Flowers for a Vinok, Roses for a Babushka, Poppies for a Grave

Roses for a Babushka

As the years passed, Amvrosiy grew taller and broader; and all the men and boys who had mocked him when he was a girl grew angrier and angrier that they could not knock him down. They would attack him ten to one, they would call him cruel names, they would tell him he wasn't really a man. And Amvrosiy would grin his toothy grin and say, "All this to make me the better swordsman." And he would accept the challenge every time.

There was one boy the same age as him, his mentor's son, Mykola. Mykola would challenge Amvrosiy every day, and every day Amvrosiy would win. And as Amvrosiy grew more and more into the young man he was, Mykola would grow more and more fierce. Mykola would train every waking moment just to win a match. He would say, "I will put that suka in her place." He would say this to his batko, and his batko would laugh and reply, "That boy will knock you to the ground every time."

They were both young men of seventeen; and one particular day, Mykola charged at Amvrosiy, his shashka ready. Amvrosiy grinned and nimbly dodged, pulling free his own blade, his tato's shashka. Their blades met–and what a crowd they drew! Mykola was second among the young men, only to Amvrosiy, and it boiled his blood so. Amvrosiy smiled at his rival, his chestnut eyes glittered under the steppe sun, meeting Mykola's intense black eyes. "You're getting better every day, my dear Mykola." Amvrosiy said. Mykola scowled and replied, "Quiet, suka. This is the day I win." Their blades clashed again, and Mykola shouted, "This is the day I show my tato I'm stronger than you." He landed a blow on Amvrosiy's forearm. Amvrosiy smiled and said, "I do love your vigour, dear Mykola." And he knocked the sword from Mykola's hand.

Any other day Mykola would accept his loss, but this day he was red-faced and furious. His black hair, recently shaved into an oseledets, was dishevelled. He lunged at Amvrosiy, knocking him to the ground, and causing Amvrosiy to drop his sword. Mykola straddled Amvrosiy and threw a punch. Amvrosiy caught Mykola's fist and grinned, wrapping his legs around Mykola and flipping them over. He pinned Mykola's wrists to the ground and straddled him, their faces were close and their chests were heaving. Amvrosiy asked, "What are you trying to do, Mykola? Are you embarrassed to lose to me?" Mykola struggled and groaned and then he spoke, "I can win against any man here, but I never can against you. You always knock me down. Always. And you're not even really a man, I don't understand." Hearing this, Amvrosiy frowned, but then he gave his rival a toothy grin and said, "You learn how to win when nobody believes you can. When I was a girl and everyone thought I was weak, I had to prove I wasn't. But people always thought you were strong, my dear Mykola, and you are! But we are not the same. People don't think I'm strong, or that I'm a man. So I have to show that I am every day. What you are freely given I have always had to earn. That is why I always defeat you."

Amvrosiy stood and dusted himself off, he smiled down at his rival and offered a hand. He said, "And Mykola, you helped me become this way." Mykola's face was red, but no longer from anger. He took Amvrosiy's hand and stood. As their duel was over, the crowd had left them be. Amvrosiy picked up both their blades, sheathing his own and holding out his rival's. But Mykola merely stood there and their eyes met, glittering chestnut and intense black. Amvrosiy said, "Dear Mykola, are you alright?" He winked at Mykola. And Mykola could stand it no more, he grabbed the collar of Amvrosiy's vyshyvanka and pulled his rival close. Their lips met with the ferocity of their shashky, and when they parted it was as if they had swordfought a second time. With flushed faces, they took a moment to breathe. Mykola took his blade and sheathed it, he said, "Next time suka, you'll be on your back." And left Amvrosiy there.

Amvrosiy enjoyed toying with Mykola–I tell you. Many days he would catch Mykola watching him as he went about his work–and oh, how red Mykola would turn once Amvrosiy caught him! He would meet Mykola's eyes and smile. He would watch as Mykola muttered to himself and shuffled away, and he would chuckle. Mykola was too proud to admit his attraction, but it was so plain for Amvrosiy to see.