The Memory Keeper of Kyiv

by Erin Litteken

Birdie hadn’t talked in fourteen months, one week, and three days. No reason why today should be any different.

Ukraine is fertile and plentiful, and Stalin thinks we should be the breadbasket of the Soviet Union,”

“It’s the same story every time, for centuries. Everyone wants Ukraine’s fertile soil for their own, and nobody wants to let Ukrainians rule it.”

“Stalin has decided that Ukraine must be class-free in order for these collective farms to succeed.” Tato spoke in a low voice.

Bobby turned to face Cassie and closed her eyes, as if retreating into herself. Her voice broke as she translated the words into English. “Just make it through today, and hope tomorrow will be better.”

“You must survive this and tell the people of the world what has happened here, so it doesn’t happen again. Use your pencil and paper and weave your beautiful words to keep our memories alive. Don’t let me die in vain, Katya.”

That’s what being a mother was—ripping out a piece of your heart and giving it to your child.

“This is not about getting us to produce more food,” he said, as the impossibility of survival suddenly became so painfully clear to both of them. “They want us all dead.”

Walter Duranty, from the New York Times, completely refuted that a famine was happening. Hell, he won a Pulitzer for his articles on it. Nobody wanted to believe the ‘breadbasket of Europe’ was being starved to death.”

“Life is a series of choices, each one pushing you towards the next. Maybe if I’d chosen differently in the very beginning, things would have been better.” “Or maybe they would have been worse,” Cassie said. Bobby shrugged one bony shoulder. “Maybe. But what’s done is done, and I can’t change it now. I can only say this: I made a mistake in thinking I could bury it all. Looking to the future doesn’t mean you have to forget the past. You can have both, Cassie, and be all the richer for it.”