When we returned to the shack, Mother was throwing wet washing over the rope above the stove. ‘I suppose you’ve heard then?’
‘Oleszkiewicz’s boy? Everyone’s talking about it.’
‘Didn’t I tell you the Angel of Death was hovering over this place?’
16
Vice Kommendant Smirnov’s unannounced arrival in our room the following Sunday startled us all. I hated the way he and that Ukrainian, who stuck his head around our door every morning, felt they had the right to invade our privacy without knocking. Neither did I like anyone leering at me.
His manner was unapologetic, almost chirpy. ‘Well now,’ he said, ‘Apart from your son here who has already graced our establishment with one of our long-time ‘residents’ – Natasha is it,’ he stared directly at Karol, ‘we haven’t seen the rest of you at the Krasny Ugolok. You should go. You should enjoy yourselves after a week’s work; make the most of the camp’s hospitality.’
Father stood up, moved closer and towered over him. ‘Comrade, you make this place sound like some spa in the Tatra Mountains. It is a corrective labour colony, as Kommendant Ivanov made clear when we arrived. I can assure you, all anyone wants to do after a week’s toil is to sleep. Besides, two close friends lost their young children, thanks to your camp’s ‘hospitality’. It would have been disrespectful.’
I knew my father fostered an offhand attitude to what Smirnov thought – I’d overheard an unguarded comment he made to Mother. A little voice in my head screamed, ‘No, Tatta, hold your tongue,’ but secretly I was egging him on.
‘Oh, well, I am sorry for their loss but these things happen.’ His tone was courteous at first, but he soon became officious. ‘However, it is important all prisoners join in with the community spirit of the camp’s hospitality. Perhaps your two sons might be so good as to contribute with some live music – maybe encourage some dancing. It is not a request; this is an order. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Prisoners? According to whom?’
‘Comrade Stalin.’
My father’s manner was curt, and he was already holding open the door. ‘We’ll see. And thank you for your concern.’
Gerhard said, ‘Are we supposed to be touched by his phoney interest in our welfare? Dancing? Where does he think we are? Cinderella’s ball?’
Father said, ‘No doubt the low morale is affecting production levels, and it’s worried Ivanov and his cronies. These deaths have badly upset everyone.’
‘Well, I’m not playing my accordion for him or anyone – other than for Natasha and me,’ Karol said.
‘The trouble is, Karol, the only way the Soviets can maintain discipline is to enforce rules which you break at your peril. I suppose in some respects we’re lucky to have landed in a hard-labour camp that’s amenable to its prisoners. We have the Ukrainians to thank for that. I’ve heard of men serving time at Stalin’s pleasure in Magadan and Vorkuta, and I doubt the camp Kommendant at either would tolerate anything like this.’
‘Wait a minute,’ I said. ‘How did Smirnov know Karol was there with Natasha? Is he spying on them?’
‘Marisha has a point; why would Smirnov be interested? It isn’t anyone’s business who you see. I don’t know – perhaps you should go. Mama and I will stay behind and look after Ella. He already thinks we’re a rebellious bunch.’
‘Are you going to the Ugolok tonight or not, Marishu?’ Lodzia was getting ready, plaiting her hair and winding it around her head in a coronet. Despite all the mud and poverty, she still managed to look elegant.
I glanced at my hands. ‘No, you two go. I can’t get this muck off. Anyway, I haven’t anything to wear. I’ve lost so much weight that nothing fits.’
‘Nonsense.’ She fished around in her things for a belt. ‘Look, choose whatever you want to wear, then put this around your waist and you’ll look fine. Come on, it will do you good. I’ll do your hair. It needs a bit of a trim as it’s lop-sided. And don’t worry, Jusio will write as soon as he can.’
I supposed she was right, but God, did I miss him? It was like a dull ache that never went away. Delving into my bag, I brought out my best dress; my first shop-bought garment that I had lusted over in a shop window in Zhabinka for weeks. It was white muslin and the loveliest thing I had ever seen, with its balloon shaped sleeves embroidered with flowers between two rows of red braid from shoulder to elbow. I nagged Mama into buying it for me, even though she couldn’t afford it, and planned to wear it on my sixteenth birthday with my first pair of pretty bootees – which I had been hoping she would buy me nearer the date. In doing so, I knocked the lid from my box of photographs, and Jusio’s face stared up at me. I brushed my finger against his lips and sighed, ‘And now you will never see me in it, my darling.’
‘You’re lucky,’ Lodzia said as she snipped away at my hair with Tatta’s large scissors. ‘It might be short, but you have waves.’
And it’s even shorter now, I thought, as I looked down in alarm at the remains of my tresses scattered over the floor.
Lodzia stood back to admire her handiwork. ‘I like it. It frames your face; emphasises your cheekbones, and your eyes look larger and bluer.’ When she had finished, she gave me the hand mirror. ‘Here, look at yourself.’
Staring back at me was a lousy complexion and an even worse haircut. I looked like a pixie gone wrong. Wearing this dainty dress, with my beaten-up calf-length boots, and blackened fingers, I looked a fright. A dress like this needed pretty shoes and my long dark hair tied up in a red ribbon. Why had I chopped it off? I slapped the belt around my waist and cinched it in, but who was I supposed to impress? No one. Jusio still hadn’t replied to my letter, and no food had arrived.
Karol laughed when he saw me and picked up his accordion. ‘See you there.’
I stuck out my tongue at him.
‘I hate this idea of having to play at Smirnov’s insistence,’ Gerhard reached for his guitar. ‘How that man notices everything – I wish now I’d left it at home. He’s also coerced Zygmunt into bringing his violin. If Smirnov insists we be there and play, then he will hear us loud and clear. Zygmunt has a plan.’
Lodzia shrugged into her coat and kissed Ella goodnight. ‘What sort of plan?’
‘You’ll see.’
‘Perhaps it will be like the old times playing in village halls back home,’ Lodzia said. ‘People need to cling to some sort of normality.’
‘But this isn’t normality, Lodzia. This is the ‘new’ normality’. We have no choice but to get used to it.’ I slipped my arm through hers and we headed for the Krasny Ugolok. Pausing when we reached Sasha’s shack, we gazed at the mound of snow beside it. How I hated having to pretend we were having a wonderful time when Mieczyslaw’s little body lay frozen 60 centimetres beneath the surface, covered with a flimsy branch of Spruce.
Onwards we trudged, our boots crunching on snow. A brisk wind blew across the Vaymuga, but the night was clear, the sky dappled with stars. I pulled my scarf higher over my nose and face and put my head down.
Gerhard and Karol joined Zygmunt on the dais cum stage. I pushed back my hood and unbuttoned my coat. It surprised me to see how full the place was. Smirnov had done an excellent job bullying people to attend. Everyone was discussing the deaths, expressing their sorrow and concern over the parents’ inability to give their children a decent burial.
A record was playing on the gramophone. The singer’s voice had slowed to a deep dirge and nearly stopped, then someone wound it up again, and it went at it, ten to the tuzin, like a budgerigar, before it got stuck in a groove and someone had to thump the table. How depressing it all was.