I can’t determine if this tale is true or just a figment of imagination… Fact or fiction… Yet, I’d like to believe that such joyous coincidences truly happened. At least, I heard it as I’m about to retell it.
…In a village, there lived a woman named Mary. She had buried her husband before the war. He fell through the ice in early spring, managed to get out, but fell ill with a severe fever and didn’t survive. Mary had three sons. The eldest was twenty-two, the middle one nineteen, and the youngest a year younger. The eldest was thinking of marriage, while the younger ones were still socializing with girls and not contemplating marriage. Then the war came… and they all left. They went to the front. The eldest and the middle left almost immediately, and the youngest followed in forty-two.
From the middle son, James, there was only one letter, saying, “We’re fighting the enemy, take care of yourself, mum…” Nothing more could be written. Mary was content with that little news… But from the eldest, John, there was nothing. He left, almost vanished… She waited. Yet nothing came, not a line… The youngest, Andrew, did write, albeit infrequently, as the war allowed. But he wrote nonetheless.
Then, news came about James – a notification stating he was missing in action. As for John, there was still nothing. Mary became hardened. Neighbors would say, “You still have Andy, who is alive. God willing, he’ll return… But for us, there’s no hope left…”
Then, near the end of the war, Andrew wrote that he was lightly wounded in the leg, asking Mary not to worry. He said he’d soon be demobilized and come home. She waited. Shortly after, the war ended. She ran to meet every train at the station, though it was not close… Yet, Andy still didn’t come. Then, one day, a train arrived, and she saw her son walking across the platform! He leaned on a stick; it seemed the injury wasn’t very light. She rushed to him, hugging and crying… “Andy, my dear boy…” Suddenly, he said, “Mum, why do you call me Andrew? I’m James…”
Mary faltered… James! She had stopped waiting for him and prayed for his soul. What a burden she’d placed on herself… They stood there crying. James explained that he had suffered severe shell shock in battle and was likely presumed dead. He awoke and crawled to a village. Fortunately, a local woman found and hid him, taking a risk as there were enemies in the village. Later, he managed to join the resistance fighters. His memory was blank; he remembered having a mother and brothers but couldn’t recall their names or where he lived. He would just say, “I used to help on a tractor, I remember the fields…” The partisans thoroughly checked him out, suspicious he might be an enemy in disguise.
He later joined missions and even sabotaged railroads. When the territory was reclaimed, he asked to join the army unit. Many partisans entered the regular Army. Knowing tractors was useful; he became a tank mechanic, then a gunner-driver, reaching Berlin. Again wounded in the leg, his memory gradually returned in fragments. First, he recalled his brothers’ names, then his mother, and eventually his village. Only, by then, the war was over. He wrote a letter, but where did it go? Likely lost on the way…
Mary found a cart to bring James back to the village. Persuaded the driver, it was too long a journey for James’s injured leg. The driver had to turn off to another village, so they had to walk part of the way home. Slowly they went; James’s leg was still in pain. By evening they arrived, with nightfall approaching. Mary noticed someone unfamiliar in her yard smoking, the light of the cigarette tip visible. The dog didn’t bark… She had a good dog, though it was quite old, pre-war.
Mary was frightened.
– James, – she said, – hold on, there’s a stranger there…
But James, with youthful eyes, recognized something and quickly approached the house, throwing away the stick while limping hastily. The stranger flung away his cigarette and dashed towards him, all but tearing down the gate… They embraced tightly, and only then did Mary recognize… Gasped, “Andy!”, and she couldn’t walk further, legs weak under her. She sank to the ground where she stood.
Andrew had arrived by a truck, not a train, following advice that it would be faster to disembark at a nearer station. He arrived while Mary was off to the station. They missed each other. Time went by, and the elder son never returned. Years passed, sons married, James built a separate house, Andrew extended the parents’ home. Grandchildren played and grew in the yard. Every ninth of May, the holiday wasn’t yet an official celebration, but they would gather nonetheless, knowing its importance. They left one place empty at the table, with a shot glass full of spirit covered with bread, Mary laying a pickle beside it on a small plate.
Years of searching and inquiries yielded nothing. They had all but accepted it, except Mary, who lit a lamp by the icons every evening, whispering, pleading with God… John’s sweetheart, whom he was going to marry before the war, never wed either. She held onto hope, visiting on that day too. They didn’t drink for the deceased, but for hope, though with each passing day, hope dwindled…
One day, James was asked to deliver feed to a neighboring farm. Being a tractor driver, he obliged, helped with unloading by a silent, bearded man. Something about him struck James, though he couldn’t tell what. He asked around, learning the man was a recent hire, working as a farmhand and renting a room with a lonely old woman in a nearby village. He spoke little about himself, and no one even knew his name. Just referred to him as the farmhand, or “old man”… Beards weren’t common around their village.
James didn’t want to alarm Mary but told Andrew. Together, they planned to see this man. Visiting the farm, James pointed him out at a distance while he was cleaning waste, not looking back. Andrew couldn’t resist approaching. The man didn’t turn but stood near him until Andrew finally spoke softly:
– Johnny… Brother…
Only slightly did the man flinch, but he didn’t turn. Instead, he dipped his head, saying over his shoulder:
– You’re mistaken… Move along…
But Andrew lingered, saying:
– What are you doing… Mum still waits, she cries her eyes dry, pleading with God for your safety…
The man bent even lower. Suddenly, thrusting his pitchfork into the ground, he turned fully:
– Waits? … For a prisoner? …
Here James intruded:
– Johnny! … I recognized you right away during unloading… She’d welcome you, no matter how you are! With or without limbs, you are her son! You taught us, brother – fear nothing and no one! Perhaps we survived because we remembered your lessons! And Tina? She awaits you too! And others have proposed to her!
Alexander lowered his head, tears streaming… He took a step towards them.
The brothers embraced, the three of them did, mingling their tears…
John then shared he had been injured and captured in battle, imprisoned in Poland in a camp. The number on his arm remained… He endured it all – hunger, cold, beatings, impossible labor… Escape attempts were torn apart by dogs, leaving his legs scarred. Beaten so badly, it were better if they’d killed him… Once liberated by their troops, they held him in another camp – theirs. After verification, he was released. He had nothing – no passport, no papers but a release note. Drawn homeward, clandestinely, he saw them all from afar – brothers, mother, Tina. At nights, he would bite his pillow. Too ashamed… Others returned heroes, and he… If they hadn’t approached, known him, he’d have left, far away, to avoid tearing at his own soul…
They decided to prepare Mary gently at first, telling her they had information, but it wasn’t yet confirmed. She perked up, more lively. Continuously asked when they’d know for sure. They prepared their wives to inform Tina and be prepared themselves. As the ninth of May neared, Mary set the table, placed the glass as usual. She was solemn, another holiday, yet no son…
Everyone gathered, except for Andrew, running late. They waited for him.
Then James said:
– Mum, don’t cover the glass with bread. And not just a pickle on the plate, but cabbage, potatoes… We’re expecting a guest…
She was about to ask which guest since it seemed a family affair…
And just at that moment, Andrew entered, followed by the “guest”… Clean-shaven, in fresh clothes. Mary was about to chide Andrew for being late, but she caught sight of the “guest”…
And her legs gave way…
– John! My son!
Her heart faltered, feeling faint… Thankfully, the daughters-in-law were ready – ammonium at hand, heart drops too. Tina needed care as well…
… I can’t say if this is fact or fiction. Truth or fabrication. But I told it as I heard it from Alexander and Tina’s son, who believes his father is a hero too, albeit without medals… And I dearly wish to believe it’s all true…
