The early winter twilight was descending on the village of Novich in western Ukraine. All was silent save for the weak cries of the sunken-cheeked, starving children. It would be another cold night. The north wind whisked away the smoke from the chimneys. In the distance one could hear the mournful howling of a starving dog. It would no doubt succumb to starvation before sunrise.

In the Goodz household, little eighteen-month old Elena had cried almost all her waking hours for the last two months.

Starvation had drastically changed her. Once she was a bright-eyed, chubby, cheerful, robust little being. Now Elena's stomach protruded and her arms and legs looked like broomsticks. As long as they would live, her parents and older brother would be haunted by her sorrowful never-ending crying. Maria, her mother, breastfed Elena, but because of next to nothing to eat, Maria's milk supply had long since dried up. The last few days, the crying had changed to a barely audible whimper.

Even though it was prohibited by the Russian army, the Goodz's had managed to hide a small stockpile of food in a secret compartment in their cellar, but that small cache had been used up long ago. Maria held her dying baby close, slowly rocking her, tears slipping down her sunken cheeks.

Before the famine ravished her body, Maria was a striking beauty. She had blue eyes, was fair skinned and her hair was the colour of ripe wheat straw. She had been just a little on the plump side.

"Hospodeh Pomiloy, Hospodeh Pomiloy. (God have mercy, God have mercy,)" she chanted over and over again. By Maria's side sat Roger, her emaciated nine year old son. His legs and arms were spindly, his stomach bloated. He looked on, despair and fear playing across his thin ashen face.

"I'm so hungry Mama. Isn't there anything to eat?" he kept saying.

"I'm sorry, Son, but we'll have to wait until your tato comes home," was Maria's constant reply. "He usually finds something to eat. It's the Russian Government that's to blame. God will help us. Try to be brave."

Gregory, Roger's dad, had been gone since noon, desperately searching for a little something to feed his starving family. It was now dark as he slowly pushed open the door into their small white-washed kitchen.

Gregory was swarthy. His once stocky, husky frame was reduced to a frail shadow of its old self. Only the gnawing hunger and a passion to feed his starving family kept him going.

"Thank God we had a little luck," he began, placing a small chunk of frozen meat on the kitchen table. "Stefan and I found the spot where the Russians took some of the dead horses. It was just a kilometre out of town. Someone else must have got there first because we found part of a hind quarter away from the pit where the dead horses were placed. Stefan and I managed to salvage a little bit of meat. It's still frozen. It looked like the horses hadn't been there that long."

While Gregory held Elena, Maria shaved the frozen horsemeat into thin slices and fried it. Once the meat was cooked they dug in. It wasn't very savoury, but they gobbled it down, hardly taking time to chew. Gregory carefully made sure that Maria and Roger had most of their meagre supper.

"I'll see if I can get Elena to eat a little," Maria said, her voice breaking. "She's so weak. God alone knows how much longer she can hold on."

Maria chewed up some of the meat and tried to get Elena to eat it, but the poor baby was unable to chew. In desperation Maria took a slice and boiled it until it was a soupy mush, but the little tyke was too weak to swallow.

Late into the night, Maria sat rocking her baby, chanting over and over, "Hospodeh Pomiloy, Hospodeh Pomiloy." Gregory and Roger sat close by, silently weeping. Finally, the whimpering stopped. As Maria, Gregory and Roger watched in anguish, the life light slowly faded from Elena's eyes. Her long struggle with hunger was over. The baby girl was free at last.

From the bottom of Maria's soul came a mother's painful cry. "My darling baby's gone, she's gone," Maria wailed. "God help us. God help us."

"My spirit is crushed," Gregory whispered. "There's no use in cursing the Russians anymore. It takes too much energy. The little strength we have left we must save to fight the hunger a bit longer."

Slowly he dropped to his knees and placed his hand on Elena's forehead. "My precious baby, my precious Elena," he cried. "God have mercy, God have mercy."

Roger sat in stunned silence. With tears slipping down his cheeks, he hesitantly placed his hand on his little sister's forehead.

"Why did my little sister have to die, Mama?" Roger finally blurted out.

Maria shook her head, but did not reply.

Anticipating Elena's death, Gregory made the baby a small, simple coffin. Maria, with Gregory's help, prepared the tiny body. They put Elena in her red woollen dress and laid the tiny wasted body in the wooden box. Maria placed Elena's doll beside her and tucked her favourite blanket around her. They put the little coffin on a chair beside the bed. For a long time, Maria lay there, weeping and holding her baby's small hand.

"We must try not to be angry with God," she whispered to Gregory and Roger. "If the truth is known, Elena is the lucky one. She's with her Baba and the angels. They'll take good care of her."

Totally spent, Maria finally fell asleep.

Just before daybreak, Maria had a most vivid dream. She was in the garden getting vegetables for dinner. "Mama, Mama!" Maria whirled around. Elena was running toward her, golden hair flying in the breeze. At the back of the garden stood a young woman dressed in white. Elena appeared to be about four years old. "Mama, I'm so happy here. I have lots of kids to play with."

Elena reached her arms up to her mama.

Maria reached down to pick her up, but as suddenly as they had appeared, Elena and the lady in white were gone.

Maria woke Gregory and told him of her dream.

"What a wonderful, wonderful gift," Gregory whispered. "I haven't the slightest doubt that our little girl's spirit came to you to comfort us. If things don't soon get better we will all be with her."

"The dream will be a comfort to me as long as I live," Maria replied.

While he still had the strength, Gregory dug a large shallow grave at the end of the garden. The next morning they placed Elena's little casket in the grave. Gregory, Maria and Roger silently stood by the small mound of dirt for some time. In a breaking voice, Maria began singing, 'Jesus Loves the Little Children.'

In the cold of the dawn, they continued standing in silence, holding hands and weeping.

And so it went, day after day, desperate rural villagers and country folk, fighting starvation with every ounce of strength their weakened bodies possessed.

In the days following Elena's death, the family's physical condition was steadily deteriorating. Like his folks, Roger was getting progressively weaker and now spent most of the day in bed. Gregory's sorties looking for food were getting shorter because of his weakening condition. Some days he'd return with nothing. At noon, after a small bowl of cabbage soup, Gregory and Stefan left to try to scavenge some food.

Maria was apprehensive. She was aware that if the authorities caught you stealing food or hoarding, it could mean execution.

Gregory and Stefan had long past given up on checking where the horses were buried as the burial site was now guarded. Gregory returned in late...