THE THINGS WE DO...: Two solitudes on a train ride (10/16/05)

THE THINGS WE DO...

by Orysia Paszczak Tracz

Two solitudes on a train ride

I was taking the train from Lviv to Kyiv, the overnight "firmovyi" - business class - with two persons per coupe. My friend from Lviv kindly settled me into the cabin and, as I got accustomed to the surroundings, my roommate appeared. He was settled in by his son and family. The gentleman appeared to be in his 80s, elegant and quite spry, and all of 5-feet-4 or so.

He and his family spoke in Russian among themselves, and he certainly heard me speaking Ukrainian to my friend. Once we settled in and the train began to roll, we introduced ourselves, and started talking. I spoke in Ukrainian and he replied in Ukrainian. He was a native of Donetsk, but now lived in Kyiv, and had been visiting his son in Lviv.

He was a veteran of the Soviet air force of World War II, an officer, and as a "war invalid" had free transportation within Ukraine.

Because I admitted that this was my first time on a Ukrainian train, he explained all the routines and procedures to me. Usually with two passengers of the same sex, it did not matter when they changed for sleeping, when they went for washing up and all that. This time, he told me I could change while he was out washing up. I told him I was fine the way I was, comfortable in my travel clothes, and would sleep just like that. He certainly thought I was strange and just being shy because of him. I reassured him that I was perfectly comfortable and, in fact, had not planned on changing for the night.

He also could not understand why I had some carry-on bags at the foot of my bed. "Maybe you think someone would steal them? People are honest, honorable here." My explanation that I had so much stuff that it would not all fit under the bed seemed strange to him, and he just shook his head.

The very pleasant and efficient attendant brought us tea, and checked if we needed anything else. She spoke to all passengers in Ukrainian.

As the train rolled eastward we sat across from each other, sipped tea and talked. He spoke about the war, where he served (Drohobych), and how he was wounded and recovered. To my amazement, a few times he apologized to me that his Ukrainian may not be as good as it could be. He apologized to me!

His Ukrainian was just fine. He asked about me and was surprised that I was not from western Ukraine. I told him about my parents meeting in Germany as forced laborers, how we lived in the displaced persons camp, and then arrived as refugees in America. He asked why my parents did not return to Ukraine after the war. I replied that they had been in the Ukrainian underground, were "Banderivtsi" and did not want to go back to a Soviet Ukraine.

With palpable effort to be as polite as he could, and with apologies, he explained to me. "The Banderivtsi were bandyty (bandits). All of them. They fought the Soviet Army. What kind of heroes were they? All they did during the war was to live underground in those 'kryivky' (underground bunkers). And they collaborated with the Germans."

I asked about all the executions of UPA and OUN members by the Nazis, and mentioned my mother seeing all those gallows in villages, towns and cities.

"You know why the Germans hanged them?" he said. "They hanged thieves. That's all they were, thieves. No, they were not an army. But they did kill the leaders of the kolhosps (collective farms). These were only trying to make a living. ... And you know, after the war, when people were called to meetings to tell about their experiences, all that they said was later published in the newspapers. We read all about how the UPA fought the Red Army You know, now those newspapers are not available anymore. Someone is destroying them. They want to hide the truth, what happened during and after the war And now they want us to recognize them as an army of the war? They fought us!..."

I did not bother telling him about microfilms, and how all that material is available. I asked if he remembered the Holodomor (the Famine-Genocide of 1932-1933). At the time, he and his family were living in the Khmelnytsky Oblast.

"No, there was no famine. There was enough food. I was about 8-10. I remember. No, no one was hungry Well, maybe there was famine further away from us, like in Sumy. I think there was. We heard people were hungry there and in other places. But where we lived, we were fine A lot of that was propaganda against the government. We were fine The ones that were hungry were further away," he said.

Our conversation continued. I realized that I should ask a few questions now and then, and just listen to him reminisce. I sensed that he pitied me that I was so misinformed and indoctrinated about what had gone on, me with my "bandit" parents. For him, this was his truth. He was a product of his generation and system. I was a product of my generation and the experiences of my parents. That was the gulf between so many in Ukraine.

At least he spoke to me in his native language, probably for the first time in a long time, and I sensed that just this had a deep effect on him.

By that time it was late, and time for bed. I slept well, rocked gently by the train. It arrived punctually in Kyiv, my gentleman roommate and I shook hands, and I was welcomed by my friends, who were kindly quiet about the number of luggage pieces one person could have. All precious cargo - including the experience of the train ride.

| Home Page |