Natasha stepped into the room, and Karol – no longer crestfallen, his voice vibrating with elation – said, ‘Mama, Natasha drove the horse and sleigh yesterday. Do you remember?’
‘Of course.’
Natasha’s gaze travelled to the pan on the stove. ‘I shall get in trouble if they find me here. They don’t encourage us Ukrainians to socialise with the Poles, but I wanted to see if you have enough food.’
‘Kohanie, it is a feast compared with what we had before. I’m making fish and barley soup. Won’t you sit down and have some? We never had time to thank you yesterday; it’s almost cooked.’
‘No, no, I must go. Thank you, but save your food, you’ll need it.’ She glanced back over her shoulder as she went through the door. Karol followed her.
‘That’s kind. I like her, but why did she tell us to save our food, Mama?’ The bleak mood which crowded in on me at the shop now threatened to overwhelm me. Perhaps there would be no more food on sale – ever.
‘Don’t be daft Marishu,’ Mother wiped her hands on a cloth. ‘She’s smitten with our Karol, and he with her. Haven’t you seen the way they look at each other?’
‘So, you’ve noticed it too.’
Our second visitor, Vice Kommendant Smirnov, barged in, violating our privacy, intruding on our conversation as if part of the family. There were no bolts on the doors, no polite knocks, no apologies; neither did he remove his cap.
‘Hmm, cooking already.’ Smirnov picked up the little carriage clock, looked it over and set it back down on the window ledge. ‘Nice.’ His eyes roamed over Karol’s bicycle propped against the wall beneath, but he made no comment. ‘And an accordion! Who’s the musician?’
‘Both my sons play,’ Mother answered.
He turned to face us. ‘I see you have already made yourselves comfortable and have acquainted yourselves with the layout of the settlement?’ He didn’t wait for a reply, and his manner was blunt.
‘This shack is lousy with bark beetles,’ Mother said. ‘I would hardly call it comfortable.’
He flipped his hand, his voice sparking with sudden annoyance. ‘Ah, what are a few bugs? You will get used to it.’
Hmm, well – what do you know? I was feeling vengeful and yanked up my sleeve to reveal multiple welts, then pulled away my scarf to give him a look at more on my neck. I scratched my head for good measure to the startled look on Mother’s face warning me I had gone too far, and an ill-concealed smile from Father in support of my bravery.
Our plight seemed of no consequence to Smirnov; he changed the subject. ‘I trust we can look forward to seeing you at the dance at the club on Saturday night?’ It was a command, not an invitation.
A dance! Good heavens, things were looking up, but Father sauntered up to him and I could feel the tension humming through the space between them.
‘I’m sure you didn’t bring us here to entertain us. Did you want something, comrade?’
‘Ah, it is a pity you feel this way. We expect all prisoners to join in with the community spirit of the camp, and you too will abide by the rules. In the meantime, I’m here to tell you what’s going to happen to you.
‘You, you and you,’ pointing to Father, Gerhard and Karol, ‘will work in the forest felling trees. You will work ten-hour shifts, but you will have to leave an hour earlier to arrive at your poloska (workstation) on time.’
‘And how shall you pay us?’ Father clamped his pipe between his teeth, struck a match and lit the mahorka. The smell of tobacco mingled with the stench of fish and the room smelled even worse. Drawing on it, he allowed the smoke to escape slowly, shrouding Smirnov’s face.
He ignored the insult, pursed his lips and wafted it away. ‘It depends on how hard you work. We base production on ‘norms’. If you meet your ‘norm’ you will each receive eight roubles. If not, it could be as little as two roubles per shift, and it will penalise the complete team.’
‘Two roubles for a ten-hour shift?’ Father stared into the man’s eyes, and half laughed. ‘Tell me, how I’m supposed to feed my family on that?’
‘What about the girl, Marisha, is it? Is she sixteen?’
It surprised me Smirnov even knew my name, but then his documents told him all he needed to know.
‘Fifteen and a half, if you want to be precise. According to Kommendant Ivanov, I understand she’s exempt from work until her sixteenth birthday.’
‘When is that?’
‘Not until October.’
‘What difference will a few months make…?’
‘I said, no!’
A belt of fear squeezed my gut to the point I hardly dared breathe. Did Smirnov honestly expect me to chop down trees? The only time I had ever wielded an axe was when I chopped off that poor chicken’s head. Mother needed it for the pot and the headless bird had chased me across the farmyard, its wings flapping. Mother said it was just its nerves, but I vowed never to lay a hand on either chicken or axe again.
‘You may live to regret it. It would mean another ration of bread.’
‘No, I forbid it.’
Mother sat down beside me, placed her arm on my shoulder and rubbed my arm. ‘October’s a long way off yet, Marishu. Don’t worry, child.’
Having delivered his news, Smirnov left us to absorb it.
Slaves – prisoners? We were all pawns in some giant Soviet chess game. Our lives were at the mercy of the hand that moved us – and no one in Poland knew where we were. No one would ever rescue us because they hadn’t a clue where to search. How did we end up in such a dangerous situation where the Soviets had stripped us of everything we owned, our liberty and even our hope? A sudden wave of despair drove me to get up and stand by the window where only the view whispered there was a free world out there – one of which we were no longer a part.
Father removed his pipe and stared at nothing in particular, ‘In which case, I think it would be useful if we each had an extra pair of valenki. There’s nothing worse than going out in wet boots. We’d better make a start on them today. Marishu, come and let me show you how to cut them out and stitch them to make them waterproof. I won’t have time to do much if I’m working all those hours.’
Did my father have any inkling we might come to such a place? At home, Mother was often boiling the woollen cloth that Lodzia had woven to reduce it to the felted consistency required and I was familiar with the process. I didn’t mind cutting them out, but I didn’t relish waterproofing them. Father always went a step further to ensure everything was as robust as possible and firmly stitched the soles and vamps with tar-covered twine to which he attached strands of hogs’ hair to further waterproof them. Was it any wonder at the state of his poor hands when all he wanted was to ensure we were all adequately shod?
The fish soup was ready, but ravenous as we all were none of us wanted to be first to try it. I watched Mother with ladle poised and gave her a dubious look. ‘What if it poisons us all?’
She sniffed it and drew back sharply from the pan. ‘Well, I suppose you have to ask yourself why that barrel was nearly full. If everyone was as hungry as we are, why didn’t they snap them up?’
‘I can’t believe this,’ Gerhard said, ‘we’re all starving, and now we’re getting picky over a bit of smelly soup.’
‘Well, you eat it then,’ Karol replied. There was a nasty, brief silence. ‘I’m not eating it. ‘Do more pork fat, Mama; I’m starving.’
‘There’s no bread left, kohanie. I’ll make some plain pearl barley soup, but you’ll have to wait a bit longer. Marisha, fetch some snow.’
11
To my surprise, Natasha returned in the evening.
She and Karol sat together on his slats as if joined at the shoulder, their arms and legs brushing against each other’s, often gazing into each other’s eyes.