the core into the gutter. Without hesitation, I dived forward, and before the core had even settled in the gutter I’d scooped it up and eaten it. All of it. The man turned and watched me as I did this, with an expression of shock on his face. I didn’t care. Not right then.

On empty stomachs, somehow we made our way north, by following the river. There were hordes of people just like us, trying to get somewhere, but we could have been going nowhere for all we knew. We trekked on, through roads and plains, through the day and often, through the darkness of night. Back towards Slovakia. Across the border and towards the capital, Bratislava. Father urged me on,

‘
Come on, Stefan, we’ve got to keep moving. The Soviets aren’t far behind us.’ I wanted to make him proud, so I walked. Tried to walk like a Kozak, even though the fear inside was filling every thought and every move I made. War was all around. Rockets flew back and forth. Both towards us and from behind us. Many times we threw ourselves onto the ground and covered our heads with our hands. We soon learned to recognise that familiar whistle. It started slowly, but as soon as you heard the faintest sound, you knew you had just a few seconds. We ran like rabbits to get shelter. Behind a rock, or in a ditch. Anywhere. On one occasion, we were caught by surprise as a rocket flew overhead. It came from nowhere, and looked as if it was coming right at us. I stood there, looking up at the sky with my mouth open. Next thing I knew, Father had thrown himself at me and I was lying on the ground with him on top of me. The rocket exploded about a hundred yards away, covering us with soil and stones. Father took the worst of it. He stood up, rubbing his back. Smoke swirled around us. It was raging hard all right.

Many more days passed by and turned into weeks. The summer began to fade and the cool evening breezes told us that autumn would soon be with us. The nights were starting to get colder.

Finally, we reached Bratislava, and made our way through the city, looking for food and water wherever we could. The streets were full of people just like us, rooting around in bins, being chased away by patrons of kerbside cafes, sniffing around for a crust of bread, or some potato peelings, anything.

On the north side of Bratislava, we ran into some partisans. They offered to feed us if we would work for them. We weren’t in a position to say no, we hadn’t eaten anything much for a few days. They fed us, and gave us shelter. Then, the following morning we were sent on a task. To help dig trenches to stop the Nazis from advancing east. We didn’t question the wisdom of this, but were just grateful to be fed and sheltered. Weakened as we were, we couldn’t dig as hard or fast as the other men, but we did as much as we could. And after a few days, and a few more meals, we grew stronger. Summer was now behind us and the winds were really starting to bite as they swirled through the mountains. We’d got lucky once again, in finding sanctuary, even though it was with the Slovak partisans. Their leader was Leo, there was fire in his soul. ‘This land belongs to the Slovak people, no one else.’ He fixed his expression on ours as we sat around a camp fire late one evening, ‘They shouldn’t be here. Any of them. Neither the Nazis nor the Soviets. We live a simple life here in Slovakia. The Nazis have come and taken whatever they can get their thieving hands on. We want them out. So tomorrow I’ll need you both to work with different work details. Mikola, you’ll be with the work party at the north side of the city. It’s heavy work, digging a whole new set of trenches, the ground is very rocky there. So, Stefan, you’ll go with the party working to the east. Work there is nearly complete.’