The distance between these remote stations seemed never-ending, but the train was slowing again. At the first opportunity, Karol and I jumped out of the wagon, our weak legs wobbling as we landed, grabbing each other’s arms to regain our balance. Armed guards stood by the train and funnelled us towards the waiting locals who had brought kettles of soup and black bread, hoping to make a few kopeks. No matter how swift we were, as we approached the nearest crone, she gave an apologetic toothless smile; the soup was all gone. She held out the last piece of blackened bread in consolation.
Karol proffered a coin, and I took the bread, trying desperately to hide my disappointment.
Others who had got off the train in search of food returned with bizarre tales that our transport was now much shorter. They saw guards detaching wagons full of passengers. Karol and I were so hungry; we hadn’t noticed. However, if this were true, such hysteria only added to everyone’s paranoia. When would they abandon us to freeze to death?
7
OH, FOR PITY’S SAKE! The train was slowing yet again.
I stirred; this was pure torture. Tatta told me the ultimate cruelty was being forced to leave our country without an inkling as to the destination, or how long it would take to arrive.
Mother was leaning against Father’s shoulder, her mouth agape, her eyes shut. She was never plump, but was now so thin that for a moment I thought she was dead. With an upwelling of dread, I shook her hard. ‘Mama, wake up!’
The urgency in my voice awakened the rest of the family. But she opened her eyes. ‘What is it?’
‘Nothing. We’re stopping again.’
She sighed. ‘Ahh, what’s another stop?’
She was doing this so often these days, but then, the whole wagon was now a sea of anxiety and hopelessness. It reeked of it when people whispered their fears, or spoke aloud, worsening with every passing day. Sputum-riddled lungs rattled throughout, and it was difficult to sleep.
Mother sat up and glanced around. ‘Listen to those poor souls; we’ll all be dead before we get to wherever they’re taking us. Dear God, why are they doing this to us?’
Moments later, with much juddering and slamming of buffers, the train stopped with a backwards jerk. Voices of protest cried out. In the dimness, I saw the mass of bodies sprawled at angles throughout the wagon. No one stood – they hadn’t the energy – just a vista of eiderdowns with protruding heads. My father and my brothers propped up against each other’s backs; Lodzia and Ella curled together for warmth. No one was asking, ‘Where are we?’ No one cared anymore.
Soviet troops walked the length of the train removing door bolts. ‘That’s it. You’ve arrived.’
Frightening thoughts surged through my mind. So, this was it, the safe place. The door to our wagon rolled away and watery sunlight flooded in. I gazed out at the weathered grey bones of an old station building and was unprepared when my eyes came to rest on half a dozen four-sided carts lined up against the wall. Four were empty, but corpses filled the other two; arms and legs spilling over their sides. They resembled overloaded hayricks on wheels after a bumper harvest. I leaned into my father’s chest, my eyes brimming with tears, ‘Tatta, I want to go home.’
‘Don’t look. The Soviets are useless fools; they should have removed those bodies.’
‘Where have they come from?’
‘Died on the last train, I should imagine. They’ve not had time to empty this one.’
I couldn’t see the slightest sign of remorse on the Soviets’ faces.
No longer intimidated by their captors, a brave soul demanded, ‘Where have you brought us?’
‘Kholmorgorki, Plesetsky District, Arkhangelsk Oblast.’
‘What for?’
‘We will resettle you in one of the forest stations, and there you shall live. In the meantime, you will stay here. No one is to leave the train. Is that clear?’
A hum of protest rose from inside and Lodzia stood up. ‘Why this far? If this is your idea of safety, we were safer at home! We demand you return us to Poland! This instant!’
‘That is impossible. You are all political settlers; an unreliable element – enemies of the people. Don’t worry; you will get used to it. If you’ve got any dead, bring them out and stack them on those carts. If you can’t manage on your own, get someone to help you. Now!’
Sobbing, the bereaved relatives of the dead woman, who had been leaning against the suitcases, obeyed and passengers shifted out of their way to make space for her family’s pilgrimage to the cart.
‘Did that man mean we have to stay here forever, Tatta?’
‘He did.’
‘I knew it! What about our animals? They’ll starve.’ Oh God, and what about Jusio and Wanda, or if Bookiet had recovered? He might be outside our house pining for us. I couldn’t imagine what was happening at home. Had all my chicks’ eggs hatched? Then I remembered Chopin, my ginger tabby, who shot behind the dresser when Peaked Cap forced his way into our kitchen. He must still be there. Those poor little chickens. ‘Where are we, Tatta?’
‘Why don’t you have a look at your atlas?’
Fumbling in my bag, I opened the atlas at the page I thought most likely to be our destination. I located Moscow, and with no concept of distance, having only ever travelled as far as Kobryn, I felt sure it was somewhere around there. ‘I can’t find it. It’s nowhere near Moscow.’
‘Then try a little further north.’
My fingers reached up to Vologda, but there was still no sign of Kholmorgorki.
‘Here, give it to me,’ he took the atlas, and I watched his finger ride up as far as the White Sea. ‘Here we are, Kholmogory, and a little further down is this God-forsaken place, Kholmogorki.’
I took the atlas and my eyes roamed around the location. First there was Archangelsk on the banks of the colossal Severnaya Dvina with its mammoth tributaries, spewing into Bay of the White Sea, then down to Kholmogory, and along the railway line to where our transport now stood. Realising we were just outside the Arctic Circle, I traced the route back to Moscow, then to Kobryn, before my finger stopped at Zhabinka. My God, I thought, closing the atlas, we’re at the end of the earth!
The NKVD compiled an inventory of the living. A few hours later, we received our first food in days. Mother told us to keep some back for later.
I stood at the open wagon door eating my bread when I saw something moving. It seemed to emerge from that implacable wall of forest on the horizon. As it drew closer, I realised it was a posse of horses and sleighs, with girls and boys some no older than I was at the reins, their horses playful, arching their necks in the sunshine.
The NKVD gave orders for parents with young children, the elderly and the infirm to make ready for onward transportation. ‘The rest of you will remain here; it will be your turn tomorrow.’
Lodzia and Gerhard fell into this group. Their driver was a stunning girl aged about twenty. Her skin was the colour of alabaster, and her nose and cheeks glowed salmon-pink from the cold. She slipped off her mitten to remove wisps of dark reddish curls that had escaped her fur ushanka and had blown across her eyes.
She mesmerised Karol. While Gerhard went to collect their bags from the goods wagon to load onto her sleigh, he pretended to absorb himself with her horse, which was dropping its head, or flipping it high while the girl patted its neck.
Wary of horses, I kept my distance. Tatta’s beloved Bay, Gniady, was a brute. Sensing my fear, he never missed the chance to give chase, sending me indoors in terror. However, every one of these horses was eager, interested and alert – not as if I would ever rub their noses or get anywhere near the things; it was best to stay away from their scary teeth and their hind hooves.
The girl introduced herself as Natasha and taking her hand, Karol, his blue eyes sparkling, kissed her fingers. ‘And I am Karol Glenz.’
Sensing the chemistry and the girl’s coy body language, I thought, ‘Oh, not another one.’ My brother had left behind a host of broken hearts in Zhabinka, and already the girls here were falling for him.
‘Is it far to this forest station?’ Lodzia asked. ‘How long will it take? My husband wants to know why can’t the rest of our family come with us now?’
‘We haven’t enough sleighs, but we will be back, and you will see them tomorrow. As for how long – about 12km. Maybe six hours or more, depending on the weather; the snow is deep. Even now, some will have to walk.’
The guards were manhandling the passengers who were suffering from cramp, chucking them into sleighs. Family members were being torn apart. There was much sobbing, kissing and hugging, wondering if they would ever see their loved ones again. Everyone stood to observe the convoy as it set off east across the empty snow-covered terrain, heading for that implacable wall of forest on the horizon.
It was so cold we all scurried back to our wagons. Night fell, and with all the children gone, I found space on the top shelf. The chattering calmed, and people settled to sleep. My eiderdown offered little warmth without the additional body heat of those who had left. For a moment I forgot my hunger, thirst and misery and looked up at the sky through the iron gratings, stunned by the beauty of the mass of stars sparkling in the blackness until sleep consumed me too.