A message from Ihor

I’ve been in the parish bunker for days. Mom told me we’d be safe here. We left home, taking a few things with us, mostly food and this notebook with some colored pencils. Inside this basement there are other people, we don’t know them but mom hugs them sometimes because she hears them crying. She told me that they miss their children or husbands, but perhaps they don’t know that their families will soon be back with my dad, so I’m not sad. Mum also says that many men have gone to defend their homeland… I don’t understand by whom… I don’t understand what’s happening up there on the surface. I think there is a certain Mr. Putler, everyone here calls him that, and even if they speak softly I hear them, who wants to take us to his land. I wonder why he’s so angry… we want to stay here. That is, not here in the bunker, but here in Kyiv. I’d like to ask him a few questions, that’s why I’m writing some thoughts in this notebook, I don’t feel like drawing (but mom thinks I’m doing it; she always tells me to draw the meadows, the flowers, the sky, and the sun, not to forget them).

“Mr. Putler, my name is Ihor and I’m 8 years old. My parents gave me this name because in Ukrainian it means ‘God is kind‘, do you believe in God? I am full of doubts! You know, sometimes down here there is no air… I miss almost everything, telling the truth, but I pretend nothing has happened. Dad will come and get us. Indeed perhaps you, Mister, have already met him on the surface and I believe that you have refused his invitation, for having made you so angry. Please be kind, maybe we could meet halfway. But now, in the name of the God you believe in or my name, could you leave us in Peace?”