MARIANKA
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forcibly enlisted in some armed band. One of them died two days
later, following tetanus infection that developed in his left leg,
frost-bitten through and through. The other one, his name was
Kolenko, Mikhall Kolenko, a big ginger-haired fellow with fright–
ened suffering eyes, told us how in November 1918, an autonomous
West Ukrainean State had been proclaimed, with a declaration of
war against Poland; that in the same December, the 14th, I fancy,
a proclamation had abolished the power of the hetman and set up
the Directoire. He also told us how we were going to have a land
that really would be national and self-governing, that Kiev would
be the capital, and a king from a foreign land was about to arrive
and would bring peace. In fact, the 3rd of January, 1919, there
was a "reunion of the two Ukrainean republics" with, as outcome,
war on the two frontiers, East and West.
Today, the "autonomist" movement around the years 1918-
1921 has its niche in history books, with accounts of the parts
played by the Allies and by Germany, so you know its importance.
But, living in Marianka, we were very unenthusiastic about all
these bloody upheavals, first to war, then to the revolution, then
towards this "independence" which did not seem to herald any
good.
Landowners in a modest rural way, our world outlook was
bordered by our garden plot, and we hated the armed bands who
regularly pillaged our harvests and live stock. "Will this dam–
nable bus!ness never cease?" my father would moan as he carved
a hunk of bacon from a rib of salted pork hanging from the ceil–
ing. "No ... ? Never? ..." he would ask his cabbage soup, his
favourite heifer, his ploughshare. We did not know that for him
this damnable business soon would cease.
This month of February 1919 was very severe. The cold
weather was exceptional, and the celebrated Pripet Falls which
ever interrupt their rowdy cavalcade froze in blisters near the
ore like moist lips in the wind. Chickens froze to death in their
utches; and the wolves, spurred by the cold weather, marauded
utside Marianka, a nasty gleam in their desperate eyes.
So it was the month of February, a Friday evening, at night–
all. I was preparing to visit old Master Mellakh, whose house was
me forty steps distant from ours. I liked to watch the mysteries
ounding theWelcome to the Bride, to hear the rituals and songs
