I thought I had misheard. Lucky – after everything we had endured? I didn’t think so.
‘Do you and your family live here, Natasha?’ Father climbed off the sleigh to join us. ‘Or are you free to leave?’
‘For our sins, we’re prisoners like you.’
I wondered what those sins might have been, but Karol seemed keen to monopolise her attention. ‘How many people live here?’
‘Apart from us Ukrainians, we’ve collected about seven or eight hundred, but we were expecting many more. There were quite a few corpses at the station. At least the poor souls saved us another trek to Kholmogorki.’
‘What will they do with those bodies?’
Natasha shrugged. ‘I very much doubt they will bring them here as our cemetery’s about full. Unless we start another, they’ll probably bury them in shallow graves until the frost thaws in spring and then give them a deeper burial.’
How matter of fact she is, I thought, how unaffected by the dead who might be a parent, a child or a sibling, whereas I was a bundle of anguish just watching one dead woman being removed from our wagon. Natasha was a few years older than me, but seemed mature beyond her years.
‘What is this forest station, Natasha?’ Father asked. ‘I presume it’s logging?’
‘We’re not allowed to say. The Kommendant will tell you more in the morning,’ she gave a wilted smile, and looked around. ‘It isn’t paradise, but you will get used to it.’
I felt another stab of terror. Get used to what? I hoped these people would hurry because my wet coat had frozen into a plank.
‘Where do you and your family live?’ Karol pried.
‘Our quarters are behind yours, at the forest edge.’ She was about to say more, but a cluster of lamps flickered and a reception committee appeared, one of whom, holding a document, called out names in alphabetical order. Natasha returned to her sleigh.
‘Dobry Vecher,’ the toothless babushka escorting us, spoke in Russian.
‘Good evening,’ we replied, and the sleigh moved on.
‘We were thinking you weren’t coming,’ she said. ‘We’ve been expecting you for three weeks, but we kept the stoves in your cabins going night and day. There’s nothing worse than the cold.’
I couldn’t agree more and could barely wait to get into our quarters. I envisaged the blazing log fire, the warm and comfy bed, and a clock ticking slowly on the wall. I felt such a rush of gratitude that these Ukrainians were so kind to us – so different from the Soviets.
Mother said, ‘Spasibo’ – ‘thanks.’
‘You should thank us; you are the lucky ones.’
There it was again – we were the lucky ones.
All the cabins were long and low, so probably very spacious. Some we passed had faint lights glowing at the windows, but I couldn’t see in because of the frosted leaves obscuring the glass.
We arrived at our abode – Number 20. It lay almost buried beneath a snowdrift which extended over the eaves, and only the footprints on the steps belied it was empty.
‘There are eight rooms per block,’ said the babushka, ‘four from the back door, four from the front. Make sure you use the right steps because eight families live here.’
I went first and followed the babushka into a small corridor with four doors leading from it.
‘Your family have two rooms; your son and his family are already in the first one. This one’s yours,’ she said, stepping into the room and briefly shining her lamp around.
Mother and I peered in, but the poor lighting made it difficult to see it in much detail. The smell of damp, burning wood hung in the air, but at least there would be warmth. With a sinking feeling, I realised I wouldn’t be getting own my bedroom.
By this time, Natasha, Karol and my father had unloaded our baggage into the little hallway, and Mama and I rejoined them to watch Natasha and the babushka leave.
‘You must come to the administration block at ten in the morning,’ said the babushka. ‘The Camp Kommendant will tell you more. Dobroy nochi.’
‘Good night,’ we called back and watched her climb onto the sleigh. She and the lamp disappeared, and everywhere was black, save for the glow from the stove.
‘Candles, I didn’t pack candles,’ Mother panicked.
‘Yes but I did.’ I fetched my holdall and upended it on the table, thankful now I had snatched them in my mindless haste to help my parents pack – along with my mother’s precious onyx carriage clock; a family heirloom passed down to her by my late grandmother.
Father lit the wicks from the fire and held them aloft so we might better inspect our new home.
‘Is this it?’ Karol snorted. ‘Surely, we’re not expected to live here!’ He half turned, ‘Our chicken shed was better furnished than this!’
We gazed up at the ceiling, and down at the wooden floor and walls. Whoever built this shack had stuffed the gaps between the logs with moss to keep out the wind. A lamp stood on the table. Mother gave it a shake, but it was empty. In the twilight I thought their faces looked like those of ghouls arrived newly from hell, huddled together for safety while we all awaited Satan’s arrival.
‘At least there’s a heap of logs in the corner,’ Father rubbed his temple. ‘This is grim.’
Gerhard arrived at the door bearing his lamp aloft. ‘I thought I heard voices; we were wondering when you’d arrive. Lodzia and Ella are asleep in the next room.’
‘Then don’t wake them,’ Father shook out our bundle of eiderdowns. ‘We’re all desperate for sleep. Have you been waiting up?’
Gerhard glanced at his clothes. ‘No, I sleep in these; it’s bloody cold.’
‘Have you got proper beds?’ I asked.
‘No. Wooden slats, same as yours; bit stingy with the straw.’
‘Alright son, go back to bed. We’ll see you in the morning.’
We abandoned everything, wrapped ourselves in our eiderdowns, collapsed onto the slats and instantly fell asleep.
9
Something had woken me up. I lay watching the last of the logs collapse into ash before it dawned on me where I was. Vodopad. The room didn’t reek like the cattle wagon, but smoking tallow hung in the air and two of the candles were now flickering stubs. At least it was an improvement not to have a knee in your back, a foot in your face or strangers crowding you, although I wondered how long I could cope with sleeping on rough wooden boards. Karol and my parents were still asleep. Thank goodness we all had some wholesome flesh around our bones to cushion the hardness.
What was it that had disturbed me? I couldn’t remember; perhaps a dream, but it was enough to invoke alarm. No! There it was again! I just felt it! I tried to swipe it off, but it had scurried over my cheek and disappeared down the back of my neck.
In the light of the one candle still burning I saw bugs, some the size of thumbnails scurrying over me, making themselves at home in my hair, sucking the blood from my scalp and flesh. I screamed, threw my eiderdown in the air and shot off the slats. ‘Mama, there are bugs in here.’ I bent over, threw my hair over my head, ruffled through it with my fingers and did a weird little stomping dance, which I hoped would immediately shake and brush them off me.
‘Shush. You’ll wake the whole shack.’ Mother got off her slats, picked up my eiderdown, shook it out and looked around. ‘They seem to be everywhere.’
‘How do we kill them!’
‘Calm down. How can we?’
Bugs! I hadn’t accounted for bugs. I thought I had done so well keeping a grip on my emotions this far, but this was one ask too many. I slumped back onto my slats, bent over, my hands dangling between my knees, and sobbed. How could I ever sleep in peace again in this lousy dump when I knew they would eat me alive? After everything we had endured – now this.