What's Ukrainian for Football?

by Helena Pielichaty

  I laughed. “Oh yes … shoes… Good idea!”

  The beach was busy. There were lots of girls there, presumably from the tournament, and several families were camped out on blankets surrounded by buckets and spades and cool boxes.

  “The tide’s coming in,” Lucy said. “I wish I’d worn my cozzy on now. Come on – race you to the sea.”

  “In my trainers?” I asked.

  “Take them off if you like,” she said. “Barefoot’s best on sand.” She pelted towards the sea, where everyone else was already larking around.

  I slipped off my trainers but left my socks on, and followed more cautiously. I had never walked on sand before. It was all new to me.

  I liked it. I liked the warm softness of it and the way it moulded round my feet as I walked, but then the dry sand turned to wet, muddy silt and I had to stop. I couldn’t go any further without dirtying my socks and I didn’t want to do that.

  I sat down on a patch of warm sand and gingerly pulled off first one, then the other. The skin on my heel stuck but it didn’t peel away. Instead, it bulged as soon as it was released, with one huge blister about the size of an apricot on my left heel and two smaller but equally tender ones on the right. I stared at them in fascination for a second before leaping up and running to catch my friends.

  Everyone had left their shoes and flip-flops in a pile by an abandoned sandcastle, and they were all either standing at the edge of the water letting it wash over their feet or, like Eve and Gemma, jumping and splashing around further in. For a moment I forgot my problems with Jenny-Jane. I forgot my blisters as the stinging cold seawater numbed all feeling in them. I almost forgot the conversation with my uncle. The sea. The sea was incredible! Ukraine only has seas to the south and both were over six hundred kilometres from Lviv. To have a resort like Sherburn Sands only two hours from home… What a gift. I stared into the distance as the water caressed my feet, lost in thought.

  “Enjoying yourself, Nika?” Mrs Fawcett asked. She was standing close by, her jeans rolled up to her knees.

  I shivered. “Yes,” I said, fixing a smile on my face, “very much.”

  “Good.” She then began telling me about the hours she used to spend with her sister, Mandy, climbing from one rock pool to another, searching for periwinkles and sea lemons and anemones and other interesting-sounding specimens.

  I could not say “anemone” at all. “Anenemy?” I repeated. “Amenimy?”

  Mrs Fawcett began to spell it for me – but we were interrupted by an ear-piercing shriek. Eve, a few metres further into the sea than we were, had been drenched from head to foot. “That wave was bigger than I expected!” she said, giggling, coughing and spitting out seawater all at the same time. Gemma and Lucy were doubled up with laughter – but then another wave washed over, drenching them too.

  Everyone was laughing now. Megan and Petra, not wanting to be left out, ran straight in, followed by Hannah and Katie. Only Jenny-Jane held back, her face obscured by the breeze whipping at her long hair, her hands dug deep in her trouser pockets.

  “Go on, Nika,” Mrs Fawcett said, giving me a nudge. “In for a penny, in for a pound.”

  Yes, I thought. Why not? Time to lighten up, Nika! I splashed through the water and began leaping over the oncoming waves. Sometimes I managed to clear them and sometimes I didn’t. One thing was for sure: within seconds I was as wet and happy and noisy as everyone else – until the moment I took a long step back to scissor-jump over a really high wave and the back of my left foot rammed into something sharp. If Eve’s shriek had been piercing I don’t know what mine was. My heel hurt so much I almost fainted. I immediately began to hop to the dry sand, with everyone following me.

  “Are you all right, Nika?”

  “What happened?”

  “Look! Her foot’s bleeding loads.”

  “It’s a good thing Mum’s here. I knew it was useful bringing a nurse along,” Megan said.

  Mrs Fawcett took one look at my foot and said we’d need to get back to the chalet quickly to clean it. Before I knew what was happening, Hannah and Katie had hoisted me into the air, their arms plaited under me like the seat of a swing. Now that I’d left the water, my foot was stinging so much all I could do was squeeze my eyes shut and pray.

  9

  Back in the chalet, I perched on one of the high stools at the breakfast bar. My foot was outstretched on another stool, as Mrs Fawcett cleaned my injury. I think she used up nearly everything in the first-aid box. “At least it was a rock and not glass or a rusty tin you hit, so you don’t need a tetanus jab. Fortunately it just sliced through the blister and not bone,” she said, screwing the lid back on the tube of antiseptic. There was a chorus of “yeuw” from the crowd. “We’ll keep this dressing on for tonight and see how it is in the morning. If it looks inflamed, I’ll get you straight to the hospital.”

  “Those blisters. No wonder you were limping!” Lucy said, her eyes full of concern.

  “I’ll be OK now. Really,” I said, looking at her, then at everyone else. I felt my cheeks burn. I’d done it again: caused problems and ended up being the centre of attention. “I am sorry for spoiling the fun.”

  “Don’t be,” Petra said; “it’s not like you did it on purpose.”

  “Accidents happen,” Mrs Fawcett reassured me. “I’d be out of a job if they didn’t!”

  Most of the others gave me a sympathetic smile. Not Jenny-Jane, though. Of course not. “Huh,” she said. “Well, we can kiss the tournament goodbye now, can’t we?”

  Everyone turned to look at her. “What do you mean?” Megan asked.

  “We’re a player short, aren’t we? How’re we supposed to play seven-a-side with only six of us?”

  My heart began to pump fast. “I’ll be fine tomorrow. I feel much better already with the bandage and everything,” I told her coldly.

  “Yeah, right,” Jenny-Jane muttered. “Fat lot of use you’ll be limping around. Who’s that hobbling about on the touchline? Oh yeah, the lame Ukrainian.”

  That did it! Anger darted through me, sharper than any rock. I curled my hands into small, tight fists until the knuckles hurt. If Jenny-Jane wanted a fight, she could have one. I hobbled right up to her. “Take that back. Take that back now!”

  “What?” she asked innocently, holding her hands in the air.

  “About me being a lame Ukrainian.”

  “But you are a lame Ukrainian. You’re lame and you’re from Ukraine. I’m just stating facts. What’s wrong with that?” She looked around her for back-up, but none came.

  Even if it had, it wouldn’t have mattered. I was blind and deaf to everything except this smelly ropukha in front of me. I poked my finger in her chest. “Don’t lie! You don’t mean lame because I can’t walk, you mean lame because you think my country is useless.” She opened her mouth to deny it but I saved her the trouble. I was not the polite, respectful immigrant girl now, letting her comments pass. “For your information, Ukraine is not useless. It’s brilliant and it’s brave!” As I spoke my face got nearer and nearer to hers – but she didn’t flinch.

  “Brilliant?” she barked. “Huh! If it’s so brilliant, why are you all coming over here, then? Why don’t you stay there in your oh-so-brilliant country?”

  “JJ!” Someone near by gasped. Hannah or Katie, perhaps. I didn’t know or care.

  “That’s my business, you racist!” I yelled and grabbed a handful of her hair.

  Immediately she grabbed my wrist and dug her nails into it. “Racist? Get stuffed! If I was a racist I wouldn’t speak to Eve or Tabinda, would I?”

  But I wasn’t listening. Instead I tugged harder on her hair, with both hands now, and would have pulled every dirty strand out by the roots if someone hadn’t pressed their fingers hard into my shoulders. I turned to see Katie behind me, her eyes wide with dismay, and my anger vanished in an instant. What was I doing? Fighting and screaming in front of the people I admired so much. My shoulders slumped and I began to tremble.

/>   Katie released her grip slightly. “It’s all right,” she soothed; “it’s all right.”

  “Um … I think it might be a good idea if we all went to our separate chalets for a while to cool off…” Hannah began, her hands on Jenny-Jane’s shoulders. “We can meet at dinner, OK?”

  “Suits me,” Jenny-Jane muttered, her eyes boring into mine.

  For a moment I thought it suited me, too, but as I turned to go, I stopped. Meeting again at dinner wouldn’t change anything. Too much had been said. Unless Jenny-Jane and I sorted this out now, things would only get worse and worse until we exploded again. And the way I – we – felt I knew we would explode again. I did not want that. “Just a minute, please,” I said quietly.

  Katie looked at me closely, like a zookeeper deciding whether to release an agitated animal back into its pen or not. I gave her a pleading smile and she let go of my shoulders.

  For the first time, I glanced round the room. Everyone looked either shocked or embarrassed. “I … um … could you all sit down? I want to tell you a story…” I said.

  The shocked and embarrassed expressions turned to puzzled ones.

  “About a football match…” I continued, perching on the stool again. I swallowed and waited.

  No one seemed to know what to do.

  “Look, I know you all wanted to be England in the tournament, and I am sorry we aren’t. Truly, I am. And Jenny-Jane” – she shot me a dirty look and folded her arms across her chest defiantly – “you should be proud of your country for once winning the World Cup against West Germany…”

  “Thanks for letting me know,” she muttered.

  “But England aren’t the only team to have won a big match against them. Not just West Germany but all Germany.”

  “What? In a World Cup final?”

  I tilted my chin. “No. It was much more important than that!”

  “How could it be? What’s more important than winning the World Cup?”

  “Sit down and I will tell you. I will tell you something that will make you wish you came from such a brave and noble country as Ukraine.”

  Jenny-Jane strode over to the seating area and dragged one of the beanbags across the floor, placing it right in front of me. She sat on it, her arms folded, a haughty look on her face. “Go on, then,” she challenged. “I’m all ears.”

  Her action seemed to break a spell. “Wait for me,” Lucy declared and grabbed the other beanbag.

  Megan and Petra joined in then. “Hang on! Hang on!” they cried, manoeuvring the sofa round.

  The atmosphere changed a little. Instead of tension, there was expectation. Before I knew it, the whole team were sitting at my feet, with Hannah and Katie perched on the sofa arms and Mr and Mrs Fawcett leaning against the windowsill at the back.

  Looking around, I was suddenly aware of the task I had set myself. I didn’t know if I’d be able to tell it all properly. What should I leave in? Or rather, what should I leave out? The ending Uncle had divulged today was so grim.

  “Come on, Kozak. Once upon a time…” Eve began for me.

  Once upon a time. Of course! I would tell Uncle’s tale like a story in a book rather than a true account. I would pretend my uncle was a character. Then maybe I wouldn’t be quite so emotional when I thought of him and my poor babka during that time, experiencing those dreadful things. Instead of using their names, I chose the names of my favourite male and female football players: Andriy after Andriy Shevchenko and Darina after Darina Apanaschenko. Taking a deep breath, I began.

  10

  “Once upon a time there was a thirteen-year-old orphan called Andriy. He lived with his ten-year-old sister, Darina, in the glorious city of Kiev, the capital of Ukraine. One day, he—”

  “Why were they orphans? What happened to their mum and dad?” Petra asked.

  “They died during the Holodomor,” I said, not having time to think up anything but the truth.

  “The Holodo what?”

  “Holodomor. It means death by starvation.”

  “What was it? Like a famine?” Lucy asked.

  So much for me just sticking to the description of the match! But I realized that, like with all good stories, you had to build up the background first. I looked at my team-mate and told her what I knew from things Babka had told me. “No, it was not a famine. This was not a natural disaster. You see, Andriy and Darina were not from Kiev originally. They were born in the countryside many kilometres away. They were brought up on a collective – a small farm – and lived with their family there. But it was a bad time for them. Ukraine was part of Soviet Russia, and Stalin, the Russian leader, decided the Ukrainians were too independent and needed to be taught a lesson. He ordered that they weren’t allowed to eat anything they grew, and all their crops were confiscated. If the farmers did try to keep any food they were punished.”

  “But everyone’s got to eat!” Megan stated.

  “Stalin obviously didn’t think so. Millions died, including Andriy and Darina’s parents. Luckily, a kind neighbour called Marina, who had lost her husband and daughters, took the children to live with her brother and his wife in Kiev.”

  “And were the brother and his wife really cruel to the children?” Petra asked.

  I frowned, not understanding why she would think this – then I realized she thought I was telling a fairy-tale. I wish! “No, no, they were kind. Ukrainians are very welcoming people. Andriy and Darina grew into fine, sturdy children and attended school and did other normal things…”

  “Minty.” Petra nodded.

  “And, like lots of his school friends, Andriy’s passion was football. He followed the city’s best team, Dynamo Kiev…”

  “I’ve heard of them!” Gemma cried.

  “Me, too,” Lucy added. “We played them in the Champions League.”

  “They were a very good team,” I said, staring at Jenny-Jane, daring her to contradict me. “One of the finest in Eastern Europe at the time. Andriy’s favourite player was Nikolai Trusevich, the goalkeeper, whom everyone called Kolya.”

  “Kolya?” Megan repeated.

  “Kolya. Kolya was a gentle man off the pitch, but on the pitch he would thrill the crowds by taking such risks! He was strong and brave and fearless. He also had his own style of doing things. Instead of catching the ball and then kicking it upfield, he often just kicked it. I know keepers do this nowadays, but back then it was unusual. The crowd thought it was amusing, but it meant he gave his side more chances to attack because the ball was further forward.

  “Of course, there were other good players, too. The baby-faced defender Alexei Klimenko, who came from a famous circus family, and the nippy winger Makar Goncharenko…” I paused. I could see the Ukrainian names were difficult for my team-mates to take in, so I didn’t go through the whole team. In truth, I could not remember all of them anyway.

  “But it was Kolya whom Andriy adored above all,” I continued. “He would try to sit behind the goal during the match, to be close to him, to watch his antics. Because of Kolya, Andriy decided that when he grew up he, too, would be a goalkeeper…”

  “Like me.” Megan beamed.

  “Then the war started. Of course, with the war, all professional football was halted. The players joined the army. The leagues were suspended…”

  “They were here, too,” Mr Fawcett added. “I remember my dad telling me.”

  “Oh! I wish my dad were here!” Lucy piped up. “He loves history.”

  I nodded shyly. I seemed to have engaged everyone so far. Except one. Jenny-Jane was as stony-faced as when I had started. Never mind. I would not let her put me off. I cleared my throat and continued. “At the same time Andriy left school and got a job as an errand boy in Bakery Number Three…”

  “I’d love to work in a bakery. All those cakes,” said Eve, licking her lips.

  I paused again. We’d never get to the end with all these interruptions! “It wasn’t a little bakery, with buns and cakes in the windows like you have here on
the high street,” I explained. “It was a huge factory where the shifts were twelve hours long. And you weren’t allowed to eat any of the bread. If you did you’d be dismissed instantly.”

  “Oh,” Eve said. “I’d be sacked on day one, then.”

  “OK, so, with the war, things were tough – but then things had always been tough. The Kievans managed. People went to work. Life carried on. Then Hitler decided it would be a good idea to invade Russia so he pointed his troops at Stalingrad. And guess which city was en route to Stalingrad? Kiev!”

  “Uh-oh,” Petra murmured.

  “The German army marched on our beautiful city. For months the Russians and the citizens fought bravely to save the capital, but eventually they were defeated. Kiev – or what was left of it after it had been bombed and set alight – was under German occupation.

  “Life was a nightmare. The Germans treated the people worse than Stalin had. Andriy went to work every day feeling terrified, wondering if he’d make it back home alive or if he’d get a bullet in his head for no reason other than that he was Ukrainian.

  “Then, one day, he had the shock of his life – but in a good way! He turned up for work, and who should be sweeping out the bakery yard but Nikolai Trusevich himself. The great Kolya! Only now he was not so great. He limped as he swept and seemed to have aged beyond his years. But still, the Dynamo goalkeeper it was. It turned out that the manager of the factory, a guy called Kordik, had given him a job. Like Andriy, he was a big Dynamo fan and had taken the player in.”

  “Cool. Did Andriy talk to Kolya? Did he get his autograph?” Lucy asked.

  “No; he was too shy. But he caught glimpses of him whenever he could and once, when he passed close to him, Kolya winked at him…”

  “I’d have so asked for his autograph,” Eve said with a shake of her head.

  “They probably didn’t have autograph books in those days,” Petra told her.

  “Oh yeah. I never thought of that.”

  “Ahem. Is it OK if I continue my story now?”