‘Brined.’
‘Perhaps if I gave them a good boiling,’ she gave him a hopeful smile as if by doing so, it would change these stinkers into flying fish, but then changed her mind. ‘Perhaps I’ll just take two then.’
He slapped the fish on the counter. ‘Nothing wrong with these.’
Mother cleared her throat. ‘What other things do you stock?’
‘We don’t. Once it’s in, we sell it. We get some Halva and tobacco, but us Ukrainians like it, so we have first picks,’ he gave a brief nod, ‘which, after everything we’ve been through, I think is fair.’
‘Is that all?’ Lodzia exchanged worried glances with Mother.
Szefczuk drew a lengthy breath and stared, his patience waning. ‘When the boat comes upriver from the Magazine at Permilovo later in the year – when the ice melts – there’s more choice, and we sometimes get clothes, but it’s never much.’
‘What about cloth? Do you ever get any fabric?’
‘The odd bits; and it’s always cotton percale if we do. This place is a hard-labour camp. Everyone’s up to their necks in snow and mud; there isn’t much call for silks and satins if that’s what you’re after.’
‘No, I was thinking more about felted wool. My husband makes valenki, and I wondered…’
‘Forget it.’
‘It’s alright, Anna, I’ve brought plenty with me.’ Father said.
Szefczuk regarded him as if he were a little deluded. ‘I doubt you’ll have time to make boots. Sleep is all you’ll be wanting after a day’s hard labour in the forest, believe me.’
I watched my parents exchange glances. ‘What about milk, eggs and vegetables? Where do we buy those?’ Mother steered the conversation back to food.
‘At our kolkhoz – if they’re willing to sell you any. Turn left out of here. Follow the river to Kenga; it’s not far.’
‘Kolkhoz?’ Lodzia said. ‘This is a bizarre labour camp.’
‘Nothing bizarre about it. We Ukrainians run the kolkhoz. We’ve been here since the 1930’s, and we created it like we created the community centre and the school and everything else you see around here. Left to the Soviets there would be nothing here but toil and death. After all these years, it’s still us and them. At least this latest Kommendant is half decent. Not like the last bastard.’
Everyone fell silent, before Mother said, ‘What about paraffin, where do we get that?’
‘From here.’
‘Oh, good, may we have some, please?’
‘You need to bring your lamp.’
So that was that! I had to carry the slippery, unwrapped fish. I always got the rotten jobs. It smelt vile, and I hated the way people were looking at me, thinking it was me who stunk.
Karol said, ‘Right, Gerhard – where’s this cantina?’
‘Down there. See that queue snaking out of the door? There’s another river beyond it; the Levashka. Make sure you don’t get it muddled up with the Vaymuga, otherwise you’ll get lost.’
I stopped dead. ‘I-am-not-walking-any-where-else-with-this-stinking-fish. My hands are freezing. It’s gone right through my mittens.’
Father said, ‘I think we’ll give it a miss today, son. Let’s go back to the shack.’
10
‘Thank God I saved those two pieces of pork fat I brought from home.’ Mother set about preparing something to eat. Chopping up a substantial piece of the first slab, she rendered it down, while Father cut up the bread. ‘I can’t believe a shop catering for a camp of this size carries no stock. What are people supposed to eat?’
‘Don’t forget, there’s the cantina,’ Karol said. ‘People probably take their meals in there.’
‘Meals?’ Gerhard half laughed. ‘Don’t expect any Bigos, or meatballs in sour cream with mushrooms. You’ll get soup – if that’s what you call it.’
Barely able to contain ourselves waiting for the fat to melt down, we all fell on the frying pan, ravaging its contents with our bread, soaking it up, sprinkling it with salt and devouring it with such zest. Heavenly pork fat from our own pigs – it tasted like nothing else on earth.
I savoured the last mouthful and turned to Mother, ‘Please, Mama, do more.’
She glanced at what remained of the first slab and turned to me with apologetic eyes. ‘As much as I would love to, kohanie, I think we should pace ourselves until we see what’s in the shop tomorrow.’
‘I’m still hungry,’ Karol said.
‘We’re all hungry. You must wait for the fish soup.’
Gerhard was already on his feet. ‘Come on; we need to stock up on firewood.’
Father delved into his box and twisted two screws into the walls diametrically opposite each other, in front of the stove, and strung up a line of twine. ‘We’ll need somewhere to dry our clothes. I’ll put up some shelves too; there’s no shortage of wood.’ He threw my wet coat over the line and went to rummage in his box.
Mother reached for the enamel bucket and handing it to me said, ‘Here, child, fetch some snow. I need water.’
Scooping snow from the porch, I returned and plonked the pail on the table. ‘I’m off to have a look around.’
‘Then go to the shop and get some paraffin for this lamp.’ She reached for her purse. ‘Don’t wander far or you might get lost, and keep away from the forest. It’s full of wild animals, remember?’
‘I will,’ I promised, reaching for a dry pair of mittens. Once outside, I turned and headed in the opposite direction. Walking past the admin shack to where we arrived last night, I wondered whether I should believe all that stuff about not being able to escape. Nothing gobbled us up on the way here. The Soviets were controlling us with fear. I didn’t intend spending the rest of my days in this place. There was a trail through those trees somewhere, and it shouldn’t be difficult to find. But then, I thought, a hungry bear was more likely to attack a lone girl than a convoy, so – perhaps not.
Standing here on this slight incline, it was icy cold; cold beyond anything I had ever encountered. I listened to the wind moaning, watching the treetops swaying in vigorous harmony to its tune, and turned around to see whether there was another way out of here, but a dense wall of forest surrounded me. It stretched unbroken to the horizon and I realised the noose now encircling us was as deadly and as sinister as the cattle wagons that brought us here.
Walking back towards the shop, I paused for a while at the edge of the Vaymuga to gaze at the vast expanse of water, frozen solid at the bank and halfway across. Only the middle part progressed sluggishly, relentlessly, as if determined to get as far away from this place as possible. Perhaps in the summer in a boat, when the ice had melted, I could too. But where would I get a boat? Even if I did, I didn’t want to join the Divina and find myself washed up in the White Sea. I couldn’t leave, anyway; not without Mama and Tatta. I would never survive alone.
Snowflakes began falling onto my cheeks, and I brushed them away, not realising how cold I had become. Squalls of icy wind gusting across the river drove me into the shop to buy the paraffin, and I scurried back to the shack. Setting the lamp on the table, I removed my mittens and stretched my hands to the fire. ‘I bumped into Alfred Powiecki. He told me Sasha’s little boy is sick. She’s in the same shack as them. Poo, that fish soup stinks!’
‘Did he say what was wrong with him?’
‘No, except it was Mieczyslaw.’
Mother drew a lengthy breath. ‘He was in our wagon, unsettled all the way here. The little mite must be starving. Perhaps the poor girl couldn’t get any food at the shop. I’ll take her some pearl barley.’
Gerhard and Karol returned with arms full of branches, and a visitor.