Ivan Hnatiuk

Ivan loves his country. He loves it so, so terribly, as he grew up playing in fields of wildflowers, surrounded by a doting village that raised him alongside his own family. He was given presents, like whittled figurines, fragile crowns made with dandelions, and that one fuzzy teddy bear a тітонька gave him from her business in Russia, that his rambunctious siblings would gush over and grow envious of. But, oh, how his siblings love him always.

They showed their love by grabbing his hand, dragging him away from the rows of rye, and away from the wrath of their hard-working mother. Of course, they didn’t always do that; they were always good-natured to work the fields alongside their mother, but on some days, the heat of the sun made the children’s muscles ache unbearably. It’s never too long that they stray, usually to steal a sip of water and play a round of tag before returning to her. Thankfully, she never could stay angry, only enough to tug on each of their earlobes as punishment. Ivan and his five younger siblings never dared to make her angrier than that.

Once Ivan began to fill into his scrawny figure, people began perceiving him to be a man. People began to ask him, this strong man, to carry bales of hay or to handle any misbehaving cattle—to stay longer in the fields, planting and threshing. Due to this, Ivan stopped being scrawny. His physique was darker, calloused, prominent. He thought he’d finally be taken seriously, and, yes, he was. However, to his siblings? Much to his dismay, they poked fun at him in other ways, relentlessly. In essence, he remained their brother, that gangly boy, in their eyes, and somehow, Ivan found relief in the notion. Ivan can appear sensible and imperturbable to the rest of the village, but Ivan can let loose, laugh, sob, shout, and be with his family.

For a while, he farmed until his mother suddenly pulled him aside one day. Wearing one boot and the other dangling by his fingers, amidst his getting ready for the labor ahead that morning, she urged Ivan to look ahead, to search for better things than this village. “люба, you’re deserving of more,” she said with a smile. “My friend Sofiya told me about your, how do you say... потенціал? Mhm, yes, and she told me about your interest in fixing things. You should try something similar to it.”

The man tried his best to tell his mother—“No, I’m fine here, Мама! Really!”—and still she continued. And without his permission, his mother told the ‘news’ to his siblings that evening. His brothers and sisters cried, excited yet saddened that their oldest was leaving. In spite of his contention, his mother piped up to brush him off each time. It confused his siblings, who ultimately believed their mother.

Although he did everything in refusal to his mother’s wishes, she only got more insistent. It wasn’t until his mother broke down to her knees that Ivan relented. He realized that she worried she was limiting his future. She begged him to listen to her, because she worried that, once she’s gone, he’d live in poverty and would resent her for not having explored the world. An opportunity not seized. Again, she begged, begged, and begged over his reassurances.

He... couldn’t say no anymore.

---

“Ivan!” Blackened fingers snap in front of him. Turning his head, his eyes meet the flat ones of a miner. “Couldn’t you hear me calling your name? Why did you suddenly stop? You’re doing this more often these days...”

Now, he’s in a coal mine, miles away from his village in Poltava Oblast. As per his mother’s plans. She had set aside money for him to take a train to Yuzivka, where she heard industrialization was its forte, which attracted many of those seeking employment. She hoped that its affinity for growth and fortune would rub off on her beloved son, too. And for a woman Ivan reveres and assumes knows best, what his mother is naïve to understand is that life outside their community isn’t the same.

His mother is naïve.

Ivan struggled immensely to acclimate himself, so Ivan told her he managed to land a job in a mechanics shop when he visited, not even a month after living in Yuzivka. Ivan’s hands grew stained, and he excused the stains as oil from handling car-parts. Ivan collected scabbed and fresh injuries on his person from accidents, and Ivan joked that it was due to a clumsiness he took on as a result of his mother not being around to keep watch.

Does she know she birthed a liar? And, too, a weakling?

In reality, the way he coped with city life was spending his small earnings to regularly visit his family. A distraction and reprieve from the heavier hardships newly tied to his back. But it didn't last long, only until it came to a point when his mother asked, “Are you not busy? Focus on your job first and come back when you have more money!”

Not wanting to get caught lying, Ivan forced himself to arrange his visits to be few and far between. He couldn’t muster up the courage to admit that, in reality, Ivan is a miner who makes money by burdening his body, whose heart hardens with each vein of coal he unearths.

That he isn't as happy and accomplished as what his mother hopes he'd be.

---

Someone bumps into Ivan’s shoulder, effectively snapping him out of his trance. He’s in the middle of a mine site. Numerous men are milling about and walking around him in their soiled workwear, carrying their picks on their shoulders. Carts of coal are pushed along the rails, a network of them swarming the rocky ground beneath him. It’s a cacophony of grating noise here, and the cavernous shape of the mine in front of him only amplifies it all.

He remembers the man who had snapped his fingers before. His friend must’ve left him. Understandable, since his friend must’ve not wanted to waste his time waking Ivan from a daze when he could’ve been mining. Their wages are determined by their effort, after all.

Before he begins to walk into the gaping entrance leading underground, his attention is caught on a boot. Well, a boot on a foot, which is attached to a leg. There is a person sitting inconspicuously behind a cart. Looking more closely, Ivan can faintly see the person’s outline. There aren’t any lanterns nearby, except for the ones deeper within the mine, and the sun is swiftly making way for the moon in the sky.

Are they dead? thinks Ivan. His heart threatens to beat out of his chest, pounding in his ears. His mind, again, is entranced, but for a different reason entirely. In fact, he is wondering whether he has another month’s worth of food secured or not.

If so, how will he get them back to his cottage?

Ensuring that nobody is watching, Ivan huddles behind the large cart as well. He crouches before the unconscious individual and extends two fingers to rest on their throat. With bated breath, he waits for a pulse, doing his best to tune out the clamor surrounding him. Irritating him further, his hand is shaking, and his racing heartbeat is pulsing through his entire body. It makes it difficult to differentiate a pulse from his own anxiety.

Yet, what’s worse is that he isn’t sure if he’ll be happier knowing the person’s dead or alive.