Unspoken

by Danny A. Bass

Have you ever thought about how much human communication is unspoken? I had not, until Kharkiv. We are all aware of unspoken communication, a wave of the hand, a nod or turn of the head. People my age may have preferred the belt to the look of disappointment on the face of a parent. And how many life-long relationships began with nothing more than a seductive smile. Still, I had never considered just how much we communicate without words, until Ukraine.

For most of the month of May 2024 I was in Ukraine as a volunteer with the Scottish non-profit, HopeFull (formerly Siobhan’s Trust). Our mission was simple, give Ukrainian people a pizza and a smile; and perhaps some hope from the knowledge that people from around the world have not forgotten them.

While volunteers come and go, my team included people who are Scottish, English, Irish, Korean, Australian, French, Zimbabwean, American, and Ukrainian. Occasionally, a Ukrainian being served who spoke some English would ask from what country we came. Invariably, as I rattled off the list, eyes would widen, a smile would appear, and a handshake or fist-bump proffered.

I came to think of us as vagabonds or travelling jesters of old. We were a convoy of four trucks, travelling to a different suburb or village every day. On arrival, we would circle the “wagons” like pioneers, fire up the pizza ovens, and blast upbeat music to which the younger volunteers might sing and dance as they worked. Even I, at 73, couldn’t resist pointing to the sky, to the ground and spreading my arms wide while singing along with Marvin Gaye: “ain’t no mountain high enough, ain’t no valley low enough, ain’t no river wide enough, to keep me from getting to you...” Indeed, not even Russian missiles have kept Hopefull volunteers from getting to the Ukrainian people.

It was the second day with my team, in a suburb of Kharkiv when I was awakened to the power of unspoken ”words.” We were set up near a high-rise apartment building. I was told that many of the people we were serving that day were refugees from the Russian invasion of the Kherson region of Ukraine. I was at the serving table handing out cups of juice to people just after they were given a pizza.

A young woman, perhaps 35, who had already been served, was standing about ten feet in front of me when I noticed her staring at me. Assuming she wanted another cup of juice, I looked directly at her and held up a cup in an unspoken offer. She shook her head, no, but immediately stepped to me, extending her hand as for a handshake. I smiled and reached my hand out to clasp hers. It was a gentle, friendly clasp, at first. She did not smile. After a few seconds I relaxed my grip to end the handshake; but she tightened her grip so that I could not disengage.

I looked directly into her eyes, as she did into mine. She then reached out with her other hand, placed it atop my hand and began gently caressing my hand in a circular motion for what seemed like minutes, though it must have been only seconds. Our eyes were locked on each other’s. Who was this woman bursting with emotion and “speaking” so intimately with a stranger with her eyes and hands? Had she lost her home in Kherson? Was her husband fighting at the front? Had he already been killed? And what were the unspoken words she was saying to me? I shall never know the answers to those questions. I shall never know who she was. But in that short time, as she clearly felt the need to hold on to someone, I felt, while fighting back tears, and without a word ever spoken between us, a bond as strong as I have felt with people I have loved. When she finally released me, all I could do was curl my lips inward in an unspoken effort to say, “I wish I could help.” She simply broke eye contact and walked away.

Her face, her eyes, the gentle caress of her hands would not leave my thoughts. That night, lying alone in bed in darkness, the scene played over and over as if stuck on replay; and the tears I had fought back when facing her finally fell. I don’t know her. I don’t know her name. Never a word was spoken between us. But I shall never forget that Ukrainian woman.

Note: Danny Bass is a new member of LLC.