From Soil to Dust

By Dan Shpyra

The bright lights were blinding Oleksa; his thin arm wiped the sweat from the forehead. June’s sun did not play favourites. The man’s weary blue eyes were staring at the dark rocks and dirt beneath the worn boots. As he leant to grab the pickaxe, the copper cross slipped from his linen clothes; Oleksa kissed it and hid it back under his garment. With God’s help, I shall endure. His numb limbs picked the tool and continued the toil. Despite the back that hurt, despite the blurred vision, he dug and dug; like a wild animal that was finishing its prey, Oleksa struck the rocks at his feet into dust. As the sun was turning red, so were his eyes; the shift was over.

The man dragged his wretched body alongside other ghosts. Their empty wells of eyes were gazing everywhere and nowhere at the same time. It had been a long time since any of them were present with their minds; only the broken shells continued the toil. Their eye sockets deepened, so did wrinkles on their faces. The ghastly images that merely resembled once-proud men. The little relief they had during the nights was not bringing any more pleasure, only emptiness.   

“Move along, you’re scum!” The tall dark-haired man was collecting tools from the prisoners. His peers were amid the workers; the butts of the rifles were running over the ribs of those who dared to slow down for a brief moment. The bumps, bruises, cracks, and broken bones were part of the process, the reward: stale bread and a handful of repellent broth. The men were not of an exquisite taste; however, even their seasoned bodies, time after time, were rejecting that meal. Like the stray dogs, they were adjusting and surviving to bear another day of uncertainty.

The only minutes of peace were those before dreamless nights by the tents that served as homes for those unfortunate. Seldom some songs sounded from the thresholds of the thin-walled tents. Dumky¹ they were called, epic ballads of the stoics. The lyrics that were never understood by the men in uniform, for those were songs of “enemy aliens”, or often referred to as “Slavic scum” on the grounds of the camp. Those songs stayed for eternity amid glorious mountains, their echo would remain forever in the red and white nation’s veins.   

Oleksa was washing his face in the turbid water, when the young boy, merely adolescent, approached the man. 

“Are you Oleksa?” he mumbled. 

“English kid? On this side of the fence?” the man barked back with a rough Slavic accent. Oleksa did not even turn his head towards the boy, even though he sounded surprised.

“I am no kid, nor I am English!” the youngster yelled back. 

“Shush! For those words, you would get a lot of beatings, young man. You did sound like one of them,” Oleksa chuckled and continued, “so who are you, and what do you need?” Oleksa wiped his face with the old dirty towel and turned his attention to the newcomer. 

“I am called Ivanko. My mom and dad were Ukrainians,” he sighed, “but I was born not too far from Calgary.” 

“God, help us if even those like you are here,” Oleksa replied. He put both his hands on the boy’s shoulders and looked at his face. It seemed like Oleksa was trying to recognize someone in the young man’s eyes.  

“Both of my parents died of typhoid in another camp, so the soldiers moved me with the others here this morning.” The boy’s voice was trembling. His eyelids were moving, but he kept tears from coming out. 

“Shush, kid. With God’s help, we shall endure.” Oleksa embraced the boy and held him in his arms for a moment. 

“The men say If am to live, I better befriend Oleksa, for he is a God’s man and always has a thing or two to say. Also, I was assigned to your tent.”   

“Were you now? Dyvyna!² It is already full, but let’s see if we can find you a spot,” Oleksa laughed, “so let’s talk more when the sun is up. Off you go now! There is a lot of work to do tomorrow, Ivanko.” Oleksa patted the boy’s back. Both went to the tent; the night was silent.  

“Wake up, filth! Time to have some fun!” The voice of the commander thundered over the cotton houses.  

The sun was rising slowly over the beautiful shapes of majestic giants; if it were not for the torture at the foot of mountains, one would be conveyed into believer just by looking at them. The snowy peaks gazed impartially at the miserable human-ants who busied themselves with degrading each other’s spirits. They were there long before the first man’s foot stepped unto their rocky hills, so they shall remain there long after the days are counted. The long and tedious years of one man’s life are just a brief momentum for the steep gods.      

“Time to get up,” Oleksa muttered and shook Ivanko’s shoulder. 

“It’s still dark outside. How one can work with no sleep?” The young man slowly rose from the sleeping mat and stretched his arms.

“One can be surprised,” Oleksa smiled pitifully and added, “Welcome to Castle Mountain.”        

Men were gathering at the improvised square amid the tents. The new day had come; the struggles, however, remained the same. The tall man in his mid-forties was standing right in the middle of the hollow area surrounded by loyal soldiers of the Empire. His hands were locked together behind the wide back; perfect posture insisted upon long years that were spent in the military. Commander’s neatly shaved face as opposed to those in front of him: dirty, hairy, wracks of the men.

“Good morning! I hope everyone had a nice sleep.” the officer paused and gave away a brief smile to comrades behind his back. “First of all, let me welcome our new friends that were transferred here from Lethbridge. My name is Colonel William Martin and I am first in command here. Even though you are the enemy allies, you are promised to be treated well as far as you obey the rules,” commander smirked and paused, “second of all, today we are hosting inspector that was sent by his Highness King George. There were baseless rumours that tenants of Castle Mountain were not treated fairly.” His brown eyes pierced through the prisoners and his eyes deepened, like those of a hawk that is ready to attack its prey. “Hence, I am ready to hear your suggestions. Please, do tell me how can we make your life here better? Or everything is already great and we won’t take more time of our dear guest.” Colonel stressed the last part of his speech and gazed upon workers intensely. 

A figure appeared from behind the soldiers: a rather young man of a fragile build in the royal uniform. He had his glasses on and notebook ready. The inspector placed himself next to the Colonel and anticipated upcoming suggestions; however, none had followed. The silence hung upon the camp; everyone knew the price that would be paid after a spoken word. The commander could not hide his smile any longer. Everything went as planned, that scum learnt well their place. 

“Inspector, sir. I have been here for a day only, but there are few things I would like to mention,” a soft voice in perfect English broke the silence. Every single set of eyes was directed towards the speaker. 

“Who is speaking? Step forward!” Colonel barked towards the crowd.

“My name is Ivan Shevchenko, sir. I am one of the newly transferred from Lethbridge.” The young man replied. He stepped forward and was ready to list his “demands”. Oleksa, however, seeing this sighed deeply and rested his head down; his watery eyes shut and wide palm covered the face. Oh, you’re a stupid kid.   

“Have you been naturalized?” the inspector replied with a tone of surprise in his voice.

“Inspector, sir. I was born in Canada. I didn’t want to leave my parents alone when they were taken, so I came along,” 

“Action of a true British subject. I am sorry to see you here; however, the law is the law and you’ve chosen this path.” Inspector nodded in approval towards the youngster. “Colonel, let us hear what he has to say,” he added.

“Absolutely, inspector,” the commander mumbled through his teeth. 

“Thank you, sir! It will be good to have a better option when it comes to meals, and also an extra hour of sleep.” boy said. He did not stop there, however, “If we may, we also would like to have better tools, so out toil is more productive…sir.”

“Well-spoken young man, I like it.” He paused, “Colonel, please see to his request. I am sure there are ways to satisfy those needs.” 

“I most definitely will, inspector,” Mr. Martin replied. He fixed his gaze upon Ivanko for a brief moment, like a predator he marked his prey.         

The working day had started on a different note: the tools were sharpened, the meals got warmer, the clubs were not used. The men’s mood had been shifted; for the first time, smiles prevailed over grimaces. Oleksa, however, felt in his heart that something was amiss. He looked at the boy, who now was a hero among internees, with anxiety that he felt within his chest. Don’t tell me you believed them. Nonetheless, some of the workers did believe that the new regime and new rules were to stay. The rocks were smashed; the dust was cleared. Some of the toilers even started to sing, but not the melancholic songs that echoed during the nights; this time there were happy songs. A poetic Slavic muse covered the Rockies; the thuds of cracked rocks were overtaken by melodic stories of the past. For a brief moment, even Oleksa’s spirit rose higher. 

The sun was still up in the sky; nonetheless, the soldiers called workers to collect the tools. They were not swearing. The hammers, pickaxes, and shovels were taken in silence. It was a late evening, but the toilers were not used to work days shorter than twelve hours. They felt jubilant like the kids before the holidays. The life of the slave or the “forced worker” taught each of them well how to appreciate every spared second. 

“I see an instant improvement, Colonel Martin!” inspector extended his hand towards the commander. 

“I am happy to serve his Majesty!” the tall man replied and bowed ignoring the hand. 

“I hope you will understand, but there are numerous locations that I must attend in a short period of time- “

“Please, Inspector! Whatever suits you and your schedule. I would love to have you around longer, but I understand the urgency of the matter,” Colonel interrupted.

“Much Obliged, William.” British officer gave a nod and swiftly headed back to the motor vehicle that was already waiting for him.

The inspector’s car was fading away, which happened unnoticed by most of the prisoners. Oleksa, however, had seen the distant smoke outside of the camp’s gates. He suddenly was awakened from his delirium. With God’s help, we shall endure.

The “tenants” of the camp gathered around Ivanko’s tent; the praises were shouted and friends were made. Oleksa merely stumbled upon the log that was brought to their tent.

“Celebrating, eh? One day you had more than bread and bone and already happy!” he bellowed. 

“Come on, Oleksa! The kid saved our skins!” one of the men exclaimed and continued in the higher spirit, “Who would’ve thought you can just ask the right person!” 

“We shall see, brate³. We shall see,” he sighed, “Now off you go, my friends, for hard work requires a good night of sleep.” 

When everyone left, Oleksa placed himself next to Ivanko who sat on the log. 

“That was brave, dytyno⁴…brave but stupid,” the older mas said and gazed at the mountains. 

“The men seem to be happy.”

“They don’t think with their heads, only with their ravenous bellies.”

“You should trust people sometimes,” Ivanko tried to persuade the man. 

“Perhaps, I should. But not during the war, where you are claimed to be the enemy!” Oleksa yelled. After the pause, he continued, “I am sorry. You reminded me of someone today.”

“Of whom?”

“My son…” he sighed. The man lay down on the ground and deepened his sight into northern constellations like he was trying to find there some answers. 

“Was he as dumb or as brave as me?” Ivanko gave away a brief laugh and extended himself next to his tentmate.  

“I would say a bit of both,” he smiled. 

“What’s his name?”

“Jack Smith…” Oleksa’s hesitant voice gave away brief distress. His eyes closed and a single drop rolled down the deepened cheek.

“What had happen- “

“Time to sleep, my friend!” Oleksa immediately interrupted the young man and sprang to his feet. 

“Have I said something wrong?” Ivanko startled. 

“No worries, I am just tired. I am more than twice your age, remember?”

Both men went to the tent; the other tentmates were already deep into their dreamless realms. For the first time, Oleksa saw smiling faces all over his tent; they were fed and rested. The sleeping bags were found, but the night had just begun. 

Sudden thud. The knuckles of the colonel accelerated into Ivanko’s face in the middle of the night. The crimson burst out of his nostrils so did a cry of pain. The whole camp was awoken. Soldiers were forcing all the inmates to the central square; the colonel was already anticipating his audience for the grand show. 

“Good morning, everyone!” he thundered. Next to him, there was a fragile figure that merely resembled Ivanko. His muddy trousers were revealing damaged legs with spots of scarlet all over the fabric. The young man’s linen shirt was covered in blood; the white and red colours were intertwined into a trembling silhouette. He was holding the hat on the chest with his head down and waiting for an execution. Colonel Martin continued, “Some of you might believe for a moment that this is a sanatorium, or perhaps even resort. Well, it is actually,” he gave a hesitant smile to the soldiers, “but not for the scum like you!” he yelled. Immediately after the last word was spoken he thumped Ivanko’s head with the rifle’s butt. His shaken legs gave away. The body crashed on the ground like a bag of bones. “That would be your lesson. Not even King himself can save you from your duty! Ungrateful dogs!” the commander reviled. He turned again towards the oblivious body next to him. This time, not the butt but muzzle of the rifle was pointing at the Ivanko’s head. 

“Wait! Please, stop!” a low voice begged from the crowd. Hastily the owner of the voice stepped forward. Oleksa did not have enough time to think, he just followed his instinct. The man’s head was spinning. His inner radio was bombarding him with a million thoughts, the one, however, was dominant: death. 

“Who do you think you are? Wanna be in his place?!” Colonel shouted back at him. The gun was redirected again. Oleksa’s arms went up. 

“He is but a young man, he knows not what he did. Please, spare him!” the man swallowed and swiftly added, “He is a strong one too, the boy works like a bull! God knows we need more hands to finish on time,” Oleksa finished. His chest was pumping rapidly. With God’s help, we shall endure.

“I am surprised. Your head has something more than a heap of shit in it!” Commander’s jaw muscles deepened immediately. “Oleksa, I presume. I heard my men talk about you: Scum’s chieftain.” He laughed loudly. “You have three days to put him back on his feet! If he is not up to work like a bull in three days… I will shoot you both, Oleksa.” Colonel pierced the man with indifference. “All of you, the show is over! Time to work!” he growled.

The rabble headed towards the tents with tools under pointed muzzles. Oleksa hurried to pick up the boy from the ground. Oh, dytyno⁴. He grabbed his wretched body and erected it from the dirt. Ivanko’s mind was distant; however, he still moaned of pain every step that Oleksa took. Every move disturbed the young man’s scars and broken limbs. The Oleksa’s blue eyes gave away one drop of salty liquid each taken step. The only question that remained in his weary head was: Chomu⁵? 

The turbid water was the best medicine the man could use, to mend his friend’s wounds. He tore the sleeve from his shirt to soak the blood. After a few hours, the moans had stopped. Ivanko was deep asleep. The man’s heart got a bit lighter; the anvil of fear was removed. He washed the wounds one more time and rested his head against the tent pole. Morpheus’ kingdom took over him. 

“Oleksa…” the whisper had awoken the man from his nocturnal adventure. 

“Shush, you! Save your strength.” 

“Thank you, Oleksa. That was brave, staruy⁶…brave but stupid,” Ivanko chuckled. A second later, his face turned into a grimace; each movement caused the pain so did the laugh.

“Aren’t you a smart ass? Lie still.” his lips curved but the eyes were full of sorrow. 

“We both will die, won’t we? In three days- “

“Three days or not, we are alive now,” Oleksa interrupted the young man. 

“Do you think they are up there?” The boy raised his head up, “My parents.” 

“They might be, dytyno⁴. At least, I want to believe my family is,” he sighed. 

“Have you lost someone too?”

“Everyone…but God kept me alive for something still,” Oleksa replied. He looked at the boy like he was studying him, in the same way, he looked at him when they just met. 

“Your son? Is he- “

“I do not know. He might be, even though I hope he is not.” He tilted his head down and exhaled. “He is a good man, my boy. Well-spoken and much smarter than I am.”

“Well, that is not too hard.” Ivanko looked at the man with a dim smile.

“Hot-headed though, just like you. He always acts first, and thinks after.” Oleksa paused for a brief moment and gazed forward. His eyes stared everywhere and nowhere at the same time like he was trying to recall something. “My wife, God bless her soul, had died just a few days before the war started. It struck him too hard for he loved Marichka dearly. We both did. I even called him mama’s boy,” he chortled. The man’s eyes were full again. “The very next night he left me alone in our farm without a word.”

“Why would he do that?” 

“I don’t blame him. After Marichka’s death, there would be nothing for him but farming with the aging man if he stayed. Now we do not have even that cursed farm…”

“Have you heard from him since?” 

“Just this,” Oleksa whispered. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a crumpled parchment. He handed it cautiously to Ivanko. It was a letter from his runaway boy.      

Dear Mr. Kovalenko,

I am writing you to inform that after our last meeting, I enlisted myself as a volunteer. The military life is not easy, but it is exciting. I’ve met many brave men, who, like myself, are getting ready to be shipped to fight against Austro-Hungarian invaders. 

I am grateful for all you have done for me, but my place is here now. Together with my comrades we shall bring the glory and peace for our great country.

Sincerely,

Jack Smith

“His real name is Taras Kovalenko. If they knew he is Ukrainian; moreover, with Austro-Hungarian papers, he would never be accepted. He loved it here; he grew up Canadian,” Oleksa explained after the boy finished reading.

“I am sorry, Oleksa.” The boy said. He grabbed the man’s hand.

“Don’t be. I am sorry to put it all on you.”

“I am glad you did. We are about to die, so it’s now or never.” 

“We might yet live. I just had some thoughts. Let me sleep on it first.” He stood up from the floor and strolled to his mat. 

“But, Oleksa- “

 “Good night, Ivanko. You need some rest, so do I. Tomorrow.”

All the men got back from the toil to their tents. The darkness took over the camp. Those who rose with the sun were about to go to sleep with the moon. The prayers were told to the God of the Old World. The inmates were toughened by the labour; however, even they were getting closer to the point of no return. When will it end? Shall we die in these quarries? They all had their mantras. But not all of them have their reasons: to fight, to work, to live. It was not the torturous labour that was annihilating them, but the nihilism that was breaking poor men into weakness, sickness, and death.

Oleksa’s heart felt amiss. The man who always has hope, was on the brink of losing it. He was no stranger to death and did not mind welcoming Her into his arms. The life of the boy, however, hurt his soul. He was not to let him die, not like that. For he was to see the new world, the one that they had started to build. His kids were to be farmers, poets, and builders of that new Era.

At the dawn, when soldiers were rushing to wake up the workers, Oleksa sneaked into the barracks. There were less than five minutes before the morning roll call. His heart was accelerating each moment. The kid must be saved. The trembling fingers of man were lurking through the dressers. Suddenly, the distant voice of men went through Oleksa’s ears. He pulled a set of uniforms from one of the drawers and sprang under the bed. The prays rushed through his head.

“You will be all right. I’ve seen you do it before by yourself,” barked one of the soldiers. 

“Fine. I’ll be back in an hour, be ready!” yelled the other one with a higher voice. 

“What a hell…” the remaining soldier leaned toward the open drawer. He cast his gaze on the dust that led him to the bed where Oleksa was hiding. The man had no time to think, he grabbed the boot that was closer to him and pulled it vigorously. The soldier leaped on the floor with the thud; no scream had followed. Oleksa rolled from under the bed and got up to his feet. The man in uniform lay motionless on the floor. Matir Boja⁷. The crimson stain appeared on the opened drawer. Oleksa checked the soldier’s pulse and sighed with relief. He shall live. The man hid the uniform under his garments and moved swiftly to the main square for the roll call.   

After everyone went to gather the tools for the labour, Oleksa moved back to the tent where he was to take care of Ivanko, and took care he did.

“Wake up, son! It’s the time!” he whispered harshly in his ear. 

“Oleksa…what’s going on?” the sleepy voice murmured back. 

“No time to explain! Quick, let me help you to wear this. We must be swift!” he called with urgency. 

Through the pain Ivanko got into the uniform. His broken bones were sore as much as the day before. Oleksa helped him to get up on his feet, but only the loud cry had followed. Ivanko’s left leg was broken and tortured him each time he tried to step on it. The older man grabbed him by his shoulders and forced him out of the tent. Most of the soldiers were observing the workers in quarries; however, there are few of them who remained to keep an eye on wounded and sick who were not up for work. To their left, a young officer went to the fence to have his routine smoke break. Oleksa had to act fast, he kept his companion by the shoulders and fell flat on the grass. But he forgot, however, just for a mere moment, how badly was injured Ivanko. The scream left his mouth for a second that felt like an eternity. The officer dropped his cigarette and rushed towards the noise. Oleksa covered his friend’s mouth with his large hand and crawled with him behind the nearest tent. Ivanko bit his tongue to not let any noise slip through his lips. The officer passed them and moved further into the camp; both sighed with relief.

Oleksa was slithering on his back to the fence while holding the boy by his chest. His face turned red and his chest moved rapidly under the shirt; the distant whistling sound partially blocked his hearing. Once they reached the wire fence, Oleksa picked the rock next to the pole and started to dig. You dig fast or die fast. The myriad of thoughts were bombarding his head, but he dug and dug as he did with a pickaxe every single day in quarries. There was no Oleksa by that wire fence but a wild brute who had to survive at any cost. He lost track of time; nonetheless, he knew it was no longer than an hour. The soil finally gave up; Oleksa was now able to pull the lower wire of the fence enough to squeeze in. He slithered under the fence and dragged the boy after him. 

The siren went on. The oblivious officer was found by his friend. All the soldiers were mobilized immediately. Every single internee was to be moved to the main square and counted promptly. Within fifteen minutes nearly all workers and soldiers were gathered and underwent mandatory roll call. Colonel Martin was strolling to and fro in anticipation until the count was completed.

“Sir! Merely everyone is here, sir. Except- “

“Oleksa and that weakling kid!” he thundered at the reportee, “Half of the company stays to keep an eye on this scum, the rest to be ready in one minute! We’re about to hunt!”

Oleksa was pushing his body through the pain. Even though he was not injured as much as his companion, long months of labour and poor meals did not add him any strength. With God’s help, we shall endure! The time was slipping through, he knew that a few more minutes and the party would be ready to hunt them down. The road had appeared in proximity, Oleksa pulled all his will together and trod swiftly towards it. The boy was scarcely moving his legs: he was too weak even to speak. The pain partly paralyzed him; Oleksa forced the boy to stay conscious. He was talking to him as one talks to a kid: “Come on, kiddo. It’s all good. It will be over soon. Just stay here. I am with you…”

As they approached the road, the military carriage was strolling by. The horses dropped to the trotting pace and then stopped by the men. Two soldiers emerged from the carriage with their rifles ready. 

“Who are you? What are doing here? Answer, now!” one of them yelled. He got closer to the runaways. 

“This one looks like an inmate from the camp nearby,” added another one. He looked closer at Ivanko and his uniform and exclaimed, “It’s a Canadian soldier! He must’ve used him to escape! Look at the poor bastard!” Now both guns were pointed towards Oleksa. He anticipated the inevitable; the time had come. Thank you, God, for letting me die as a free man. Oleksa pulled his copper cross from under the shirt and kiss it one last time. I’ll see you soon, Marichka.    

“You’re right, sir! He is part of the company that is assigned to the Castle Rock Camp. I wanted to escape, so I disarmed him and used him as a hostage to get out,” he said peacefully. Ivanko was still weak, but that much he could comprehend. He tried to yell, but he made no sound. The grimace of pain turned into a cry. He tried to mouth No, but lips did not obey. “His name is Jack Smith, he would’ve told that himself but he is barely conscious,” Oleksa continued. 

“You’re son of…you ran away from the camp, took a soldier as a hostage, and nearly killed him! There is no judge for enemy aliens!” the first soldier burst with anger. His finger found the trigger. 

Oleksa’s heart skipped a bit. He raised his arms to the sky right before he was sentenced. 

“Thank you, God, I did endure.”

The echo of his voice, like hundreds of others, will forever remain amid those mountains.

Appendix

1. Dumky – The word literally means “thought”; however, can be used as a term for Ukrainian epic ballad, generally thoughtful or melancholic in character.
2. Dyvyna – Ukrainian for Miracle
3. Brate, brat – Ukrainian for brother
4. Dytyno, dytyna – Ukrainian for child 
5. Chomu? – “Why?” in Ukrainian 
6. Staruy – Ukrainian for old man
7. Matir Boja – Ukrainian for Mother of God

Note: Even though this literary work was inspired by the real historical events, all the characters are fictional. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.  

Dan is a Ukrainian-Canadian writer who resides in Calgary, Alberta. He is currently getting his MA in creative writing at the University of Hull and teaches communications at the college level. He works in different genres and experiments with new ideas.