She says: “You know, when my older boy went to war, I knew what could happen. My chances of seeing him back alive equaled…my chances of seeing him dead. From day one, I knew where he would be if he didn’t return. I had a place for both of us. A horrible, dark, damp place for myself — and a warm, shining place for him. I just knew that it would be like that. A warm, shining place. He would feel good there. He feels good there now…But my younger son died under the rubble. And I keep screaming and screaming. No one can hear me. Even now, talking to you, I am screaming, but my voice drowns in some kind of a swamp… I’m screaming and screaming and screaming… I don’t have a place for him. I can see him only in that basement where he trusted me and trusted that everything would be alright. And now I’m only screaming and screaming.”

***

“Alright, let’s count one more time before hiding it. Don’t pull it out! Count inside your bag. Then we’ll hide it in your bra… Ninety-one by fifty equals four thousand and fifty. Correct?”

“I think so.”

“Let’s count again. Ninety-one by fifty equals… four thousand and fifty. Right?”

“I guess it’s right.”

“Oh no! Girls, we’re 500 euros short! The train is leaving, and the SUV is already waiting at the border! And we’re 500 euros short! Oh no! What are we going to do? Call someone, do something! Ask someone to bring us the cash right now! Or they’ll snatch it right from under our noses and give it to another unit! What should we do, girls?!”

“You should’ve learned maths better at school,” the train conductor says, grumbling. “You have all the money you need. Ninety-one by fifty equals four thousand five hundred and fifty. Come on, get on board, or I’ll call your teacher…”

Author: Olena Stiazhkina, historian, writer

Translator: Hanna Leliv

Illustrator: Victoria Boyko

Content Editor: Maryna Korchaka

Program Directors: Julia Ovcharenko and Demyan Om Dyakiv Slavitski