The View from Pidkamin

By Walter Kish

Having heard that Ukraine has once again been thrown into the turmoil of another parliamentary election, I lost no time in contacting Hryts, my cousin half removed, from the bucolic village of Pidkamin in Western Ukraine.  I say half removed, since the exact genetic relationship has never been made clear despite my attempts at genealogical research into the matter.  My queries in this regard have usually been met with embarrassed sideways glances and quick detours onto other topics.  Although I am sure we are cousins, I suspect that we are so as a result of circumstances that do not exactly conform to accepted ecclesiastic standards.

I have heard several apocryphal stories from other cousins, most involving some combination of my aunt (his mother), a moonless night on Ivana Kupalo, a jug of moonshine, a magic spell, some potent garlic, a makitra full of borshcht and a dashingly handsome gypsy who accidentally stumbled his way into the village.

Be that as it may, Hryts is my authority on Ukrainian politics, and there is little that goes on within that convoluted sphere that escapes his judgmental scrutiny.

I reached him while he was helping his better half Yevdokia make their annual batch of khrin, a particularly potent condiment made from horseradish that not only enhances most meals, but is also the most effective nasal decongestant I have ever come across.

“So,” I asked Hryts, “what do you make of this latest falling out between Yushchenko and Tymoshenko that now has Ukrainians heading to the polls for the third time in as many years?”

“Ecch!” he exclaimed.  “The man has about as much political sense as a bag of hammers!  He’s like the man obsessed with hanging a picture of himself straight on the wall while the roof is caving in over his head.  It reminds me of my neighbour Milko who came over earlier today.  He tasted some of this khrin we are making while I was telling him a joke, and he accidently got some into his nose.  You’d think it was Chornobyl repeated all over again in his sinuses.  He was so pre-occupied with clearing his nose that he tripped over the cat lying on the porch and fell into the rose bushes.  Picking himself up, he continued sneezing and stumbling around until he slipped and fell into a pile of cow doo-doo.”

The mental picture of all this had me in stitches, but I wasn’t quite sure what he was getting at, so I made the mistake of asking him.

“My, my…” he chuckled.  “It’s obvious you haven’t had your medicinal sto hram yet today!  You see, Yulia is like this horseradish, potent and effective when properly used.  However, Yushchenko has got her up his nose and instead of focusing on what he should be doing, he is stumbling around trying to get her out of his system.   It’s obvious that the man can’t handle his metaphorical horseradish!”

“I think I see what you are getting at.” I said somewhat hesitatingly.  “He does seem to be more than a little obsessed with getting rid of Yulia.  So what do you think will happen during the election?”

“If you read all the papers and study all the polls, the answer to that is quite obvious.  I think it is safe to say that the Ukrainian electorate will shove even more Tymoshenko “khrin” up Yushchenko’s nose!”

The thought made me smile.

“I have one more question, Hrytsiu.  If Yulia is like horseradish, what then is Yanukovich?”

“Hee, hee!” he chuckled.  “Yanukovich is like that piece of cheese at the back of the fridge that is way past its best before date, and long ago went bad.  Even the pigs won’t touch it now!”

I wish I understood politics as clearly as Hryts does.