He still is dreaming of a trip to Czechoslovakia to find family and get settled in so that he could enter into Ukraine to join the fight, more than likely in Mariupol where the greatest need seemed pressing.
His second cousin Rod Katchka hollered in his ear every detail of the flight that would bring him to Prague and then home in their Fiat bumping over the old cobbled streets into a village, he felt as though he'd been transported 1800 years. Katchka had functioned as a dairy man and had pretty much 100 percent of the market in the bohemian enclave of Dinksk.
The stone and mortar home despite being small wafts with the cooked fat of a local pig amidst hugs and laughter.
Stew. In a bowl in his hand with a large spoon by the fireside. The candle burns on the table. It rests beside a bottle of red wine half full beside a glass nearly empty and most of its making cozy with the French bread in his happy belly. They ate together forever in heaven it seemed.
Hour after hour they sat at the table eating and telling stories about brothers and fathers and sisters and cousins and there was roast pork, dumplings, sauerkraut and gravy and gravy and Colatchki with raspberry, poppyseed or apricot filling. Black coffee with lemon squares and sour cream poppyseed cake, a frosted Bundt cake.
After dinner the men drank pear schnapps and whiskey and then made out to the barn to secure and load tomorrow's shipment of weaponry which they were tasked to get into Mariupol.
Everyone smoked.
Out in the snow. A strange feeling. First within himself then causing him to stop and pause. Why was his pace slowing as he made his way closer to the barn. It was as though his body became heavier with each step. Was it in his head? Was this fear and its embodied grip finding its way to the scene and trying to shake him away from a terrible choice?
A few at dinner had joked about their hopes of being shot, another who had had too much whiskey shattered a glass with tears of rage streaming down his ruddied face. He interrupted: Whoever is not ready to die will not be going anywhere with me! Get in my way on your weekend warrior fantasy and I will shoot you dead myself!
It was week 4 and the United States had just agreed to supplying $800 million dollars of military support to Ukraine.
No comments:
Post a Comment