I’m not sure if this is a true story or just a tale… Whether it’s fact or fiction, I like to believe such happy coincidences really did happen in life. At least, this is how I heard it, and now I’ll tell it to you.
In an English village, there lived a woman named Mary. She had lost her husband before the war. He fell through the ice in early spring, managed to get out but fell ill with a terrible fever, and didn’t survive. She had three sons. The eldest was twenty-two, the middle one nineteen, and the youngest was a year younger. The eldest was thinking about getting married, while the younger ones were still courting girls and had not begun talking about marriage. And then the war came… So they all left. They went to the front. The eldest and middle sons nearly at once, and the youngest in 1942.
A letter came from the middle son, Peter, saying they were fighting back the enemy and for them to take care, Mum… That’s all he could write. She was thankful for that much, a note… But from the eldest, Simon, there was nothing. He left, and it was like he disappeared… She waited. But nothing, not a single line…
The youngest, indeed, wrote. Rarely, and only when the war allowed. But he wrote.
Then a notice came about Peter, saying he was missing in action during the battles. And from Simon, still nothing. Her heart hardened.
The neighbors said, “You still have Andy, he’s alive, God willing, he’ll return… While we have nothing to hope for anymore…”
Then, towards the end of the war, Andy wrote that he was wounded, lightly in the leg, but told his mum not to worry. He said he’d soon be discharged and would come home, telling her to wait! So she waited. And soon the war ended.
Mary ran to every train that came to the station. And it wasn’t close… But Andy didn’t come. Until one day, a train arrived, and there she saw – her son was walking on the platform! Leaning on a stick. The wound didn’t seem as light as he mentioned. She rushed to him, hugging, crying… “Andy, Andy, my dear son…” And he suddenly said, “Mum, why do you call me Andy? I’m Peter…”
She felt faint… Peter! She had already stopped waiting, praying for his soul to rest in peace. Such a sin she burdened her heart with… They both stood there, in tears.
Peter said he was heavily concussed during the battle, and they must have thought he was dead. He came to, and crawled his way to the outskirts of some village. Fortunately, one of our women found him, and hid him. She risked it, as Germans were already stationed in the village. Later, she managed to get him to the partisans. His memory had gone… He remembered he had a mother, brothers, but couldn’t recall their names. Or where he lived. Only said, “I was a tractor assistant, I remember the field…” Well, with the partisans, he didn’t slack off. He was checked thoroughly – someone who remembers nothing could possibly be a disguised enemy?
Then he went on missions, helped lay mines on the railway – he was involved in everything. Later, when the territory became ours, he asked to join the forces. Many from the partisan group then joined the regular Army. Well, they assigned him to a tank unit. He knew tractors. First, he was a mechanic, then a gunner-driver. Reached Berlin. Was wounded again, in the leg. But his memory slowly returned. Pieces at a time. First, he remembered his brothers’ names, then his mother. And later, even his village. But the war had already ended. He had written a letter, but where did it go? It must have gotten lost along the way…
Mary found a cart to get Peter back to their village and convinced the driver. It was hard for Peter to tackle such a long journey. But he couldn’t drop them off right at the village, as he needed to turn at a neighboring one. So they walked part of the way. Did so slowly, as Peter’s leg still hurt. Arrived by evening, it was getting dark. Mary noticed someone moving around the yard! A stranger… Smoked a cigarette, could see the glow. And the dog didn’t bark… She had a good dog, though getting old, from before the war days.
Mary got scared.
“Peter,” she said, “stop, there’s a stranger…”
But Peter (ah, the eyes of the young!) looked closer and suddenly rushed quickly towards home, threw the stick aside, and limped heavily, almost running.
From the house toward him, the “stranger” ran too, tossing away his cigarette, nearly broke the gate…
They embraced tightly, and she recognized him then. Gasped: “Andy!” Legs gave out, and she sank to where she stood.
Andy had come by truck, not by train. Someone advised him to get off at one of the stations, saying it would be quicker. He arrived, but his mother had gone to the station. They’d missed each other.
And from the eldest, there was nothing. Years passed… The sons got married long ago, Peter built his own place, Andy made an extension to the family home. Grandchildren were running around, growing up…
On the ninth of May, a celebration, everyone gathered around the table. Though it wasn’t yet an official holiday in the calendar, everyone celebrated. How could they not? Such a day! One place remained empty, with a glass of whiskey covered with bread, an onion on a small plate beside it. Of course, they searched all these years, tried to find out – nothing. It seemed everyone accepted it. Except the mother. Every evening she lit a lamp by the icons, whispered something, asked God…
Sasha’s girl, who he planned to marry before the war, never wed. She waited for him, believed. On the ninth of May, she also came to them. They didn’t drink in memory, they drank to hope. But hope was waning with every day, every year…
One day, Peter was asked to deliver feed to a neighboring farm. He was a tractor driver. Well, he delivered it, they unloaded… Helped by one bloke, quiet as a church mouse, overgrown beard, not uttering a word. Something struck Peter… Didn’t know what. Well, asked around, who is he? Hadn’t seen before… They said he only recently started working there. As a cowman. Lived in a neighboring hamlet, rented a corner from a lonely old woman. Said little about himself, spoke only when needed. Nobody quite knew his name. Nobody asked, and he hadn’t told. They just said – ask the cowman, “tell granddad”… No one in the village wore beards.
Peter chose not to worry his mother. He told Andy. They decided to have a look at this bloke together. One day, both went to the farm, pretending it was on business. First, Peter pointed him out from afar. He was just cleaning the stables, not looking back.
Andy couldn’t hold back, walked up. The bloke didn’t even turn around… Andy stood behind him and suddenly said:
“Sasha… Brother…”
The man just flinched slightly, didn’t turn. Bowed his head, spoke over his shoulder:
“You’ve mistaken… Walk on, kind sir…”
But Andy didn’t leave. Said:
“What are you doing… Mum waits. She cried her eyes out, begging God for you to be alive…”
The man hunched even more. Suddenly stabbed the pitchfork decisively into the ground, turned with his whole body:
“Waits?… For a convict?…
Here, Peter chimed in:
“Sasha!… I recognized you immediately, even back when unloading the feed… She’d wait for anyone! Without hands, legs, anyone! And you have them both, why stay hidden? You taught us, brother – fear no one and nothing! Maybe we survived because we remembered your teachings! And Tanya waits, she waits for you too! Others have already courted her!”
Alexander lowered his head, tears streaming down his face… He stepped toward them.
The brothers embraced, all three of them, and their tears mingled…
Sasha revealed that he was wounded in battle, captured. He ended up in a concentration camp in Poland. The number on his arm remained… He went through it all – hunger, cold, beatings, torment, arduous labor… Tried to escape, dogs mauled them, legs full of scars. Was beaten so badly afterwards, wished they’d killed him… When their forces liberated them, he ended up in another camp – theirs. Was checked. But released. He had nothing – no passport, no documents except for a release slip. He desperately wanted to go home! From a distance, in secret, he saw them all – his brothers, mother, Tanya. Bit his pillow at night. But didn’t have the courage to confess. Ashamed… Others came back heroes from war, but he…If they hadn’t approached, recognized – he’d have gone further away, not to break his own heart…
…They decided to prepare their mother gradually. At first, they said there might be news, but it wasn’t definite yet. She perked up, came to life. Kept asking when it would be confirmed? Wives were prepared, told Tanya, and readied themselves. Then the ninth of May approached. Mother set the table, as usual, put a glass with whiskey. She was sad. Here again was the holiday, but still no son…
Everyone gathered, only Andy was delayed. They waited for him.
Then Peter said:
“Mum, don’t cover the glass with bread. And place not just the onion on the plate, but also some cabbage, and potatoes… We are expecting a guest…”
She just wanted to ask – what guest? Seems like a family occasion…
And at that moment, Andy entered, and behind him – the “guest”… Shaved, in clean clothes. Mary wanted to express to Andy over being late, but looked at the “guest”…
And her legs gave way…
“Saaa-sha! Son!”
Her heart raced, she felt unwell… But her daughters-in-law were ready – had ammonia and heart drops prepared. Tanya needed tending too…
… I don’t know if this is a true story or just a tale. Whether it’s fact or fiction. But I narrated it as I heard it from an older man, the son of Alexander and Tanya. He believes his father is a hero too, even without the medals…
And I really want to believe it’s all true…
