The early winter twilight was descending on the village of Novich in western Ukraine. All was silent save for the weak cries of the sunken-cheeked, starving children. It would be another cold night. The north wind whisked away the smoke from the chimneys. In the distance one could hear the mournful howling of a starving dog. It would no doubt succumb to starvation before sunrise.

In the Goodz household, little eighteen-month old Elena had cried almost all her waking hours for the last two months.

Starvation had drastically changed her. Once she was a bright-eyed, chubby, cheerful, robust little being. Now Elena's stomach protruded and her arms and legs looked like broomsticks. As long as they would live, her parents and older brother would be haunted by her sorrowful never-ending crying. Maria, her mother, breastfed Elena, but because of next to nothing to eat, Maria's milk supply had long since dried up. The last few days, the crying had changed to a barely audible whimper.

Even though it was prohibited by the Russian army, the Goodz's had managed to hide a small stockpile of food in a secret compartment in their cellar, but that small cache had been used up long ago. Maria held her dying baby close, slowly rocking her, tears slipping down her sunken cheeks.

Before the famine ravished her body, Maria was a striking beauty. She had blue eyes, was fair skinned and her hair was the colour of ripe wheat straw. She had been just a little on the plump side.

"Hospodeh Pomiloy, Hospodeh Pomiloy. (God have mercy, God have mercy,)" she chanted over and over again. By Maria's side sat Roger, her emaciated nine year old son. His legs and arms were spindly, his stomach bloated. He looked on, despair and fear playing across his thin ashen face.

"I'm so hungry Mama. Isn't there anything to eat?" he kept saying.

"I'm sorry, Son, but we'll have to wait until your tato comes home," was Maria's constant reply. "He usually finds something to eat. It's the Russian Government that's to blame. God will help us. Try to be brave."

Gregory, Roger's dad, had been gone since noon, desperately searching for a little something to feed his starving family. It was now dark as he slowly pushed open the door into their small white-washed kitchen.

Gregory was swarthy. His once stocky, husky frame was reduced to a frail shadow of its old self. Only the gnawing hunger and a passion to feed his starving family kept him going.

"Thank God we had a little luck," he began, placing a small chunk of frozen meat on the kitchen table. "Stefan and I found the spot where the Russians took some of the dead horses. It was just a kilometre out of town. Someone else must have got there first because we found part of a hind quarter away from the pit where the dead horses were placed. Stefan and I managed to salvage a little bit of meat. It's still frozen. It looked like the horses hadn't been there that long."

While Gregory held Elena, Maria shaved the frozen horsemeat into thin slices and fried it. Once the meat was cooked they dug in. It wasn't very savoury, but they gobbled it down, hardly taking time to chew. Gregory carefully made sure that Maria and Roger had most of their meagre supper.

"I'll see if I can get Elena to eat a little," Maria said, her voice breaking. "She's so weak. God alone knows how much longer she can hold on."

Maria chewed up some of the meat and tried to get Elena to eat it, but the poor baby was unable to chew. In desperation Maria took a slice and boiled it until it was a soupy mush, but the little tyke was too weak to swallow.

Late into the night, Maria sat rocking her baby, chanting over and over, "Hospodeh Pomiloy, Hospodeh Pomiloy." Gregory and Roger sat close by, silently weeping. Finally, the whimpering stopped. As Maria, Gregory and Roger watched in anguish, the life light slowly faded from Elena's eyes. Her long struggle with hunger was over. The baby girl was free at last.

From the bottom of Maria's soul came a mother's painful cry. "My darling baby's gone, she's gone," Maria wailed. "God help us. God help us."

"My spirit is crushed," Gregory whispered. "There's no use in cursing the Russians anymore. It takes too much energy. The little strength we have left we must save to fight the hunger a bit longer."

Slowly he dropped to his knees and placed his hand on Elena's forehead. "My precious baby, my precious Elena," he cried. "God have mercy, God have mercy."

Roger sat in stunned silence. With tears slipping down his cheeks, he hesitantly placed his hand on his little sister's forehead.

"Why did my little sister have to die, Mama?" Roger finally blurted out.

Maria shook her head, but did not reply.

Anticipating Elena's death, Gregory made the baby a small, simple coffin. Maria, with Gregory's help, prepared the tiny body. They put Elena in her red woollen dress and laid the tiny wasted body in the wooden box. Maria placed Elena's doll beside her and tucked her favourite blanket around her. They put the little coffin on a chair beside the bed. For a long time, Maria lay there, weeping and holding her baby's small hand.

"We must try not to be angry with God," she whispered to Gregory and Roger. "If the truth is known, Elena is the lucky one. She's with her Baba and the angels. They'll take good care of her."

Totally spent, Maria finally fell asleep.

Just before daybreak, Maria had a most vivid dream. She was in the garden getting vegetables for dinner. "Mama, Mama!" Maria whirled around. Elena was running toward her, golden hair flying in the breeze. At the back of the garden stood a young woman dressed in white. Elena appeared to be about four years old. "Mama, I'm so happy here. I have lots of kids to play with."

Elena reached her arms up to her mama.

Maria reached down to pick her up, but as suddenly as they had appeared, Elena and the lady in white were gone.

Maria woke Gregory and told him of her dream.

"What a wonderful, wonderful gift," Gregory whispered. "I haven't the slightest doubt that our little girl's spirit came to you to comfort us. If things don't soon get better we will all be with her."

"The dream will be a comfort to me as long as I live," Maria replied.

While he still had the strength, Gregory dug a large shallow grave at the end of the garden. The next morning they placed Elena's little casket in the grave. Gregory, Maria and Roger silently stood by the small mound of dirt for some time. In a breaking voice, Maria began singing, 'Jesus Loves the Little Children.'

In the cold of the dawn, they continued standing in silence, holding hands and weeping.

And so it went, day after day, desperate rural villagers and country folk, fighting starvation with every ounce of strength their weakened bodies possessed.

In the days following Elena's death, the family's physical condition was steadily deteriorating. Like his folks, Roger was getting progressively weaker and now spent most of the day in bed. Gregory's sorties looking for food were getting shorter because of his weakening condition. Some days he'd return with nothing. At noon, after a small bowl of cabbage soup, Gregory and Stefan left to try to scavenge some food.

Maria was apprehensive. She was aware that if the authorities caught you stealing food or hoarding, it could mean execution.

Gregory and Stefan had long past given up on checking where the horses were buried as the burial site was now guarded. Gregory returned in late afternoon with less than a cup of cracked wheat and a small frozen turnip.

"God help us," he wheezed, slumping down at the kitchen table. "I don't know how much longer I can keep looking for food. My strength is just about gone."

As it took some time for the wheat to cook, they couldn't eat until midnight. To conserve energy, they all slept together and didn't get up until ten the following morning.

At noon, Gregory left again to try to find food. He stopped to pick up Stefan, but Stefan was too weak to go.

"If I find some food I'll share it with you as we always do," Gregory said to Stefan and his wife. "I'll check in before dark."

It would be one of Gregory's off days. After two hours of searching, he found absolutely nothing. He was so desperate that he embarked on a dangerous plan. About a kilometre out of the village was a large storage bin holding over one hundred tons of wheat destined for export. Gregory and Stefan thought of trying to take a little grain from the bin before, but fear always dissuaded them. It was guarded around the clock and two men from the village had been shot by the guards last month, attempting to steal wheat.

Gregory decided to wait until dark and then try to sneak up to the backside of the large storage shed. He heard that someone made a small hole in the backside of the bin that was stuffed with an old sock and covered with snow. In the growing darkness, Gregory headed out, trying to stay in the shadows. Because he was so weak, he had to stop several times to rest. Fortunately, clouds obscured the moon. He finally made it to a clump of trees 150 metres from the shed. He waited there until it was completely dark. Slowly and stealthily he crawled up to the bin. He counted the rafters on the roof. Finding the eleventh rafter he sighted down to the ground and began pawing away at the snow.

"Thank God," he whispered, finding the sock. Carefully he scooped the wheat into a small bag, put the sock back in the hole and spread the snow back over it.

His heart began beating wildly as the moon came out from behind a cloud, illuminating the whole country side. Gregory glanced up at the moon and cursed his luck. On hands and knees he began crawling back to the grove. At the edge of the trees he breathed a sigh of relief and stood up.

CRACK! The sound of a gunshot rang out. Gregory did not hear the shot, but felt the stabbing pain in his back.

Suddenly, he was looking down on his body sprawled in the snow. He glanced up to a sight that warmed his whole being. Little Elena and her baba were coming towards him, their arms outreached.

"We have come to take you with us," Baba said, taking Gregory by the hand.

With his other hand in Elena's, Gregory's spirit rose up with them. His long battle with hunger was over. He was going home.

By ten in the evening, Gregory still hadn't returned.

"I hope nothing has happened to Tato," Roger said, his voice very weak. "Shouldn't he be home by now?"

"We'll just have to be patient," Maria replied, desperately trying to hide her panic. "Remember, other times he's been quite late."

After dividing what was left of the turnip, they turned in. Maria had difficulty getting to sleep. She kept it from Roger, but was terrified that Gregory had gotten into trouble. The few times he had been late in the past happened when he was in much better shape. Lately, because he was so weak, he'd only be gone for two or three hours. Maria and Roger woke at eight with a start. Gregory still hadn't returned. Maria was praying constantly for her husband. They waited all morning with growing apprehension.

At two-thirty in the afternoon they heard someone coming up their walk.

"Maybe that's Tato now," Maria said hurrying to the door.

It was Louise, Stefan's wife.

"Stefan is worried sick about Gregory and asked me to see if he had come home last night without stopping at our place. We're both getting so weak. Stefan can hardly walk and he's nearly blind."

"No, he hasn't come home yet," Maria replied, fear playing across her face. "I hope he's okay. It's been over 24 hours since he left."

"God help us all," Louise replied, slumping down in a chair. "You've suffered so much, Maria. You lost Elena and now who knows what's up with Gregory. For years I thought it a curse that Stefan and I couldn't have children, but with this horrible famine, I'm now thinking it's a blessing. When I get home, Stefan and I will pray for Gregory's safe return."

After a cup of weak tea, Louise left.

Maria was Jewish. Her widowed father, Jacob, lived less than a hundred kilometres away in Poland, just a short distance from the border with the Ukraine. Before the Russian army clamped down on all communications out of the Ukraine, Maria sent her dad a letter telling him of the deepening political situation.

Jacob received her letter some time back. Although he was concerned for Maria and her family's welfare, he was unaware how grave the situation had recently become. Then a couple of weeks ago he heard stories of the rural Ukrainians dying of starvation and was becoming increasingly worried for his daughter and her family. He learned that some Ukrainians bought their freedom by bribing the Russian army. He was now hoping to somehow spirit his daughter and her family out of the Ukraine into Poland.

Jacob was a merchant and operated a small general store in Kozmin, a town of 3000. He was in his early sixties. Although fairly tall, he was slight of build. With a mat of white hair and a short beard he looked quite distinguished.

He knew an unsavoury character by the name of Igor Ivonovitch who was making a livelihood bartering with the Russian army that occupied the Ukraine. Igor's father was Russian, his mother Polish. Bribing the Russian army for his Polish clients was his profession.

Via the grapevine, Jacob sent word out that he wanted Igor to stop by his store.

The next day Igor dropped by. Jacob took him into his office and closed the door. Igor passed up the wooden chair provided for him and sprawled out in Jacob's stuffed armchair. Igor was quite overweight, of short stature and slovenly dressed. When he talked, he had a habit of looking past you, seldom making eye contact.

"I am getting very concerned for my daughter and her family," Jacob said. "They live in rural Ukraine and from what I hear many in that area are dying of starvation. Is there any way you could help me bring them here and what would it cost? They have a small farm near the village of Novich, but they live right in the village. Are you familiar with that area?"

"Yes I'm quite familiar with that region. Since the start of the famine I've helped get a number of Ukrainians out of that area. You're right. From what I've been told, many are dying of starvation. Unfortunately, it's getting harder to smuggle anyone out as the Russians now want far bigger bribes. I'll see what I can do though. I know the lieutenant who is in charge of that area. He can be hard to deal with, but I'll do my best. Give me the name of your daughter's family and I will check in with Lieutenant Bodner. I'm headed into the Ukraine tomorrow on other business."

"I'll get back in touch with you as soon as I can. If I can make a deal with the lieutenant, you should be prepared to pay a fairly high price, especially if they find out your daughter is Jewish. You understand, I have nothing against Jews myself," he continued in an oily unconvincing tone. "You know the Russians though. I won't know until I talk to the lieutenant, but you should be prepared to pay something like 2000 Russian roubles in gold. My fee would be another 20% of that."

"I'll suggest to the lieutenant that he use the spot four kilometres north of the Kozmin border crossing. We've used it a number of times before. You may know the spot I'm talking about. There's a large grove of trees there, maybe thirty or forty hectares. The grove straddles the border. In the middle of the grove is a small meadow. That's the rendezvous spot. A trail leads into the meadow from both the Ukrainian and Polish sides."

"Yes I know the spot. Years ago the wife and I used to pick blueberries there."

"If you'd be so kind, I'll need 40 roubles in advance," Igor continued. "Sometimes one has to bribe the guards at the border crossing just to get into the Ukraine."

Jacob handed Igor the money and they shook hands to consummate the deal.

When Igor met with Lieutenant Bodner the next day, the first thing he mentioned was that Maria was Jewish.

Lieutenant Bodner was a big, swarthy, burly man with a drawn, hard face. Those under his command feared his violent temper.

"Tell this Jew that getting his daughter and family out will cost him plenty," the lieutenant roared. "I shouldn't deal with a damn Jew, but then I guess money is money. I want 2400 roubles in gold up front from him. If he accepts my asking price we'll have to get right at it or his daughter and family might starve to death," the lieutenant added with a sadistic grin. "When will you see this Jacob again and when can you get back to me? If he accepts my offer where can I drop them off?"

"I'll be seeing him tonight and I'll be coming back into the Ukraine on other business tomorrow," Igor said. "How about dropping them off at that spot on the border four kilometres north of the Kozmin crossing? We've used it before."