Chapter 6
We
spent several days in that Novosibirsk school yard, by the end of which
we all looked different. Our gray-yellow skin was restored to a more
living colour, our muscles were able to perform their normal tasks.
We were all marched to a public steam bath, stripped of our clothes
and while our bodies were subjected to clouds of steam and to the striking
of little bunches of birch branches, our clothes were being disinfected.
This was standard procedure for all prisoners in transit as a preventative
measure against the spread of disease. We certainly felt refreshed and
tired after the bath and most importantly, free of lice, at least for
the time being. We were also allocated some food rationing: 500
gr. of bread, potatoes, and cabbage daily. We were able to buy
some other food if we had the money. Most of us had none left, but we
all had some clothing which we brought along. My mother was able to
sell her embroidered nightgown as an evening dress. Watches were very
much in demand and commanded good prices. All this was done in the school
yard, under guard. We were not allowed to roam the streets of Novosibirsk,
just as we were not allowed to see Cheliabinsk, right after crossing
the Ural mountains, or the city of Omsk, another stop half-way between
Cheliabinsk and Novosibirsk. Our school yard "vacation" came
to an end within a few days.
We
were ordered to march in twos, carrying our luggage and surrounded by
the always present guards. The march lasted about two hours and most
of us were quite exhausted by the time we reached our destination, the
shores of the mighty river Ob. We were all loaded into a barge. All
the adults had to spend the rest of a long day loading up the barge
with provisions. There were two other such barges, moored at the dock,
each of them containing a different train of exiles. The barges were
huge in size with a completely open deck. There was no protection from
the weather. The barges were interconnected by cables, pulling
each other in a straight line, and they in turn were all pulled by a
powerful tugboat. The barges had a very large steering oar, manned by
two sailors, on a six hour shift basis. The steam engine on the tugboat
was fueled by wood, about ten centimeter cubes of wood, and we were
soon to learn that the supply of wood comes from the endless forests
along the shores of the Ob, cut, chopped and stored on the vessel by
the passengers, every few days. The people were ferried from the barges
to the shore in row boats, and in addition to those needed for cutting
wood, there were also some people sent over to gather food: berries
and nuts, especially raspberries and pine nuts. These nuts, when roasted
in a fire, were very tasty and quite nutritious.
The
first stop was an absolute disaster. There were not many among us who
were familiar with a two-handed saw, how to cut down a tree, which tree
to cut down, how to handle an ax, where to look for pine cones or berries.
Above all, how to protect oneself from the mosquitoes. As soon as one
entered the forest, the mosquitoes came in clouds. They literally darkened
the sky. The guards had brought along nets dipped in kerosene, which
they wore over their hats. The rest of us had to cover our bodies as
best we could, leaving just our eyes uncovered, if we wanted to come
out alive from the forest. There were a lot of swollen faces and swollen
hands this day. The mosquitoes did the job of the guard. No one wanted
to run away into the forest. Everyone wanted to complete the job as
quickly as possible and to return to the barges.
There
were several such stops on the way and with each stop the people became
more skilled in lowering, raising and rowing the boats, in handling
the saws and the axes, and above all, in protecting themselves from
the mosquitoes. As usual, we were not told in advance what was our final
destination. "You will know when you get there" was the standard
answer to our queries. Within a week we arrived to the city of Tomsk,
some 250 km to the north of Novosibirsk. We were not allowed to disembark,
but we did manage to buy some food from the local population. We continued
to move northward. The weather was getting colder and when it rained
the wind penetrated our wet clothing. The rocking of the barge, up and
down on the waves, caused us to be seasick and quite miserable. Sometimes
we could not see the shores of the river on either side, it felt more
like sailing on an ocean. After departing the city of Tomsk, a new element
was added to our routine. Every day a group of about fifty families
were deposited on shore to be placed in a nearby village. "Special
resettlers," was our official appellation. The same procedure took
place on the other two barges. Several wood chopping and food gathering
stops later, our turn came to be unloaded. It was the village of Porotnikov,
some 250 km to the north of Tomsk or 500 km to the north of Novosibirsk,
our point of departure in the barges.
We
arrived in Porotnikov in the evening. It was very dark there was no
electricity in the kolkhoz (a collective farm), only the feeble light
of some kerosene lamps shining through the windows of the farmers' little
homes. We were led to the centre of the village to a large building
which, as I found out later, contained all the institutions needed by
the kolkhoz. The village school, the Feldsher's clinic,
(a semi-educated nurse who was the only authority looking after the
health of the people), the office of the kolkhoz, a meeting hall
used for propaganda purposes and for communal entertainment, and the
always present militia station. We were brought into the meeting hall
where the N.K.V.D. man gave us a short speech explaining to us our status
and our duties.
"You
are special resettlers for a period of twenty years," he began
with a devastating statement, "you must register every evening
after work at the militia station. You will be assigned to work brigades.
The brigadier (the chief of the brigade) will come for you every morning
at six. You will be given your daily rations of bread and potatoes.
Tomorrow you must rent a place to live, in a farmer's house. The children
will attend school. Tonight you will sleep here. You will work hard
and become productive citizens of our glorious Soviet Union."
Every
one of us was crushed by that awful sentence. We were exiled for twenty
years. Irena tried to be optimistic. "Don't worry, frau Scharf,
we are not going to stay here so long. I will find my parents, you will
find your husband and we will all return home, as soon as this terrible
war will be over." Next morning all the newcomers were out searching
for a place to rent. All the farmhouses appeared to be the same size.
They were all made of logs with dried moss stuffed between the logs,
for insulation. The houses were surrounded by a solid wooden fence,
about half a meter away from the log walls and as high as the window
sills. The area between the wall and the fence was packed with earth,
this was done also for insulation. There were only two windows in the
house, because there were only two rooms, a kitchen and a bedroom. The
double pane windows were also well insulated with moss. The attic was
filled with straw, between the ceiling and the wooden roof. There was
a fairly large entrance hall, built the same way as the rest of the
house, except that it was not heated. It served as a storage room for
the long winter months, containing shelves with frozen food, some meat
and dairy products, but mainly with barrels of sauerkraut and large
piles of firewood, all neatly stacked along the walls. The entrance
hall was also a good protector against the bitter winter cold, since
the main entrance to the house was always opened only after the entrance
hall door was tightly shut.
The
main feature of the kitchen was the huge stove built in the middle of
the kitchen, so as to exploit every bit of heat radiating from its brick
walls. The stove had two sections joined together. The cooking section
with its iron rings, on top of which the cooking pots were placed, and
the much larger baking section, which had a flat top, about seventy
five cm below the ceiling, big enough for two people to sleep on. One
wall of the baking section was also the inside wall of the bedroom.
It was usually against this warm wall that the children slept, while
the parents slept on top of the stove.
Every
member of the kolkhoz was given a small plot of land adjacent
to his house, where he very diligently cultivated mainly potatoes and
cabbage, but also some other vegetables. There were usually three other
structures in the yard. The outhouse, the bath house and the barn. If
the farmer was hard working and had a good relationship with the authorities
that is, knew how to grease their palms and how to please them, then
he probably had a cow in the barn, a pig or two and some chickens. The
barns were very well insulated and although they were not heated, the
animals usually survived the winter.
It
was in such a farmer's house that we settled in for the fast approaching
winter. We rented a corner of the kitchen which contained a bed, on
which all three of us slept. Irena hung up a sheet from the ceiling
all around the bed to give us some privacy. The next morning, at 6 A.M.
the brigadier came calling for my mother and Irena to go to work. For
the first two months all the exiles worked at uprooting tree stumps.
Siberia was all covered with forests, and the Russians were trying very
hard to increase the number of fields for agricultural use, especially
the growing of cereals. It was a backbreaking job, especially for people
who were not used to hard physical labour. The exiles had to dig up
the ground underneath the huge roots of the tree stumps, place chains
through the underground channels, tie the chains around the stumps,
then a large group of people, depending on the force needed, would pull
the chains in order to remove the roots from the ground.
When
winter was in full force and the ground and the river were frozen solid,
the exiles were ordered to cut trees. Although the scourge of the mosquitoes
was gone, the temperature of minus forty degrees Celcius was quite common.
If it was colder than that it was impossible to work outside. Since
everything was measured in strict quotas the missed working days had
to be made up on days off. In any case, cutting trees was not as backbreaking
as the uprooting of the stumps. The last two months of the winter were
devoted to the construction of ice huts. Blocks of ice, of identical
size, were cut out with saws from the frozen surface of the river, transported
to the kolkhoz food processing plant and there built into several
ice huts. The blocks of ice were placed one on top of the other in a
pyramidal form. Water was poured from time to time onto the blocks and
the whole structure froze and held solidly together. Then they poured
earth and water all around the pyramid, freezing everything into place.
Finally, the procedure was repeated with straw and water. By now the
ice pyramid was well insulated. It usually lasted through the short,
but quite often hot, summer and served well as a refrigeration chamber.
During the summer months, the kolkhoz had to produce cheese,
butter and powdered eggs, for the war effort. These products were well
preserved inside the ice huts.
While
my mother was slaving all through the winter at jobs that were unimaginable
to us prior to being exiled, I attended school, once more in grade three,
because I changed the language of instruction from Ukrainian to Russian.
This time school was a bore, the subjects taught were identical to last
year, except on a lower scholastic level and in a different language.
Although I learned to speak and write Russian very quickly, I felt very
much an outsider among children who were very different in behaviour,
in manners, in dress and in age, from me. It was the only hateful school
year of all the five years of schooling until now. There were other
reasons for my unhappiness as well. I hardly saw my mother. She went
to work before I woke up and came home late in the evening, completely
exhausted. We were constantly hungry. The meager rations of bread and
potatoes were not sufficient to keep one from starving. We had to sell
everything that was still possible to sell. By the end of the winter
there was nothing left to sell. Irena, soon managed to escape the hardships
of hard labour, simply by talking her way into an office job. She also
managed to get some extra food which she faithfully shared with us.
She became an expert at stealing food. She would get out of bed in the
middle of the night, rummage through the landlady' s kitchen and invariably
come back with some food. She would wake me up and although I was quite
sleepy, I understood only too well what was required of me. All three
of us swallowed our food very discreetly and almost soundlessly, sitting
up in our bed, behind the "protective wall" of the hanging
sheet.
Many
exiles succumbed to the hardships that first winter, some because of
disease, others because they lost the will to continue this struggle
for survival. Quite a few exiles ended up in prison mainly because they
were denounced by informers for some unacceptable statements, for not
fulfilling their working quota, or for stealing some food. On one occasion,
the father of my friend, Otto Krause, wrote a letter to some relatives
in which he praised the glorious life in the Soviet Union, but he complained
that his uncle Lehem does not visit him often enough. Within one week,
his letter was returned to him with a note stating: work harder so your
uncle will visit more often. (Lehem is the Hebrew word for bread).
He was subsequently arrested and imprisoned for three years. I never
saw him again.
By
the time Spring arrived we were all in terrible shape. Even the local
farmers had depleted their food supplies, which they kept in deeply
dug underground cellars, where the frost did not penetrate at all. My
mother could not bear the torture of seeing me hungry, undernourished
day by day and she often cried, bitterly complaining and sharing her
frustration with Irena. Her new job was to work in the kolkhoz fields,
digging up the virgin ground with shovels and planting potatoes. My
mother saw her chance of easing my suffering. By the end of the working
day she managed to conceal three kilograms of potatoes in her clothing.
Inexperienced as she was in such matters, it was quite easy for the
foreman to detect her violation of the rules. She was immediately apprehended
and taken to the militia station. The next day she was transferred to
Bakhchar, the administrative centre for the district. Among other things
it also had a prison, which Porotnikov lacked.
When
Irena found out what happened she managed to arrange a meeting with
my mother as she was on very good terms with the local militia man.
She encouraged my mother to be brave and strong. "You must fight
to survive, no matter what, because of your son, and do not worry about
him at all, I will take good care of him, he is like my own brother."
Irena was working on the local militia man, for the past several months,
to get her a good job in Bakhchar, which was a small town, more like
a large village, with better living conditions. She succeeded just at
the time when my mother was transferred to the Bakhchar prison. We arrived
to our new quarters, a distance of some 20 kilometers, as soon as we
could hitch a ride with a local farmer. Our new place was luxurious
by comparison, we had a room completely to ourselves, with a bed, a
small table, some chairs and, of course, a stove. Although living conditions
took a turn for the better, I was in a state of shock. I seemed to be
functioning like a robot. I had no parents! If not for Irena, I probably
would not have survived. The struggle for survival was just beginning.