“No!” Fear twisted his face. “The situation has escalated since last year. They may have gone easier on a women’s revolt before, but it’s far too dangerous for that now. You’d be deported or killed for sure. If there is anything you can do here when the time comes, I’ll tell you.”
Katya grasped his chin and looked him in the eye. “You’d better. I mean it!”
“I know you do.” He stroked her hair. “Just as much as I mean not to put you in harm’s way.”
“Good luck. I’m in harm’s way every day merely existing here.”
He gave a short laugh. “My Katya, always such a way with words.”
“I only speak the truth.” She lay back down and snuggled into his safe, strong arms.
“I know, that’s what worries me so.”
When she woke up the next morning, he was gone.
Time dragged on. Each minute felt like an hour and each hour stretched on as if it were a full, miserable day. Katya didn’t have the evenings with Pavlo to look forward to, and the long walks to retrieve or forage for food were lonely. All of the solitude gave her too much time to think of all the people she’d lost. Sasha and her family, Tato, and now, in a way, Pavlo.
She tried to quiet the doubt and worry that paralyzed her with fear each night as she crawled into her bed alone to write in her journal, but her concerns only grew stronger with each passing day.
“Don’t worry, Katya,” Mama said as they prepared dinner one night. “He will come home to you.”
“I know, Mama,” Katya said, though she didn’t really know anything. Three weeks had passed, and the longer he was gone, the more she became convinced he’d been hurt.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Before they could answer it, Prokyp, along with another activist, pushed into their home.
“We’re here to collect your taxes,” he announced. “The quota has been raised for our village, and everyone must contribute.”
“We have nothing left to give,” Mama said as she pulled herself up to her full height. Katya wanted to collapse in a chair from the exhaustion of this never-ending battle, but she straightened her back and emulated her mother instead.
“You still have a cow in your barnyard,” Prokyp said. “We’ll take that. It will cover your quota.”
Mama blanched, then steeled herself. “Fine. If you must, then take her. But we have nothing left for any further taxes.”
“Foolish woman! Your taxes are higher since you are not a member of the collective. If you would only join, your life would be so much easier.”
Mama’s jaw flexed. Katya reached out and put a hand on her arm.
“Take the cow, then,” Mama choked out, her face red with anger.
“Oh, we will,” he sneered. “If you decide to smarten up, you can join the collective at the town meeting tomorrow night.”
“Would we get our cow back?” Katya didn’t bother hiding the sarcastic edge in her voice.
Prokyp laughed as he slammed the door, and Mama slumped into her chair.
“I fear we no longer have a choice about the collective. What else can they take from us for taxes now? And what will we do for milk?”
“We still have the chickens and the goats. Honey should be pregnant by now, so hopefully we can share the milk with the kid when it comes. We’ll find a way, Mama. We’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Mama gave an unconvincing nod.
“I’m going to go check on the other animals,” Katya said.
She made her way across the yard, watching as Prokyp and his accomplice pushed and pulled the poor cow down the lane. She lowed mournfully and looked back at the farm until Prokyp gave her a kick in the hindquarters, and she finally plodded on.
Anger blurred Katya’s eyes as she pushed open the barn door. She would miss that sweet cow, and she would especially miss the milk.
On Wednesday, the monotony of the week was broken up when they made their way into the village for another meeting put on by the activists. After their supper of black bread and the last bit of farmer’s cheese left in the house, Katya and her mother cleaned up and walked to the village. The closer they got, the more people they met along the road. Nowadays, if you didn’t attend the meetings, the activists would come to your house to find out why you hadn’t, and nobody wanted any attention drawn to them and their home. Late, they took seats in the back of the church next to Lena and Ruslan. Lena, a sweet woman and Mama’s cousin, reached out and patted Mama’s hand as they sat. She could see Kolya and Alina in front of them, along with other villagers she’d known her whole life, but many were missing. The activists’ zealous approach to dekulakization had led to nearly a quarter of the population being deported or killed.