5. Final arrest
Once, when I was returning from school, I saw two men at our house making a search. They rummaged through everything. My parents were very distraught. Papa took his "feedbag," in which there was underwear, soap, dried bread, onions and garlic. This feedbag was always ready, because in Russia we knew: "Never say that you won't be poor, or that you won't go to prison." That's what they said, and that's how it was. No one knew when they would come for them.
Mama couldn't even comprehend that they were taking Papa away. I ran off to the school for my sister Nina, so she could say goodbye to Papa. We quickly returned and walked over to Papa, but the policeman didn't let us near him, since he was already under arrest. Papa said to him sternly, "Let the children say goodbye." Then he kissed us, made the sign of the Cross over us, took his hat off in front of the church, crossed himself, and left with those people... That was the last time I saw my beloved father, and I was twelve years old.
Mama, fearing that they might take her too, left with her youngest daughter for her parents in the Ukraine. But since her parents lived ninety miles from the Polish border, this was considered to be a border zone, and residence permits were granted only with strict verification. So Mama lived without a permit, leaving the house only at night. This was no life, and my mother soon returned to us. But since there was nothing to live on, Mama and Nina went to Michurinsk, where Nina studied nursing and Mama worked at a meat-packing plant. They left me and Marusya, my younger sister, with an elderly woman. I went to Mama twice a week for groceries. I would have to get up at five in the morning, go through the deserted streets in the dark, and get past the dogs, which barked and ran after me. Then I had to sneak onto the train without paying, and to travel eighteen miles. This was the hardest part; I usually snuggled up to whomever I was sitting next to and closed my eyes, so it looked like their child was asleep. Glory be to God, I would get there.
I was twelve years old then, and I was responsible for my eight-year-old sister, as well as for an old woman of eighty, who was a habitual complainer. I had to fetch water from the well, chop firewood, carry out the trash, clean the snow off the path in the winter, and then go to school. But, glory be to God, I succeeded in my studies, and looked after those two also.
Mama, like the majority of the people, did not receive her wages for two to three months at a time; and my sister, who likewise did not receive her wages, went to sign up to go to the Far East. They asked my sister why she wanted to leave. She burst into tears and said that she couldn't feed her family here, although she was considered to be a very good dentist. Her employers didn't want to let her go. They immediately made out a check and gave her a coupon for fabric. My older sister began to help us out as well, and then my middle sister, so that two of us continued our studies and three worked.
In 1941, after finishing the ninth grade, I left with Mama to see my grandmother; Mama was thinking of bringing her back to our place, since my grandfather had died. But a week later, on June 22 at exactly four o'clock, Kiev was bombed, and we were informed that the war had started. A month later the Germans were already at our place, and I was separated from my family for many, many years, and lived in various countries: Romania, Germany, Belgium, and Canada.
For a long time we knew nothing about Papa, and then one person who had been in prison with him told us that he had seen him for the last time on a cart, where he was carrying large logs from the taiga by horse (this was in 1943), and he was gnawing the head off a herring. He asked Papa whether he hoped to see his family. To this Papa replied that he had no hope of seeing us in this world. "I pray to God for all of them," he said.
Dear Papa! How he loved everyone! He did only good for people, and for no reason was killed at a young age. And we all almost perished during the famine years. It was a good thing they didn't manage to carry us off to Siberia, or we all would have died on the way. It's possible that some sort of grave might have been preserved in the camp Papa was in, although there is not much hope for it.
Holy Martyr, righteous shepherd of Christ Yakov, pray to God for us!
