Stories of abuse have become a common defense for criminals, deviants and juvenile delinquents, who cite tales of neglect and suffering to gain a lighter sentence or some other form of understanding.
     But it is unusual for two law abiding, hardworking family men—men who have nothing to gain from calling up horrors from their past—to come forward with a story of suffering relentless physical and mental abuse. It is also rare for middle aged men from Manitoba's Interlake region to publish such a story for friends, neighbours and strangers to read. But David and Dennis Pischke seem to be unusual men in many ways. They told their story to a reporter, Karen Emilson, who published it in the Interlake Spectator last year. What she heard and recorded stunned Emilson, who decided these interviews had to be set down in a more permanent record.
     Her book, Where Children Run, is the story of two small boys, and years of beatings, starvation and nights alone in the bush in sub-zero weather. The five year-old fraternal twins had only one asset—each other.

"David suddenly realized how much he needed Dennis," Emilson writes. "Instinctively, he reached out with his right hand but Dennis was not there. Panic overtook him.”

     Emilson's ear for language is shown through the voice of Domko, the stepfather who hated his wife's children from her first marriage with a malice tinged with lunacy.
     Boleslaw Domko was honourably discharged in December 1947 from the Polish Resettlement Corps. He immigrated to Canada, worked as a farmhand and married a widow with seven children, Caroline Pischke. From the beginning, the boys were singled out for Domko's belt' for his fists and for his rage. It was later discovered that his anger was triggered by mental illness, schizophrenia and reminders of the war. The Pischkes' father, Bill, was German-Canadian which seemed to be a problem for Domko.
     There were Samaritans through the years, teachers and neighbours, but this was a time when a man’s home was still his domain. Leah D'Hoore, a new 21-year-old teacher, listened to the boys' stories and asked, "Where do you children run?"

"Any place where he can't find us. We run in the bush an' to Gus and Jim's place. We go over the beaver dam. We just run 'til we can't run no more."

     However, like others who had given the boys shelter or reported their condition to the social agencies, D'Hoore could do little else besides listen to the boys.

"Both he and his brother had come to terms with the fact that Domko might kill them someday. David thought it was odd that telling people the truth seemed more important to Dennis than surviving."

     For more than 40 years, the brothers were silent about the abuse that began when Domko came to live with them. Where Children Run does not tell us why they chose to break their silence. Perhaps as they near their 50th birthday, they have decided to quit running.

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