Written for the HODOWE: May Day Story Challenge

Winnowing

It was May 1, 1946.

In Leningrad, Russian troops were parading proudly past Russian dignitaries. Photographs of Lenin adorned the walls or were carried. Jeeps and trucks went by in an odd mix of solemn movement and pride as the dignitaries watched, saluted by the Army, Navy and Air forces as they saluted back in turn. Women in traditional Russian dress dancing to a band. Balloons released into the air. Banners and signs everywhere as planes flew overhead. This was the first May Day since the great war had ended and even with all the changes that had come and were still coming to their country, a feeling of optimism filled the air - if only for today.

Miles from Leningrad in both distance and mood, Mikhail Kovalenko was leaning his his back, resting his eyes as he was driven to the next orphanage. How many had he already been to and how many more remained? It had slipped his mind that today was May Day until his aide reminded him, but he would go ahead and visit this one orphanage before going to the nearest village and allowing his small staff the rest of the day off.

At the orphanage, the director of the school was nervous, having been told of an official visit, but not what that visit would entail. Knowing that whoever was visiting was very likely to be military, the orders went out for the children to be lined up in ranks like soldiers in five groups : one of mixed boys and girls under the age of 5, two groups single sex groups of ages 5 to 10 and two final single sex groups of those over 10.

A wry smile formed on Kovalenko's face as he saw the arrangements. He immediately told the director to have the group under 5 returned to their rooms. Then he began the slow process that totally baffled the director.

Kovalenko stopped in front of every child, put a gloved finger beneath their chin, then looked into their eyes. What he was looking for? Only he knew but he continued making his silent way through the girls. Four times, he stopped and laid a hand on top of a child's head and, four times, a young girl was led out of the formation by one of Kovalenko's men. Four girls out of over two hundred girls.

Looking over to the director, Kovalenko called out to send the remainder of the girls back to their rooms. Once they were gone, he began the same slow and silent progress through the ranks of the boys. From the 5 to 10 year olds, he picked out 9 boys that went to stand by the four girls already chosen. Then he began to walk through the final group.

Standing among the other boys, a thirteen year old blond tried very hard not to fidget as his mind raced to try and discern what was going on around him. What was the man looking for? What did he want? Was being chosen a good thing or were the children being pulled going to a fate worse than an over-crowded, understaffed orphanage? Before he could come to any sort of conclusion in his mind, he saw the man stop in front of him.

He could smell the leather of the man's glove as the finger touched the underside of his chin and brought his eyes up to met those of the man in front of him. The boy barely kept himself from gasping at the amber eyes studying him. He had never seen that color of eye in a human face before.

For his part, Kovalenko was looking into blue eyes of the sort that make him wonder briefly if the child was blind. But no, the reaction of the boy to his own eyes told him that he could see well enough. And he saw what he had seen in the eyes of the other children he had pulled from the ranks. Curiosity. Intelligence. A hint of defiance. A spark of fire that the lives they had led so far had not been able to put out.

The gloved hand left the boy's chin and settled on top of the pale blond hair. In what seemed like seconds, the boy was standing with the others that had been chosen. Only one other boy from his age group joined them. That made a total of fifteen. Fifteen picked out from the five hundred or so orphans that filled these buildings to overflowing.

Tears rolled down the faces of some of the children as they were loaded into the back of a military truck to begin their journey to an unknown fate. Several of them were leaving behind the only family that they had left, brothers and sisters who had not be chosen.

The director came over to Kovalenko. offering him the folders on the fifteen children which were accepted before the director was dismissed with one final order. These children? They were never here. Remove them from any remaining records.

The director only hesitated for a moment before nodding and leaving. Only fifteen children. They had lost that many to disease one month. What were fifteen children in the overall picture? Still, the director cast one last glance to the truck bearing the fifteen away. Though Lenin's views on religion were well known, a slightly prayer was said for the children as the truck turned a curve and disappeared from sight.

In the back of his car, Kovalenko began looking over the names. Darya Sergeyevna Moiseyeva, age 9 - Zoya Andreevna Opokina, age 13 - frowning a touch, he put the folders of the girls and the younger boys to the side and looked over the two folders out of the elder group of boys. Vladik Aleksandrovich Lipov, age 15 and Illya Nikovetch Kuryakin, age 13.

Putting the folders back down, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes with a small smile. Let the others celebrate May Day with display of troops, weapons and the ceremonies. He had lived long enough and through enough changes to know what was popular today might be gone tomorrow. He also knew what many others chose to ignore. The men in charge were men. Just men. Mortal and with a limit to their time at the top no matter what they thought of themselves or what they convinced others to think of them.

The future - the real future - would lay with the seeds of wheat that he was rescuing from among the chaff of the orphanages. Children already tested in a forge of world events they could not control. Children whose eyes told him that they had learned to adapt to survive without giving up their souls.

He would take these children - his seeds - and give them fertile soil. Not all would reach their promise, but those that did might make a difference worth making one day. He pulled a small leather case from his jacket and opened it, looking at the images of his beautiful wife and their three children. After the last orphanage, he would visit their graves a last time before putting his dead behind him and concentrating on the future.