Lesia's Dream

by Laura Langston

  He spoke gruffly. In English. She looked at his mouth and tried to understand what he was saying. She couldn’t.

  He spoke again, and she wanted to sink into the ground.

  “Open the parcel and show him.” It was the same Ukrainian voice that had grumbled at her to hurry up. “They check everything.”

  She pulled the cloth back and held up the basket for inspection. The guard pawed through the pyrohy, the cookies and the crock of honey before resting his hand on the bread. With a nasty wink at Lesia, he picked it up, turned it upside down and shoved his fist through the crust to the soft dough inside. Withdrawing his hand, he dropped the bread into the basket, shook the crumbs away and spoke to the man beside him. They both laughed again.

  How could he do such a horrible thing? Trembling, Lesia covered the basket and fought back tears.

  “Tell him who you are visiting,” the voice from behind hissed.

  “Gregory and Ivan Magus,” she said, hugging the basket tight.

  The other guard studied a large brown clipboard. Lesia held her breath. When he took his thick black pen and scratched off two names, she let it out. He returned her papers and motioned her forward.

  She was inside. And the sudden warmth after the wind and cold made her nose tingle. She loosened the knot in her scarf, pulled it away from her face and joined the line that snaked its way down the hall. It was lovely and warm. Strange that a place so full of evil could feel so wonderful. And be so bright.

  The woman with the two young boys smiled over her shoulder. Hesitantly, Lesia smiled back. “What do we do now?” she murmured.

  “When you get in, say what you have to say quickly,” she answered softly. The two boys giggled and jostled each other and the taller of the two fell laughing to the floor. “They only give us a few minutes, and they are angry with us for bringing gifts when their Christmas is already over.” With a grimace of disapproval, the woman grabbed the boy by his collar and yanked him off the floor.

  Lesia was shocked until she saw a guard in a stiff green uniform glaring at the young child. He spoke harshly and gestured with his bayonet. The woman nodded, dropped her eyes, pulled her young son close and began to scold him.

  He was only a child. But he was a Ukrainian child. Lesia’s face filled with heat. To be so hated, and all because they were Ukrainian. At first she was mortified, ashamed. They were not good enough for Canada, for this land of milk and honey. They were not worthy of the great gifts the prairie soil could provide. But then anger replaced shame. They were ploughing and cultivating virgin land. Their men were building the rail line. Enemies of the Canadian people? Hardly that.

  Yet the guards seemed to think so. Some patrolled the hall; others stood under tremendously large electric lights and stared fiercely at the line. If people moved even slightly or spoke too loudly, they were prodded with long, black bayonets.

  How dare they treat people this way? She challenged the blue-eyed guard with a defiant stare. His eyes flickered ominously, but then he looked away. Lesia began to breathe again.

  Turning a corner, she caught sight of rows and rows of narrow cots, each one covered with a blanket. Not only did they have heat and light, she thought with a tug of envy, they had beds and blankets too!

  How could she think such things? No doubt Papa and Ivan would give anything to go home and sleep on the cold floor with the rest of them.

  Lesia followed the crowd through a maze of hallways, up one flight of stairs and down another. And then, before she had time to worry about finding her way out again, she was being pushed forward by the others into a large, open room.

  Into a crowd of babbling people.

  And Papa’s arms.

  “I’ve missed you, moye sonechko.” He grabbed her close before she had time to get a good look at him.

  Her arms flew around his neck; she clung tightly. “Oh, Papa, I’ve missed you too!” Loosening her grip, she stepped back. Her smile slipped. The noise in the room receded. Papa?

  His eyes were bleak, defeated. His shoulders slumped, his hands trembled. His salt-and-pepper hair had turned completely white. He was a mere shell of the man she’d hugged at the end of September.

  “Lesia!” Ivan called. She turned, prepared for the worst. But aside from the cynical smile, which was a little more sullen than usual, her brother looked the same as always.

  “I’m glad you came.” He squeezed her hand. “Thank you.” Lesia swallowed her tears. Ivan never thanked her for anything.

  People were breaking into smaller groups, spreading out through the large room. Voices were dropping. Confidences were being exchanged.

  Ivan led them to a far wall. Guards eyed them carefully but did not stop them.

  “How is everyone?” Papa demanded.

  Hungry. Scared. Worried. “We’re all fine,” Lesia lied. She couldn’t add to the pain in his eyes. “Mama sends her love.” That much was true. “And how are you? Are they treating you well?”

  Papa was silent. Ivan spoke for him. “I suppose.” He gestured to one of the passing guards. “We’re warm, we’re dry, we’re fed. We have a bed and a blanket. Our biggest problem is boredom.” His eyebrows linked in a fierce frown. “Too much time to think about the injustice of it all.”

  An awkward silence fell. Lesia shifted nervously from one foot to the other. Just a few minutes. “Papa, I must borrow money. You see, we—”

  Ivan cut her off. “That’s good, Lesia, good!” His voice was loud and false. His eyes were fastened on something over her shoulder.

  Her neck prickled. She whirled around. The blueeyed guard smirked cruelly down at her. He was close enough to touch. Contemptuously, his gaze travelled from the top of her head to the bottom of her burlap-covered feet. Then he sauntered away.

  She turned back. “I must borrow money, Papa. We need shells for the shotgun. We have some flour but the sack is getting low. Pearl and Paul give us bread and sometimes potatoes. Andrew was selling our eggs but the chickens have stopped laying for the winter. He was the one who paid for the trip today. He insisted on it being a gift. You’ve always said that relying on charity is worse than borrowing money and paying it back.”

  “No more debt, Lesia!” A flash of Papa’s old spirit returned. “We’re through with it. Andrew has been paid. So has Master Stryk.”

  Lesia bit her tongue. And what good did that do? she wanted to ask. If you hadn’t mailed that money, they wouldn’t have arrested you and charged you with supporting the enemy. You wouldn’t be here right now!

  But she couldn’t blame Papa. She had mailed money to Master Stryk too. Only she hadn’t got caught doing it. Not yet, at least. “Papa, you must understand, we—”

  “So Mama is well,” Ivan’s voice boomed out again. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  There was another guard near. “Yes!” Lesia spoke with forced cheerfulness. “And Adam too,” she noted.

  “Adam!” Grief settled in the creases of Papa’s face like a dusting of snow settling on land. “Will I ever see my Adam again?” His eyes filled with tears.

  “Shhh.” Ivan frowned. “Do you want to call attention?”

  But the guard was gone.

  Just a few more minutes. “Papa,” Lesia said gendy, “we are not fine. Sonia cries all the time from hunger. There’s no milk for Adam, he’s losing weight. And Mama is coughing again. Borrowing money is the only answer, Papa.”

  Wordlessly he shook his head. He looked away.

  “Ivan.” Lesia appealed to her brother. “Talk to him.”

  But her brother shook his head too. “No debt, Lesia. It’s too risky.”

  Not Ivan too? Lesia’s anger spilled out like flax seeds falling from a sack. “What do you know of risk?” Her voice trembled with frustration. “You have food and warmth and a dry place to sleep at night. We are freezing in the burdei, and starving.”

  “Borrowing money means you must trust someone,” Ivan said. “We can trust no one. Not even other Ukrainians.”

  “We
can trust Andrew.”

  “Yes, but if someone finds out he helped, he could be in trouble. Or we could lose our land.”

  “That won’t happen.”

  “There are no guarantees, Lesia.” Ivan’s smile was humourless. “Surely you know that by now.”

  She was silent. A picture of nasty Minnie Korol slid into her mind.

  “Without land,” Ivan said, “we are nothing.”

  “Without food, we will starve!”

  Ivan leaned close so Papa was out of earshot. “Borrow some shells from Andrew or Paul,” he whispered. “Make them promise to tell no one. At least then you can use the shotgun.”

  It wasn’t all she wanted, but it was a start. “As long as I can stay outside long enough to hunt,” she said. “It’s so cold, my fingers and toes are almost always numb.”

  “It won’t take you long to catch something,” Ivan predicted. “They say the rabbits practically come up and beg to be shot in the cold weather. Sometimes prairie chickens too.” He turned to Papa. “As soon as this guard passes, I want you to bend down, pretend you’re scratching your ankle and undo your boots.”

  Papa nodded.

  What was Ivan thinking? Lesia wondered.

  “Then you’ll stand beside Papa,” he said to her, staring down at the chunks of burlap she had wrapped around and around what was left of her old boots. “It doesn’t look like you’ll have any trouble slipping those off without bending over,” he said.

  “Probably not,” Lesia admitted. “But why?”

  Ivan didn’t answer. The blue-eyed guard with the nasty smirk sauntered by. When they could see his back, Ivan spoke. “Now, Papa!” Papa bent over and went to work.

  “You’re going to need Papa’s boots to get out in the snow,” Ivan explained. “They’ll be big, but you can stuff them with rags. When you’re not using them, Mama can.”

  “What will Papa use?” Her father straightened. His boots were positioned inconspicuously behind him.

  “Yours.”

  Lesia’s eyes widened. “There’s nothing to them. Besides, they’ll be too small.”

  “They’ll do for now,” her brother said. “When they see his boots are falling apart, maybe they’ll find him another pair.” His lips twisted into a mirthless grin. “Or let him stay inside when the weather’s at its worst.”

  Watching carefully for guards, Lesia slowly worked the old burlap-wrapped boots off her feet. It was a long process, but eventually she was able to nudge them towards Papa. He, in turn, slid his boots to her. Once they were hidden under her skirt, she took her time sliding her feet into them. Finally, with Ivan shielding her, she bent over and did them up.

  As she straightened, a bell started to ring. Several children began to cry. “Two more minutes,” yelled a barrel-chested guard with a brown moustache. “Two minutes!”

  Ivan translated. So soon?

  Papa reached out and grabbed her hands. “Moye sonechko, please know that I love you! I love all of you more than life itself.” His eyes filled and one lone tear trickled down his cheek. “Tell Mama I’m sorry for what has happened. Tell her I’ll make it up to her when I get home. Tell her I love her. And …” His voice cracked. “And tell her I pray for her.” He turned to the wall.

  Ivan reached for her hand. “Lesia, you know I’ve done some foolish things in my life. I’ve taken many risks. I know you’re very brave and you feel great responsibility. I’m proud of what you’ve accomplished on the land. But whatever you do, do not borrow money from anyone.” His eyes tunnelled into her. “The safety of our land could depend on it.” He squeezed her hand. “Promise me?”

  “It’s time,” bellowed the same barrel-chested guard. “Please leave by the east doors. Leave by the east doors.”

  “You must leave now.” Ivan said. “But first promise me!”

  Lesia’s heart sank to the bottom of her new boots. “I promise,” she said thickly.

  She forced herself to leave without looking back. What was worse? she wondered as she followed a crying woman out the door. Making that horrible promise or wondering when—if—she would ever see Papa and Ivan again?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Pearl’s house was warm with bodies and the rich smells of the Holy Eve feast. Tiny fingertips scratched away the frost as the children peered out the large front window and into the dark sky for a first glimpse of the beloved Star of Bethlehem. Not only would it signal the end of fasting and the start of feasting, but whoever saw it first would have good fortune for an entire year.

  Lesia smiled as Sonia, her tiny shoulders quivering with excitement, gently pushed her way forward to take her place beside Victoria, Pearl’s middle daughter. If only I were that young again. If only I could believe in good fortune.

  But she couldn’t.

  She cradled Adam in her arms and wished her brother hadn’t picked this time to fall peacefully asleep. A fussy baby would have left her no time to think about today’s visit.

  About Papa. Ivan. And her promise not to borrow money.

  Bozhe, Bozhe! If only Papa had listened to reason. If only Ivan hadn’t lost his fight and become so wary. If only Canada had welcomed them with open arms, instead of locking their men away like common criminals.

  We are all equal in the eyes of God. Baba’s words echoed in her mind. Could Baba have been wrong?

  “It is magical, is it not?” Mama stacked the braided kolachi on the table and centred a candle in the middle of the top loaf.

  “It is,” Lesia agreed.

  The table was laid with a layer of loose hay and a sparkling clean white cloth topped by a colourful embroidered one. There was more hay scattered on the floor. Farm tools were placed in the corners of the room to symbolize the importance of the land. Candles were everywhere, just waiting to be lit. And the air was thick with the savoury smells of the twelve meatless dishes Ukrainians everywhere consumed on the Holy Eve. Treasured dishes like kutia and pyrohy, borsch and holubtsi, stewed mushrooms and prune torte.

  The room, the food, even the smells were all more elaborate and more beautiful than any Holy Eve the Magus family had celebrated in Shuparka. It made Lesia mad. And she felt guilty about her feelings.

  Mama sighed. “If only Papa and Ivan were here.”

  “They send their love,” Lesia said again.

  Mama’s cheeks were pale in the candlelight; her eyes were sad and defeated. She had been so sure Lesia would bring them back. “Have you told me everything, Lesia?”

  “Everything,” she lied.

  Intently, Mama studied Lesia’s face. Satisfied with what she saw, she nodded and turned away.

  She could tell Mama all about the camp itself, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell her how terrible Papa looked. Instead, she’d said he was in fine health and full of good cheer.

  Surely God would forgive her?

  “The animals have been fed,” Paul boomed as he led Andrew and Wasyl through the front door. Cold flakes of white snow swirled about their feet.

  “Good! Good!” Pearl tucked a sleeping Mary into the cradle. Ancient legend decreed that on this holiest of nights animals were given the gift of human speech and could complain or rejoice to God for the way in which their human owners treated them. They were always fed some of the dehcacies first, as a reminder of their importance to the family.

  “The didukh!” Anastasia exclaimed when she caught sight of her Uncle Andrew. The children watched as Andrew ceremoniously hung the large sheaf of wheat symbohzing the gathering of friends and family.

  “To the family,” the men said.

  “To the family,” the women and children repeated.

  And then everyone hurried back to their appointed chores. The children to watch out the window. The women to dish up the food. And the men to wash for the upcoming feast.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Andrew stood so close his arm touched Adam’s blanket. Lesia glanced nervously towards Minnie, who glared at them as though they were talking about her.
r />   “I’m fine,” she whispered back. Andrew had known something was wrong the moment he had picked her up at the train station in Hazelridge. Wordlessly, he’d studied her white face. Wordlessly, he’d noticed the boots. But he’d said nothing about it until they were nearing Paul’s homestead. Then he’d come right out and asked her about Papa.

  Not Ivan. Papa. As though he’d known. Perhaps the boots had given it away.

  That’s when the lump had grown in Lesia’s throat. And it hadn’t moved since. She hadn’t lied to Andrew, but she hadn’t told him the truth, either. How could she describe the pain she’d felt in seeing Papa so beaten down, the humiliation that scorched her soul when the guards treated them like dirt?

  “I’m here if you want to talk,” he said.

  “Maybe later. ‘The lump in her throat was so big it was hard to talk around it.

  “The star!” Luka yelled. “I see it!”

  “Me too!” exclaimed Sonia.

  “And me!” said Symon.

  Everyone began talking at once. Voices were raised in excitement.

  Could Papa and Ivan see the star? Lesia wondered. Did they have a window from which to observe the night sky? And did the guards understand their men still deserved to celebrate the holiest of nights?

  Through a blur of tears, Lesia could see Paul holding up his hand. “Christ is born!” he said reverently.

  “Khrystos rodyvsia!” everyone repeated.

  A lone tear snaked its way down her cheek.

  “Let us glorify him,” Paul said.

  “SlavimYoho!” everyone echoed.

  “Come,” Paul urged, “be seated while I light the candles.”

  Swiftly, before anyone could see, Andrew reached out and wiped the tear away. “Be brave,” he said quietly.

  Lesia wasn’t sure what made her more uncomfortable, Andrew’s touch or the fact that he seemed to know what she was thinking. She put Adam in the makeshift cradle beside Mary, took her place beside Wasyl and waited for Paul to recite the prayer.

  “Dearest Lord in Heaven, we thank you for our many blessings. We are grateful for our harvest, for the health of our family and for the food we are about to eat. We are grateful, too, for the new friends you have led to us, Wasyl Goetz and the Magus family, all of whom are here with us tonight.”