Witness

They were walking along a green path up into the blue horizon and day in and day out Grandfather Korny watched after them; he could not seem to get enough. His grandchildren were up front: Prohor, Danilo, Anna, and behind them his son Yevhen with his wife. The path was narrow and like a scroll of cotton, it meandered upward, then disappeared into the blue sky. They continued to walk along the path that seemed to have no end.

Grandfather Korny shouted out to them.

Stop! Please stop! Let me get a better look at you. You’re so frail, and why are you in such a hurry? Is the way to Heaven so far?

But the drifters did not stop; they remained unresponsive. The old man began to call them out by name: Yevhen, my son, Sonia, my daughter-in-law, my grandchildren, Anna, Prohor, Danilo, stop!

Still, the drifters did not respond. They walked in a zigzag between the faint clouds that floated across the sky, toward a large bend. And every time the old man saw them in his fantasy they were always hurrying upon the same path.

What an endless road before you, my dear children, the old man clasped his chest.

Fifteen years had already passed since they had left Grandfather Korny, and for all that time he carried their faces in his heart. They had swollen, cracked mouths with open red sores on their cheeks. Death peered through their sunken eyes. At first, their coughing was dry and faint, later it intensified and they began to choke, then the blood started, and finally death. One after the other, within a year, they all left Grandfather Korny, except Orest, the youngest.

At times Grandfather Korny cursed his health, If only I could have a heart attack and be freed. It’s time for me to catch up to my children.

But the old man’s heart was strong. As he watched his family walk along the green path, suddenly he realized they were dead. They no longer had faces, only silhouettes. He recognized them by the way they walked. Yevhen held Sonia’s hand, Anna was up front, and behind Anna shoulder to shoulder, walked the boys, Prohor and Danilo. The old man watched them for a long time and wept.

They’re so quiet. The boys were always very playful and Anna was such a chatterbox. Now they’re just walking and they don’t say a word.

When their image disappeared from the old man’s mind, he made the sign of the cross and stepped up to a slender aspen that grew in his backyard behind the well.

I planted this tree, he began to himself, in my yard as witness to my grief. One day I walked to the edge of the village, to the coppice, and thought to myself, which tree should I transplant? An alder is much too ordinary and a birch too hefty. Then I noticed a slender aspen leaning up against a cranberry bush. The leaves rustled magically and seemed to whisper, ‘Old man, take me to your yard.’ So, I took the aspen and now look what a beauty it’s become, it’s blossomed like a young girl. It keeps soaring upward and I keep digging my feet deeper into the ground.

From next door a couple of men hopped over the fence and entered the yard; one was in army uniform, the other, dressed like a peasant. Catching sight of the old man, they made toward him.

Ignoring them, Korny started talking to his aspen, Two years have barely passed, and look what’s already happened. Like worms, they bore into your flesh and there’s no escape.

Hello, old man! a pair of steely blue eyes peered from under a helmet. It was Deputy Julikov of the Pinsk Division. He asked impatiently, Well, old man, when do you plan to pay your taxes?

Korny looked up, There’s nothing to pay them with, Comrade. There’s hardly enough to eat. Then back to his aspen, Hah, isn’t that the truth? And you are my witness.

The man in peasant clothes, whose name was Sopun and who also happened to be the village chairman, hastened to apologize on the old man’s behalf.

Comrade Julikov, as you can see, the old man’s not quite right in the head. There’s no point in talking to him.

Julikov laughed, Don’t worry, I’ve seen his kind before! Then to the old man, Tell me, why didn’t your grandson go out into the woods and haul logs with the rest of them?

Ignoring the question, looking up at the shimmering young leaves of his aspen, Korny said:

You see how they torment the aged, my little aspen? And when the Reds were fleeing from Warsaw, I saved the life of one of their soldiers. I covered him with hay in a barn. The Poles poked around with their bayonets but couldn’t find him anywhere. And when they threw me up against the wall and threatened to shoot me, I didn’t care, because I was happy to have saved a human life.

We know all your little tricks, old man, said Julikov with a rush of anger. Where’s your grandson?

I don’t know; I don’t follow him around. He’s young and always on the go; he has his own roads.

At once, Korny turned to look up at the sky. He shouted, You’re off again my dead ones! But Anna, your feet must hurt. You’re so little. Yevhen, take her in your arms! Our Father who art in Heaven ... Dear God, give them eternal shelter.

Idiot! Julikov spat between his feet. We’re not through with you yet, old man – not by a long shot.

He’s senile, comrade, Sopun tried to explain. He always babbles like that to his son and grandchildren. They all died of consumption years ago.

Julikov hardly listened. He signaled with his head for Sopun to follow him into the old man’s house. Once inside they searched for the grandson. They looked in closets, under the beds, behind the stove, but he was nowhere to be found.

The son-of-a-bitch! yelled Julikov. He thinks he can fool us!

But the old man’s confused, Comrade, Sopun pointed out again. Following Julikov out into the yard, he couldn’t help but say to himself but in such a way Julikov couldn’t hear, Confused, yes, just like the rest of us.

Julikov swung round and drilled his eyes into Sopun. I heard what you just said. You may be village chairman but you’re a complete idiot.

Later that day a car appeared from the direction of Pinsk. It let out a series of honks. For some reason, it turned toward Grandfather Korny’s house and stopped before the gates of his yard. Two officials in black leather jackets and steel helmets stepped out. Julikov and Sopun, who happened to be there, rushed to greet them. They stood at attention and saluted.

Does Kornelius Pavlovich Kovb live here? asked the shorter of the two.

Over there, Comrade, pointed Julikov. He’s sitting under that tree.

Without another word, the officials turned toward the aspen. Julikov and Sopun followed close behind.

Hello, old man, the officials called out.

Korny ignored them and proceeded to talk to the aspen, How the boys liked to swing from your branches. And little Anna would lift her pretty little head and laugh and laugh.

Er, excuse me, Comrades, Sopun took it upon himself to address the officials. You must understand, the old man has hallucinations. He’s not quite right in the head.

Not quite right in the head? Well, we’ll see about that! And who are you?

My name is Sopun, I’m the village chairman.

The shorter official glimpsed quickly at his watch. He said in a matter-of-fact tone, Very well, Sopun. Call a meeting in front of the gates of Kornelius Pavlovich Kovb’s house. In half an hour. We have a very urgent matter to address.

Sopun jumped at the command, and as fast as his legs could carry him, made for the village.

And why are you still here? the officials turned irritably to Julikov. Don’t you have work to do?

Julikov wrung his hands and for some reason he looked excited and his face was all red. As it turned out, he had just seen something behind Korny’s house, and it looked like a young man. He believed it might be Korny’s grandson. He needed to tell the officials.

Sirs, I have to tell you something. Over there, just right now, behind the house, I saw old man Korny’s grandson, the one you’ve been ...

But the officials were preoccupied with their own matters and hardly listened to what Julikov had to say. They cut him off abruptly.

Enough of your empty talk. There’s no time to waste. The meeting’s in half an hour. You can tell us later.

Under Sopun’s orders, ten peasants scattered throughout the village. They banged on doors and windows and shouted out to passersby, Listen up, people! There’s an important meeting out in the pasture! Officials from Pinsk have arrived!

The bells from the little Orthodox church began to chime and drums started to beat. From all ends of the village people emerged and streamed toward the pasture. A table decked with a white embroidered cloth was set under the open sky and around the table were benches and chairs. Red banners with hammers and sickles were suspended from high wooden poles on either side and everywhere were picture-posters of Stalin. In the middle of the table sat the two officials and between them, to everyone’s amazement, was Grandfather Korny. But Grandfather Korny looked numb and dazed as if he didn’t understand what was going on. A crowd of people elbowed forward to get a better look; those who were at the back stood on tiptoe. All were eager to find out why an emergency meeting had been called.

Why on earth did they sit that poor old man between those two wolves in helmets? The people wanted to know.

Comrades! the shorter official rose from the table and pierced his gaze into the crowd. Be proud. Your village will go down in the history of the Soviet Union – and in gold letters. This old man here, Kornelius Pavlovich Kovb, has become the first to be honored in the western region of the U.S.S.R. His name will become the symbol of the endless devotion to our socialist Fatherland. Allow me to explain: when our glorious Red Army was cold and hungry and forced out of Warsaw, this old man did not lose faith. At a most critical moment, he risked sacrificing himself to save the life of one of our soldiers.

Turning to Korny, he smiled warmly and courteously, Comrades, do you realize whose life he saved? Korny Pavlovich Kovb saved the life of our national hero, General Pipigin!

Pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his jacket pocket, he proceeded to read out loud: Eternal gratitude to Kornelius Pavlovich Kovb, signed, I.C. Pipigin, General of the Western Division.

Bravo, Korny, bravo! Julikov’s voice suddenly surged throughout the crowd.

Bravo! the villagers joined in. Then barely a minute passed and their voices began to wane. Many started scratching their heads and shrugging. They didn’t quite understand what was going on.

The official then poked his head inside his satchel and pulled out a gold medal tied to a silk ribbon. It was a Vladimir Lenin medal, beloved founder of the Russian Communist Party. Grandfather Korny was asked to stand up. Staring out into the crowd, the medal was pinned to his chest. After a short while, both officials shook his hand. The taller of the two spoke to the crowd:

What an honor for Kornelius Kovb! Our dear Comrade Joseph Vissarionovich Stalin, leader of the greatest proletarian movement the world has ever seen, gave us a strict order, ‘Bring Kornelius Pavlovich Kovb to Moscow. I want to meet him.’ Then with his face filling with emotion, looking as if about to tear up, he ended, Yes, the Supreme Soviet wants to honor you, Korny Pavlovich, personally in the Kremlin.

Bravo! shouted Julikov again.

Bravo! repeated the crowd.

A big black car parked by the gates gave a loud honk. Somewhere from the crowd, a drum began to beat and soon after it was joined by the sound of mandolins. The officials took the old man by the arm, escorted him to the car, and placed him in the back seat by the window. The motor started up and made in the direction of Pinsk. The musicians accompanied them a short distance. Villagers waved their hands until the car disappeared from sight.

Grandfather Korny dressed in his Sunday best sat quietly in the big black car. Lenin’s medal shone brilliantly on his chest. In the front seat next to the driver sat a superior officer by the name of Shelugin. Shelugin hardly moved a muscle and his eyes were cold as ice.

Tomorrow morning, old man, Shelugin smiled, you will take the train to Moscow, first class, of course. In the Kremlin, you will have the honor of meeting Stalin. And Pipigin is flying in from Siberia just to see you.

There was mockery on Shelugin’s voice but the old man didn’t notice.

What are you going to tell Stalin, old man?

What is there to say? Korny shrugged then looked straight at Shelugin. You know, you have evil eyes.

Shelugin winced slightly; he continued to badger the old man, I want to know what you plan to tell Stalin?

Korny became restless in his movements. He said quietly but with conviction, "Comrade Stalin probably doesn’t know what an evil man Julikov is. He forces people to sign up for the kolkhoz and sends my grandson to labor in the woods for hours on end. Many of our men have dropped dead from overwork. Innocent villagers – men, women, and children – are being loaded up into boxcars like cattle and sent to the ends of the earth, to forced labor camps in Archangel by the White Sea. And the priest, what do you think Julikov did with him? He took possession of his house and turned it into government offices. The priest is now dead. And why are we being tormented with such high taxes?"

Shelugin pursed his lips. He didn’t even try to hide his agitation. After a moment he offered the old man a Makhorka cigarette.

What you say is very smart, old man. In fact, it all makes perfect sense. Don’t forget to tell Stalin everything. He is a very kind and understanding man and will punish all those who do evil. Is there anything else on your mind?

Grandfather Korny thought a moment, then leaning toward the window, shouted up at the sky: There you are, my dear ones, you’re already at the bend! Yevhen, can’t you see little Anna is exhausted? Carry her in your arms, please!

At once the open fields spread out as far as the eye could see and the air became full of buzzing insects. The car came to a screeching halt and the back door was flung open. But the car was still only halfway to Pinsk. A stout and balding man in NKVD uniform was standing by the roadside as if expecting them. With a Tokarev pistol in hand, he made toward the car. Grabbing Korny by the arm, he shouted:

Get out, old man.

Grandfather Korny did not resist.

Pushing Korny toward a ditch, he then rammed his pistol into the old man’s head. He pulled the trigger. The old man fell to the ground, dead.

Shelugin watched and he couldn’t stop laughing. Hey, Korny, he shouted, don’t forget to tell Comrade Stalin everything. Hah, hah, hah!

The car started up and didn’t stop until it reached Pinsk.

German warplanes roared over Pinsk and the surrounding villages. From time to time, gunfire sounded and bomb explosions shook the earth. The entire region was under German attack and Russian soldiers started to panic and flee along the main road. Shooting intensified and huge balls of light shot up into the sky.

On a little hill in a nearby village not far from Pinsk stood a young man quietly looking down to where his grandfather’s farmstead used to be. His feet were fixed to the ground, and for the longest time, he stared at something hanging from the aspen tree. He released a barely discernable smile, then swung around and disappeared behind a wall of trees.

The villagers stormed out of their houses to watch the German planes fly at high speeds across the sky. In order to get a better look at the road where the Bolshevik troops were fleeing, a young woman ran all the way to Grandfather Korny’s yard. She quickly scanned the spot where his house used to stand: his land, a couple of months ago had been appropriated by the state and turned into a kolkhoz. Heaving a bitter sigh, swinging around, her eye caught sight of the little aspen tree. Suddenly her face turned a ghost white. Racing back to the village, she screamed:

A hanged man, a hanged man! Help!

It was not long before a group of villagers appeared before the slender aspen that grew behind the well. They shook their heads curiously as they watched the hanged man swing on the largest of the limbs. They recognized the insignia and uniform almost instantly. It was Deputy Julikov.

Would you look at that, someone remarked, such a small tree and the limb held out just fine.

Whistle Stop

A shack built from narrow, unpeeled logs, a storage building from old wooden planks, to the left a cowshed, and beyond the cowshed vast fields of mud. An old weather-beaten sign hung over the shack door: STEBLY STATION. Before the war, this little train station had been abandoned and would have made the ideal hermitage but now everything was changed. Tracks shot in a straight line eastward, past Sarny, to Kyiv. The front had already extended beyond Kharkiv and trainloads of German troops pushed endlessly in this direction.

Kurt Kleist, a potbellied man of late middle age, was stationed in Stebly but had little to do to pass the time of day. The trains never stopped here and when they passed by, his assistant, the local peasant, Kirilo Borozn, attended to the semaphores. So, day in and day out Kurt Kleist sat in his office and yawned from boredom. The solitary life in a foreign land did not appeal to him. When he became nostalgic, he phoned his good friend, Heinz Ziggy, a construction worker stationed in Kovel.

Hello, Heinz, is that you?

It’s me. Are you thinking about Berlin again?

I miss it terribly and I’m bored to death.

You are an odd one, Kurt, Heinz reproached his friend. You have nothing to fear from silence. Remember how every Saturday we used to drive out of Siemensstadt, past Potsdam, out to the country? The woods, the lakes – remember how quiet it was? You don’t know how good you have it out there, my friend.

It was different then and it’s different now.

After this short discussion, they joked and kidded each other.

Hey, you haven’t forgotten about your garden and your barn, have you? And what about Gretchen?

Leave Gretchen out of this, will you, Kurt? Poor Gretchen, who’s looking after her now? She really liked all that juicy grass I used to bring down from Hazelhorst. My wife’s too lazy to chop it up for her; she never really cared for Gretchen much.

Heinz, I’ve got an idea. Try to get a transfer and come here; we could keep each other company. There’s a cowshed out back and you could even keep a couple of goats. I know how crazy you are for those goats of yours. Kleist began to imitate the sound of a goat, and then let out a loud laugh, You get transferred here and you can keep a thousand goats!

"Herr Gott!" Heinz was impressed.

And on this note, the conversation ended.

The front continued to push into the USSR. Day in and day out trains filled with soldiers headed east. They passed the little station carrying powerful cannons and zenithals, their muzzles directed toward the sky. Young German men, under the sign of the Swastika, were determined to conquer the boundless regions of the Soviet Union.

One day, quite unexpectedly, a train stopped at Stebly Station; a few army officials stepped down from the last car. They barely acknowledged Kleist and began to examine the surroundings. They carefully looked through their binoculars and measured the vast mudlands, now partially frozen over, that stretched north of the tracks.

There are going to be changes, thought Kleist restlessly, as the army officials set off in the direction of Sarny. If Stebly is going to become an army base, then they’ll probably find a commander and chase me off.

Walking up to a peasant, who was repairing something behind the cowshed, he uttered in a worried tone, There are going to be changes, Kirilo.

But the peasant looked confused; he shrugged his broad shoulders and said, "Nicht verstehe."

He didn’t understand German.

They’re going to chase me off, grumbled Kleist angrily to himself, "they’re going to chase me off and he nicht verstehe!"

And he didn’t realize that in his tone there was a touch of regret. Was it possible he had got used to this silence after all? Perhaps Heinz was right, perhaps silence was a man’s best friend, especially in these troubled times of warplanes and bloodshed. Most people would give anything to be in his place.

One evening another train stopped at the station, at the end of which was a trailer filled with bricks. Aided by some peasants sent over by the Stebly village chairman, Kleist began to unload. They were piled up on a cleared stretch of land to the right of the cowshed. Within three days another four trailers appeared carrying more bricks and other building materials such as flat crates of glass, tightly wrapped parcels of aluminum, and sacks of cement, all of which were piled up and covered with canvas.

I bet this is going to be an army post, Kleist repeated to himself for the hundredth time.

Every day he nervously awaited the arrival of some new commander and construction workers. But no one appeared. The trains no longer stopped. Three weeks had gone by and he was anxious. He phoned his superiors in Kovel to inquire about their plans for Stebly but their answer was abrupt; they pointed out that they were well aware of the situation, that this was strictly a military affair, and that Kurt Kleist ought not to question the authority of the army.

Kleist remained on the alert and expected the worst.

One morning a motor car approached the little station from the direction of Kovel. Kleist waited anxiously on the platform and thought to himself, Maybe now they will tell me what’s going on.

In the distance, he could already see the vague outline of four men, and when the motor just barely came to a halt