Tatta was working on a pair of valenki for a family who had no shoes at all. ‘Be patient, child. Stamping your foot won’t get them here any quicker. Thread this needle for me, would you; my eyesight’s worsening.’
Even I had to go and stand by the window to see the eye of the needle.
Fuming, Karol returned from the Admin shack, having gone in search of his confiscated bike. ‘So much for asking Smirnov for help; the bastard’s sold it! He had no right to take it. I could have sold it myself, now we need the money.’
‘If our papers aren’t here soon,’ Gerhard said, ‘I’m going to reapply for my old job. We still need to eat. Plenty already have.’
Later, Lodzia returned from the shop enraged. ‘Szefczuk’s cut our rations. He said the boat from the magazine has stopped visiting Vodopad. We’re no longer the Soviet’s responsibility, so he’s cut our daily rations to 800 grams of bread for workers and 400 grams for everyone else.’
‘That’s decided it; I’m returning to work.’
‘Me too,’ Karol added, ‘or we’ll never get out of here.’
By the third week, those overwhelming emotions of elation and joy had fizzled out, replaced by fear. Nothing at all was happening. No one had seen Kommendant Ivanov for days, and rumour spread he had already left Vodopad; his services were needed elsewhere, although Smirnov was still here.
Swiping the basket off the floor, I paused at the door. ‘I’m going berry picking because I have another leg ulcer forming.’
Mother examined the sore. ‘Jesús María! We had better get you to the doctor.’
‘Forget it,’ Lodzia said. ‘No one has seen him either. Wait for me, Marishu, I’ll come with you.’
‘Bring nettles,’ mother called after us, ‘and mushrooms if you can. I’ll make soup.’
At last, the news arrived. They would issue family travel documents the following day, starting with A-D, then E-H on the next morning, and so on. All heads of the family should present themselves on the required days. Everyone gave up work to be ready to leave at the first available moment.
The NKVD Regional Commander Ogarkov came to Vodopad and proposed four likely destinations: Czymkient, Akmolinsk, Aktyubinsk and Uralsk. Most chose Aktyubinsk – all in Soviet Kazakhstan. However, we were told to be clear in stating our choice; otherwise, our papers would be invalid.
Patience was not my virtue. I hardly dared allow myself the pleasure of excitement, but with our surname beginning with G, we had to wait until Monday. ‘Tatta, may I come with you and Gerhard when you go?’ I wanted to savour every moment of our impending freedom.
‘Try to curb your enthusiasm, child. We’ll be out of here soon enough. It allows only heads of families.’
Monday arrived, and I urged Father and Gerhard to go early. I almost pushed them out of the shack. They needed to be first in the queue.
‘We can never be first in the queue,’ Tatta laughed, ‘E and F come before G remember?’ He and Gerhard set off for the Admin shack; their eyes bright with joy.
They returned in less than an hour, but they were no longer smiling.
Gerhard announced the news, since Father was too distraught. ‘I’ve got our papers, Lodziu, but there’s a problem with Tatta’s.’
The impact of his words had me spinning down into a black chasm of desolation.
‘Did they say why?’ Mother asked.
Karol paced about the room. ‘Well, there has to be some mistake. A mix-up. Glenz is not a common name. They couldn’t have given our papers to anyone else.’
Father said, ‘Smirnov told me they’d arrive later or might be mixed up in one of the other boxes. He suggested I go mid-afternoon when they’ve finished handing out the others.’
We waited and waited, but by late afternoon, our papers had still not arrived.
Those who had already received their family travel documents, and could afford the train fare, immediately left, setting off on foot through the forest to Kholmogorki. Gerhard and Lodzia stayed behind, refusing to leave without the rest of our family. Lodzia sold her wristwatch to Roza to raise money for their train fare.
Stefan, whose family had received their travel documents, kept stalling them, begging them to hang on a few more days – another week, two weeks. Unable to wait any longer, his father overrode him, leaving him with no say in the matter. Their identity papers doubled up as a family travel document requiring them all to travel together – and they were going. Him included!
I was mortified. ‘What are we going to do, Stefan? We might never meet up again.’
He gazed into my eyes, and he was helpless. ‘What can we do? I have no choice but to go. If I stayed behind, I’d have no papers at all, and then I wouldn’t be able to travel anywhere with you when your father got his. You would have to go with them, and I’d be stuck here forever without you. Look, it’ll be alright. Our fathers have both agreed that we meet up at Aktyubinsk. I’m sure your papers will be here soon. There are lots of other families in the same situation, and I mean lots. Don’t you worry; I shall be there waiting for you at the railway station. I promise. You don’t get rid of me that quickly.’
‘That’s what I mean, Stefan. There are too many families without papers; there can’t be a mix-up over them all! Something’s wrong. We’ll never be free, and then you’ll be gone.’
29
Stefan and I spent our last few hours together, our arms entwined in each other’s warmth, wandering along the banks of the Vaymuga because when I awoke tomorrow morning, he would be gone.
I cried freely; couldn’t stop; I missed him already. Instead of living each last moment, unbidden cameos kept appearing of him, eyes smiling, striding into our room to collect me after work, and later our shared private moments saying goodnight on the porch outside our shack until Mama came out and almost dragged me inside.
When it was time for us to part, I still clung to him. As our lips brushed apart, another flood of tears blurred my sight, and he left me. I couldn’t bear it.
Another brutal Russian winter took hold.
When Stefan was here, he used to leave an energy behind him as if things could happen, but nothing was happening now; nothing but emptiness resonating throughout the camp.
Gerhard, Lodzia and Ella no longer occupied the room next door. They left Vodopad two weeks ago because Lodzia worried they might still not afford both food and train tickets. Their leaving tore the family apart, but Tatta urged them to go. We agreed to meet up at Aktyubinsk, and that was an end of it. At least part of the family was free.
His sentiment shocked me and caused me to question his logic. Did staying here mean we were all doomed? Had he lost hope and given up?
Everything had changed since we were no longer prisoners, yet in many ways everything remained the same. In between helping my father stitch valenki, which people begged him to make, I collected our tiny bread rations, often pausing on the banks of the river, wondering where Stefan was right now. I imagined it was sweltering and he would be sweating. Was he thinking of me, as often as I thought of him? At the back of my mind was this constant, terrifying thought of being trapped here forever because father’s papers had still not arrived. How would I ever cope without him? From day to day I shuffled around feeling out of balance – waylaid somehow. Time dragged and the drudgery increased.
By the middle of December Karol had run out of patience, and taking matters in hand, asked Father if he might take some money he was saving for travel, and visit the Polish Consulate in Archangelsk to see what was holding things up.