I’m not sure if this tale is true or fabricated… truth or fiction… but I’d like to believe that such happy coincidences happen in life, at least once. This is how I heard it, and this is how I’ll tell it.
…In a little village, there was a woman named Mary. She had buried her husband before the war. He fell through the ice one early spring but managed to get out. Unfortunately, he got sick with a terrible fever and didn’t survive.
She had three sons. The eldest was twenty-two, the middle one was nineteen, and the youngest was a year younger. The eldest was considering marriage, but the younger two weren’t interested yet—they were busy socializing with girls. And then the war came… They all left for the front lines. The eldest and the middle son went almost immediately, and the youngest joined in ’42.
The middle son sent one letter, saying they were fighting the Nazis and to take care, Mum… That was all he could write, but she was grateful for it. At least it was some news. But from the eldest, there was nothing. He disappeared… She waited, but there was no word.
The youngest did write, although rarely, as the war allowed. But he did write.
Then came a notice about the middle one, Alex, saying he was missing in action. And still nothing from the eldest, Sam. She was heartbroken.
The neighbors would say, “You’ve still got Andy, he’s alive, God willing, he’ll return… we have no one to hope for…”
Near the war’s end, Andy wrote that he’d been lightly wounded in the leg and not to worry. He would be demobilized soon and would be home. She waited, eagerly. And then the war ended.
She ran to every train coming to the station, though it wasn’t nearby… But Andy didn’t return.
Then one day, a train pulled in, and there was her son on the platform! He leaned on a stick, clearly not so lightly wounded… She rushed to him, hugging and crying… her dear Andy. And suddenly he said, “Mum, why do you call me Andy? I’m Alex…”
She felt faint… Alex! She had already given up hope, and prayed for his rest, carrying that sin on her soul… They stood there, both crying.
He explained that he had suffered a concussion in battle and was assumed dead. He came to his senses and crawled to the outskirts of a village. Fortunately, he was found by a woman who hid him, taking a risk since there were Germans already in the village. Eventually, he joined the partisans. His memory was gone… He remembered having a mother and brothers, but not their names or where he lived. He only recalled working as a tractor’s assistant, remembering the fields… With the partisans, he didn’t fool around. They tested him, suspecting he might be a disguised enemy.
Later, he took part in missions, even sabotaging railways. After the area was liberated, he joined a tank unit because of his mechanical skills. He became a driver-gunner and made it to Berlin. He was wounded again, in the leg. But slowly, his memory returned, piece by piece. He first recalled his brothers’ and then his mother’s name. Eventually, his village too. But by then, the war was over. He did write a letter, but who knows where it ended up…
Mary arranged for a cart to bring Alex to their village, persuading a driver for the long journey. But the driver had to turn off to another neighboring village, so part of the way they walked, albeit slowly as Alex’s leg still pained him. By evening, they arrived, and she saw someone in the yard—a stranger, smoking a cigarette, their smoke visible in the dusk. Yet the dog, which was an old, pre-war companion, didn’t bark…
Mary was frightened.
“Alex,” she said, “wait, there’s someone there…”
But Alex, with younger eyes, peered closer and suddenly hurried to the house, throwing his stick aside and limping fast, almost running.
From the house, someone tossed away a cigarette and ran toward him, swinging open the gate…
They embraced tightly, and Mary recognized him, stunned: “Andy!”
She couldn’t approach, her legs giving way, sinking to the ground where she stood.
Andy had arrived in a half-truck, not the train. Someone advised him to get off at one of the stations for a faster route. He arrived home, but found she had gone to the station. They missed each other.
And from Sam, still nothing. Years passed… The sons married, Alex moved out, and Andy added an extension to the parental house. Grandchildren were running around, growing up…
On the ninth of May, a day of celebration, they all gathered. While it wasn’t yet a recognized holiday on the calendar, they celebrated nonetheless. Such a day! One seat at the table remained unoccupied—a glass of whisky with bread covered it, and their mother laid a pickle beside it on a little plate. They always searched for news, but found nothing. They seemed resigned, all except for her. Every evening, she would light a candle in front of the icons, whispering prayers to God…
Sam’s girlfriend, whom he intended to marry before the war, never married. She waited, believing. On the ninth of May, she came by too. They didn’t toast for the departed, but for hope. Yet hope faded every day, every year…
One day, Alex was asked to deliver some feed to a neighboring farm. Being a tractor driver, he obliged. When they unloaded, a grim-looking man helped—a bearded recluse who didn’t say a word. Something struck Alex, though he couldn’t explain what. He asked around about the man, but no one had seen him before… he’d just started working at the farm as a stockman, living nearby with an old woman in another village. He seldom spoke, never divulging his name. They simply said, “Ask the stockman,” “Tell the old chap…” Beards weren’t common in the village.
Alex decided not to worry his mother. But he talked to Andy. Together, they decided to check out the man. One day, both went to the farm, under some pretext. From a distance, Alex showed Andy the man, who was cleaning the stables, not turning around.
Andy couldn’t resist, he approached. The man didn’t even glance back… Andy stood behind him, and suddenly said:
“Sam… Brother…”
The man barely flinched but didn’t turn. With his head lowered, through his shoulder, he murmured:
“You’re mistaken… Move along, friend…”
But Andy didn’t leave. He said:
“What are you doing… Mum waits for you. She’s shed tears enough praying to God you might be alive…”
The man bent over even more. Then suddenly plunged the pitchfork into the ground, turned his whole body:
“She waits? Waits for a convict…?”
This was when Alex chimed in:
“Sam! I recognized you right when we were unloading the feed… She’d wait for anyone! No matter what condition they’re in! You’re here, alive, what are you hiding for? You taught us not to fear anything or anyone! Maybe we survived because we remembered your teachings! Tan’s waiting for you too! Others have courted her already!”
Sam dropped his head, tears streaming… He stepped toward them.
The brothers embraced, all three, their tears mingling…
Sam recounted how he’d been wounded in battle and captured, enduring a concentration camp in Poland. The number tattooed on his wrist remained… He survived hunger, cold, beatings, and hard labor—all attempts to escape met with dogs tearing at them, scars covering his legs. The beatings afterward were so severe he wished they’d killed him… When their forces liberated the camp, he ended up in another—his own. They investigated, but eventually released him. Yet he had nothing—no passport, no documents save for a release paper. His urge to return home was overwhelming! Secretly, he saw everyone—from a distance—his brothers, his mother, Tan. Nightly, he’d cry into his pillow, lacking the courage to reveal himself. Ashamed… Others returned from war as heroes, but he… Had they not approached, recognized him—he’d have left, far away to avoid tearing at his soul…
They decided to gradually prepare their mother. Initially, they mentioned they’d found some information, but it wasn’t yet definite. She perked up, rejuvenated. She peppered them with questions, eager for confirmation. The wives were briefed too, prepared to inform Tan and be ready themselves. And as the ninth of May neared, their mother set the table, as always, placing a glass with whisky. She appeared sorrowful. Once more, the celebration approached, yet her son was absent…
Everyone gathered, only Andy was running late. They awaited him.
Then Alex spoke up:
“Mum, don’t cover the glass with bread. Also, don’t just place a pickle on the plate—maybe some cabbage, some potatoes… We’re expecting a guest…”
Just as she was about to ask—what guest, what kind of family feast this was…?
At that moment, Andy entered, with the “guest” in tow… clean-shaven, in fresh clothes. Mary wanted to scold Andy for his tardiness, but she looked at the “guest” more closely…
And her legs couldn’t hold…
“Sa-am! My son!”
Her heart clenched, she felt faint… But the daughters-in-law were prepared—with smelling salts and heart drops. Tan too needed care…
… I’m not sure if this is a true story or a mere invention. Reality or imagination. But this is how I heard it from an older man, Sam and Tan’s son. He believes his father is a hero too, even without medals…
And I want to believe it’s all true…
