“You can’t speak to me like that either,” he replied, his voice now shaky with uncertainty at her lack of fear and respect. “I could have you shot.”
“I changed your pants when you were small and chased you in the yard while you waddled around. I’m like family to you, yet you choose the state over me?”
He looked around, unsure what to make of her tirade, but Katya didn’t give him time to think.
“My niece is dying because she has no food. I work in fields like this every day. Every day! Do I get to have any of that grain for myself? Do I?”
“No,” he said. “But the state gives you food! That’s how it works. You work for the state and the state takes care of everyone. And as a Young Pioneer, it is my job to help the state take care of everyone.” He brightened a bit as he rationalized his actions to himself, but his gaunt cheeks told another story. His precious state didn’t give him enough food either.
“Ivan, you’re telling me that the state giving me one piece of bread a day for my labor should be enough for my sick sister, my mother, my baby niece, and me?” Katya asked. “No! It is ridiculous, it is cruel, and I will not stand to hear it from a child. And you’re one to talk. You look terrible. Are they taking such good care of you?”
He shrunk a bit in his boots. “I’m only doing—”
“I said no!” Katya spoke as loudly as she dared, her voice quaking with fury. “You listen to me, Ivan. This village is dying because of the damn state, and you’re helping. Shame on you as a Ukrainian for abandoning your people when they need you most.”
Poor Ivan had no idea what to say to that. His eyes grew wide, and his lower lip quivered as it fell open.
“I’m going to walk away now, and you should go home,” Katya said. “If you have any brains in that thick head, or an ounce of compassion in your heart, you’ll forget you saw me.”
His mouth clicked shut. He nodded slightly, and as Katya turned to walk away, she looked back over her shoulder. “Forget you saw me, Ivan, but do not forget what I said. You are helping to kill your people. Someday, it will come back to haunt you.”
Katya didn’t look back again to see his response. She meant everything she’d said, but despite the exhilaration she felt at speaking her mind, it wasn’t a wise thing to do. Ivan could still report her, and they would take his word over hers.
Even when she made it home, her nerves wouldn’t settle. Her hands shook as she helped Mama scrape off the corn and cook it down into a mush, saving the cobs to soak and eat later. Mama fed Halya and Alina as much as they would eat before splitting the remainder between herself, Katya, and Kolya.
“Why do you keep looking out the window?” Kolya asked as she put away the dishes. His shrewd eyes appraised her—as if he could see all of her secrets—and her face reddened.
“I like looking out at the night sky.”
Later, when Mama went to bed, he tried again. “What happened tonight? You can tell me, you know. We’re in this together.” His mournful gaze fell on Alina’s pale, sweat-soaked face, lying in bed.
“We are,” she agreed. But the fewer people who knew about her illegal acts, the better. At the very least, it would protect him from having to cover for her if asked by the state. “Nothing happened.” She rocked back and forth to lull Halya to sleep. “I fetched some corn. We fed Halya and Alina.” This wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either, and somehow she knew he realized that.
“If you say so.” His voice lacked conviction, but he didn’t press her. “Be safe out there.”
“Of course. I’m always safe.”
For days, Katya looked over her shoulder, waiting to be arrested. Ivan could turn her in at any time, and that weighed heavily on her, but she was happy to bear that burden if it bought Alina and Halya a few more days of life.
For a week, they sorted through thousands of potatoes from a late harvest. Good ones went into one pile for the state, rotten ones into another for the livestock. There was no pile for the villagers, and each time Katya left work for the night, she was checked to make sure she hadn’t hidden any in her clothes to bring home.
A young activist member had taken great pleasure in running his hands up and down her legs and torso, “searching” for stolen potatoes. Katya’s face still blazed from the violation.
She wasn’t stupid enough to hide any on herself, but she’d left four potatoes buried in the corner of each field she’d helped harvest. She planned to sneak back later and take the hidden potatoes home.