By Yurii Tokar

Two young goats, a girl and a boy, were born on the same day, after the morning explosions. Something bearing death was shot down over a field not far from where the new lives were born, or perhaps it reached its target and caused destruction somewhere. But the local residents of the village are used to explosions. Although “locals” is a strange word. Visitors and local residents have been mixed up by the war. 

Rural life is unusual for me. My profession is a math teacher, and my apartment is far from the village I found myself in.  I was in this house where the little animals were born, next to people I did not know before, because of the winds of war that control the sails of human destinies. The fifty-year-old owner of the house was a large, tall, and good-natured woman named Oksana. She and her thin husband, Misha, had no children. I, too, have no children or family at the age of 58. During the war, we all found ourselves under one roof by the will of Heaven.

Time passed, and after a few days, the cute little goats were running around the room. Yes! It’s true. The animals lived in the house. Every night, they spent inside the big wooden box filled with straw. But in the morning, they regained their freedom. Unfortunately, the mother of the kids got sick and couldn’t produce milk. So, Oksana milked the second goat every day and then gave this milk to the little animals from a bottle. The adult goats were in the barn, while the little ones lived in the house. A week later, the little goat’s brother died and left her alone. Oksana named her Lisa and talked to her like a child, especially when she fed her milk from a bottle. I was surprised that she talked to her as if she believed that the little animal understood human language. 

Besides the goat, there were three cats running around the house, and two dogs in the yard. It all looked a bit like a zoo.  The barking of dogs and the purring of cats prevented me from conducting distance mathematics lessons inside, so I taught from a car parked in the yard. However, during the day, I went into the house many times, for example, to make myself some coffee. It turned out that the little goat had become very attached to the mistress of the house, and as soon as Oksana went outside, Lisa would start screaming hysterically. Never before had I thought that the scream of a small creature could be so loud. Sometimes I looked at the screaming goat, waiting for her mistress to return, and it seemed to me (or maybe it was so) that tears appeared in the eyes of the little animal. 

I thought “Could Liza really have become so attached to Oksana that she screams and cries so loudly, even when her mistress leaves the house for a few minutes?” 

Misha was indifferent to animals. 

Misha, Oksana, and I usually dined together. I brought sausage or fish bought at the store, bread, various sweets, and sometimes a bottle of vodka, which the owners did not refuse. They put various pickles and dishes made from homemade products on the table. I do not drink alcoholic beverages, but I gladly took part in table talk, learning more and more about simple rural life.

But one conversation struck me. After drinking another glass of vodka, Misha said thoughtfully, “Our Liza is somehow weak and not gaining weight. Maybe it’s time to cut her up for meat?” The hostess was silent for a while, drank her glass, and then said, “No. It’s too early. How much meat will she produce? Let her gain at least a little weight. Besides, maybe she will become strong and start giving milk. Let her live for now, and we’ll always have time to slaughter her.” 

The women spoke of Lisa as if she were meat, quite calmly, and this was in incredible contrast to her sweet conversations with the little goat when she was giving her milk from a bottle. During this table talk, I remembered Lisa’s eyes. I understand that it is hard to believe, but in the wide-open, naive eyes of the animal, devotion to Oksana, or even love, was clearly visible.

“Well, look for yourself; we can wait,” Misha answered indifferently, slightly shrugging his shoulders and stabbing the fragrant fried potatoes with his fork. 

After dinner, I walked outside to the yard past the kitchen, where Lisa was already sleeping in her box. I glanced at the small, living, curled-up bundle and thought that in the morning, when the mistress would leave the house, Lisa would again scream hysterically because of parting with Oksana.

Of course, the little goat didn’t know what fate was in store for her. But do we know our fate? Do we know whether a rocket will fly over the house or fall on it if it is shot down? When will peace come? Will good ever triumph on this Earth? When will people stop killing each other? 

I thought about all this, standing in the yard and raising my head to the spring sky, which was generously scattered with stars. At the same time, I understood that many of the stars visible in the sky have long been gone, and we see them because the light from the stars takes too long to reach the Earth. 

And the small, living bundle in the box in the kitchen slept soundly, breathing barely audibly. Did Lisa see dreams? Who knows.

–Ukraine, 2025

Yurii Tokar is a 58 years old mathematics teacher in Ukraine. His poems, stories, and essays –written in English, Ukrainian, and Russian — have been published in both Ukraine and the USA in publications such as “День” (Ukraine), “Сімейна газета” (Ukraine), “Література та життя” (Ukraine), and “Освіта України” (Ukraine), and Gorizont (USA), Brief Wilderness (USA), Чайка (USA), and Adelaide Magazine (USA).