‘We take it you didn’t find your sister-in-law then?’ The woman went away and returned with a bowl. ‘Here, drink this.’
I put it to my lips and, for the first time in weeks, savoured the warm, heavenly taste of milk. I drank without pausing until it was all gone, wishing for more.
Lodzia! Reality dawned, and a dreadful feeling of calamity lodged in my gut. I was her only hope of survival and I had messed up. No one would find her now. When I recalled how close I came to the howling in the forest, I assumed if the wolves hadn’t already ripped Lodzia apart, probably a massive brown bear had loomed up behind her. I prayed she hadn’t seen him first, but if she had turned around, I felt sure he would have felled her with one swipe of his claw. Poor Lodzia would have been lying there terrified, looking up at him, trying to push herself away on her bottom, while her feet scrabbled ineffectively against the ground, shrieking as it bit hard into her flinching leg. No one would hear her screaming for help – and she would know it. I buried my face in my hands and could bear it no longer. Now I had to break the news to my family; and how was I supposed to do that?
The woman sat looking at me with compassionate eyes.
‘Where am I?’ I asked again?
‘At the kolkhoz in Kenga,’ said the woman. ‘My husband found you slumped against our door.’
‘How long have I been here?’
‘Hours. We thought you were dead.’
She and her husband looked younger than the old man. She wore a bright green woollen headscarf emblazoned with garish roses, pulled well over her forehead, almost swamping her thin face. With her hands in fingerless gloves, she tightened the knot beneath her chin and I noticed she had the bluest, kindest eyes. Her husband’s face was swarthy and reflected a life of toil and tragedy, haggard almost, his two front teeth missing. A piece of string held up his well-patched trousers, but his smile was warm.
Swinging my legs off the bed, I put them on the floor, wondering if they would support me. ‘I have to go. I am so sorry I’ve put you to all this trouble and thank you for your kindness.’ I needed to be at home; a major tragedy had befallen my family. Right now the burden was all mine, and it was too heavy for me to carry alone.
The old man said, ‘Do you know where you’re going in the dark? It’s nearly seven o’clock. Why don’t you stay here until someone comes and claims you?’
‘Thank you, but I’ve got to get back and tell my family what’s happened. If you could lend me a lamp and give me directions.’ I had to get home before my father and brothers returned from work. I didn’t want them having to turn out again to search for me when they were exhausted and famished.
‘You’ll end up back in the forest,’ warned the old man. ‘Come on; I’ll walk you back as far as Vodopad. Think you can make your way home after that without getting lost?’
‘But you’re old. I couldn’t ask you.’
He smirked. ‘I’m 55 years old; not exactly ancient.’
To me anyone over thirty looked ancient, yet I was grateful. ‘I couldn’t ask it of you.’
‘You’re not asking. I’m offering,’ said the old man. ‘After seven years I know this area; you don’t. My name’s Vasily, and these are my neighbours, Boris and Roza.’
Vasily walked me as far as the first smoking chimneys of Vodopad, and I left him with a promise to visit again.
He talked all the way about their arrival here in 1933. I caught snippets of how the Soviets had treated them, and he repeated much of what Natasha had already told us, omitting eating the dead. Even after all these years, he was still burdened with that need to tell someone – to try to make sense of what had happened to them as if I had the answers. My mind was elsewhere though. I was trying to plan the kindest, most sympathetic way of breaking the news of Lodzia’s death – for Gerhard’s sake. My brother was such a decent man, and I didn’t want to hurt him, but there wasn’t one. However, by the time Vasily and I parted, I had framed what I intended to say in as compassionate a way as I could.
The muffled sound of music filtered out from the Krasny Ugolok, and I couldn’t resist stepping inside for a few minutes to warm my hands and feet by the fire and to practice my speech. Every time I thought of Gerhard, I felt sick. This would devastate him; he adored Lodzia, and she adored him. Never in my life did I think I would have to deliver such dire news.
Two girls standing by the gramophone were swaying in rhythm to a baritone singing ‘Ey Ukhnem’, the evocative song of the Volga boatmen, but it did nothing to lift my spirits; the reverse – I felt more depressed. They looked at me and nodded when I entered, but didn’t speak.
I sat by the stove and thought of what happened. Had I tried hard enough? The trouble was, there wasn’t even a body to bury; a grave to visit – and little Ella – she was so young. How could I tell her that her Mama wasn’t ever coming back? I decided to leave that to Gerhard.
Feeling warmer, I pulled on my mittens and strode out along the footpath, passing the homecoming workers. The closer I got to the shack, the more my stomach coiled with dread. With leaden steps, I climbed the two treads into the shack and opened the door to our room.
My entire family turned and stared back at me – except there was no Lodzia. My father and brothers were there, still wearing their wet work clothes, Ella clinging to Mama’s leg, and there was a vast empty Lodzia shaped space.
No one spoke, but then Mama rushed over, shouting, ‘Dzieki Bogu, Dzieki Bogu,’ Thank God! She scooped me into her arms, pushed back my hood, and ran her hands over my cheeks as if disbelieving I was real. ‘You’ve scratched your face. Where have you been, child?’ She kissed the top of my head and refused to let go. ‘We all thought, well, we didn’t know what to think; you went rushing off.’
I forgot my speech, and blurted it out, ‘I couldn’t find her, Mama. She’s dead.’
Gerhard splayed his palms and was about to speak, but I silenced him. ‘I am so sorry, Gerhard, I’ve searched everywhere, the cantina, the shop, the Krasny Ugolok, the kolkhoz. I kept calling her name. I even thought she might have fallen through the river ice. The people at the kolkhoz hadn’t seen her either. Believe me; I did my best; I couldn’t have done more.’
Once it was out, the relief was immense. It was no longer my burden. I looked at each of their faces, but none of them seemed that concerned. I frowned and would say more, but Mother stopped me.
‘Lodzia isn’t dead, kohanie. She’s out there looking for you. She’s been searching for you since she got home, which was about half an hour after you left to search for her.’
‘Not dead!’ I was incredulous. ‘So where was she?’
‘With Natasha – all along – but you were too headstrong to listen. She bumped into her on the way to the kolkhoz and Natasha told her not to bother; the Ukrainians have barely enough food to see themselves through the winter.’
I was angry now, ‘That must have taken the best part of half a minute – then where was she?’
‘When Natasha found out how hungry we all were, she took Lodzia back to her shack and gave her some of their potatoes.’
My father and brothers moved out of the way so I could see the small pile of potatoes on the table.
The door burst open, and in walked Lodzia. ‘She’s nowhere. God knows what’s happened to her.’ And then, ‘Marishu! Where’ve you been?’
I couldn’t speak. I still thought I was staring at a ghost.
Lodzia came forward, ‘Ahh kohanie, you had us so worried; I’ve been up and down that river bank God knows how many times. I’ve been in and out of the cantina, the banya, the Krasny Ugolok. I came back here to see if you’d returned, but you hadn’t. This almost unhinged Mama. So, I went out searching again. Where’ve you been?’