The Unwomanly Face of War Page 8

  Maria Timofeevna Savitskaya-Radiukevich

  PARTISAN LIAISON

  The Germans rode into the village…On big black motorcycles…I stared at them all eyes: they were young, cheerful. They laughed all the time. They guffawed! My heart stopped at the thought that they were here, on our land, and laughing.

  I only dreamed of revenge. I imagined that I’d be killed, and someone would write a book about me. My name would remain. Those were my dreams…

  I gave birth to a baby girl in ’43…By then my husband and I had gone to the forest to join the partisans. I gave birth to her in a swamp, on a haystack. I dried the swaddling clothes on my body: I would put them in my bosom, warm them up, and swaddle the baby. Everything around us was burning, villages were burned down with people in them…They rounded people up in schools, in churches…Poured kerosene…My five-year-old niece listened to our conversations and asked: “Aunt Manya, when I burn up, what will be left of me? Only rubber boots…” That’s what our children asked us about…

  I myself gathered the charred remains…I gathered my friend’s family. We found little bones, and if there was a bit of clothing left, just some little scrap, we recognized who it was. Each of us looked for his own. I picked up a small piece, my friend said: “It’s mama’s jacket…” And fainted. Some gathered the bones in a sheet, some in a pillowcase. In whatever they had. My friend and I had a handbag; what we gathered filled less than half of it. And we put it all into a common grave. Everything was black, only the bones were white…and the bone ash…I already recognized it…White as could be…

  After that, whatever mission they sent me to, I wasn’t afraid. My baby was small, just three months old, I used to go on missions with her. The commissar would send me off, and weep himself…I used to bring medications, bandages, serums from town…I would apply it under her arms and between her legs, swaddle her, and carry her. There were wounded men dying in the forest. I had to go. I had to! There were German and police guard posts everywhere, nobody could pass except me. With the baby. I had her swaddled…

  It’s horrible to tell about it now…Oh, so hard! To give the baby a temperature and make her cry, I rubbed her with salt. She’d get all red then, covered with rash, scream her head off. I’d go up to the guard: “Typhus, sir…Typhus…” They’d shout at me: “Away! Away!” so as to send me off quickly. I rubbed her with salt and put in some garlic. The baby was small…I was still nursing her…

  Once we got past the guards, I’d go into the forest and weep my heart out. I’d shout! I was so sorry for my baby. And in a day or two I’d go again…

  Elena Fyodorovna Kovalevskaya

  PARTISAN

  I discovered what hatred was…For the first time I discovered that feeling…How can they walk on our land! Who are they? My temperature went up from those scenes. Why are they here?

  A column of prisoners of war passes, and hundreds of corpses are left on the road…Hundreds…Those who fell down exhausted were shot on the spot. They were driven like cattle. There was no more wailing over the dead. It was impossible to bury them, there were so many. They went on lying on the ground. The living lived with the dead…

  I met my half sister. Their village had been burned down.

  She had three sons, but they were no more. Their house had been burned down with the children in it. She used to sit on the ground and rock from side to side, rocking her grief. She would get up and not know where to go. To whom?

  We all left for the forest: papa, my brothers, and I. Nobody urged us, nobody forced us, we went on our own. Mama stayed alone with the cow…

  Anna Semyonovna Dubrovina-Chekunova

  FIRST LIEUTENANT OF THE GUARDS, PILOT

  I didn’t even think twice…I had a profession that was needed at the front. I didn’t think, didn’t hesitate for a second. In general I met few people then who wanted to sit out that time. Wait till it was over. I remember one…a young woman, my neighbor…She told me honestly: “I love life. I want to powder my nose and put makeup on, I don’t want to die.” I didn’t see any more like that. Maybe they kept quiet, hid themselves. I don’t know how to answer you…

  I remember I took the plants from my room and asked the neighbors, “Please water them. I’ll be back soon.”

  I came back four years later…

  The girls who stayed home envied us, and the women wept. One of the girls who went with me stood there. Everybody is weeping, and she’s not. Then she took some water and wetted her eyes. Once, twice. With a handkerchief. See, I’m embarrassed, everybody’s weeping. How could we understand what war is? We were young…It’s now that I wake up at night in fear, when I dream that I’m in the war…The plane takes off, my plane, gains altitude, and…falls…I realize that I’m falling. The last moments…And it’s so terrifying, until you wake up, until the dream evaporates. An old person fears death, a young one laughs. He’s immortal! I didn’t believe I could die…

  Maria Afanasyevna Garachuk

  PARAMEDIC

  I finished medical school…I came back home, my father was ill. And then—the war. I remember, it was morning…I learned this terrible news in the morning…The dew hadn’t dried on the leaves of the trees yet, and they were already saying—war! And this dew that I suddenly saw on the grass and the trees, saw so clearly—I remembered at the front. Nature was in contrast with what was happening with people. The sun shone brightly…Daisies bloomed, my favorites, there were masses of them in the fields…

  I remember us lying somewhere in a wheat field; it was a sunny day. The German submachine guns go rat-a-tat-tat—then silence. All you hear is the wheat rustling. Then again the German submachine guns go rat-a-tat-tat…And you think: will you ever hear again how the wheat rustles? This sound…

  Liubov Ivanovna Liubchik

  COMMANDER OF A MACHINE-GUN PLATOON

  My mother and I were evacuated to the rear…To Saratov…Somewhere there I took a three-month course in metal turning. We would stand at the lathes for twelve hours on end. We were starving. Our only thought was to get to the front. There would be rations there. Rusks and tea with sugar. They’d give us butter. Someone told us so, I don’t remember who. Maybe the wounded at the train station? To save ourselves from starvation, well, and also, obviously, we were Komsomol girls. My girlfriend and I went to the recruiting office. We didn’t tell them we worked at the factory. In that case they wouldn’t have taken us. And so we enlisted.

  We were sent to the Ryazan Infantry School. We graduated as commanders of machine-gun units. A machine gun is heavy; you have to drag it with you. You feel like a horse. It’s night. You stand watch and listen to every sound. Like a lynx. Wary of every rustle…In war they say you’re half man and half beast. It’s true. There’s no other way to survive. If you’re just a human being—you won’t stay whole. You’ll get bashed in the belfry! In war you have to remember something about yourself. Something…Remember something from when a man was not quite a man yet…I’m not very educated, I’m a simple accountant, but that I know.

  I got as far as Warsaw…And all on foot…The infantry, as they say, is the wartime proletariat. We crawled on our stomachs…Don’t ask me any more…I don’t like books about war. About heroes…We went sick, coughing, sleepy, dirty, poorly dressed. Often hungry…But we won!

  Ulyana Osipovna Nemzer

  SERGEANT, TELEPHONE OPERATOR

  My father had been killed, that I knew…My brother was dead. And to die or not to die no longer had any significance for me. I only pitied my mama. She had instantly turned from a beauty into an old woman, very embittered by her lot. She couldn’t live without my papa.

  “Why are you going to the war?” she asked.

  “To avenge papa.”

  “Papa wouldn’t stand seeing you with a rifle.”

  My papa used to do my braids when I was little. Tied the ribbons. He liked beautiful clothes more than mama did.

  I served as a telephone operator in the unit. I remember best how our commander
shouted into the receiver: “Reinforcements! I’m asking for reinforcements! I demand reinforcements!” The same every day…

  Anna Iosifovna Strumilina

  PARTISAN

  I’m not a heroine…I used to be a pretty girl, I was pampered when I was little…

  The war came…I didn’t want to die. Shooting was scary, I never thought I’d shoot. Oh, lord! I was afraid of the dark, of the dense forest. Of wild animals, of course…Oh…I couldn’t imagine how someone could meet a wolf or a wild boar. I was even afraid of dogs in my childhood; a big German shepherd bit me when I was little, and I was afraid of them. Oh, lord! That’s how I was…But I learned everything with the partisans…I learned to shoot—with a rifle, a pistol, and a machine gun. And now, if need be, I can show you. I’ll remember. We were even taught what to do if there’s no other weapon than a knife or a shovel. I stopped being afraid of the dark. And of wild animals…But I would avoid a snake, I’m not used to snakes. At night she-wolves often howled in the forest. And we sat in our dugouts and didn’t mind. The wolves were vicious, hungry. We had these small dugouts, like burrows. The forest was our home. The partisans’ home. Oh, lord! I began to be afraid of the forest after the war…I never go to the forest now…

  I thought I’d sit out the war at home with my mama. My beautiful mama. Mama was very beautiful. Oh, lord! I’d never have ventured…Myself, no. Never…But…They told us…The town had been taken by the Germans, and I discovered that I was Jewish. And before the war we all lived together: Russians, Tatars, Germans, Jews…We were the same. Oh, lord! I’d never even heard this word “yids,” because I lived with papa, mama, and books. We became like lepers, we were driven out everywhere. People were afraid of us. Some of our acquaintances even stopped saying hello to us. Their children stopped. The neighbors said to us: “Leave us all your things, you don’t need them anyway now.” Before the war we used to be friends. Uncle Volodia, Aunt Anya…*13 Lord!

  Mama was shot…This happened a few days before we were supposed to move to the ghetto. There were orders hanging all over town: Jews are not allowed—to walk on the sidewalks, to have haircuts in barber shops, to buy anything in the stores…Mustn’t laugh, mustn’t sing…Oh, lord! Mama couldn’t get used to it; she was always absentminded. She probably didn’t believe it…Maybe she went into a store? Or somebody said something rude, and she laughed. As a beautiful woman…Before the war she sang in the philharmonic, everybody loved her. Oh, lord! I imagine…If she hadn’t been so beautiful…our mama…She would still have been with me or with papa. I think about it all the time…Strangers brought her to us at night, dead. Already without her coat and shoes. It was a nightmare. A terrible night! Terrible! Somebody had taken off her coat and shoes. Her gold wedding ring. Papa’s gift…

  We had no home in the ghetto; we were put in the attic of someone’s house. Papa took a violin, our most valuable prewar thing. Papa wanted to sell it. I had a bad case of angina. I lay in bed…Lay in bed with a high fever, and I couldn’t speak. Papa wanted to buy some food; he was afraid I might die. Die without mama…Without mama’s words, mama’s hands. I was so pampered…so loved…I waited for him for three days, until some acquaintances told me that papa had been killed…They said it was on account of the violin…I don’t know how valuable it was. As he was leaving, papa said: “It will be good if they give me a pot of honey and some butter.” Oh, lord! I was left—without mama…without papa…

  I went looking for papa…I wanted to find him even if he was dead, so we could be together. I was blond, not dark-haired; my eyebrows and hair were light, so no one in the town touched me. I came to the market…I met papa’s friend there, he lived in a village by then, with his parents. Also a musician, like my father. Uncle Volodia. I told him everything…He put me on his cart, under a cover. There were piglets squealing, chickens clucking in the cart. We drove for a long time. Oh, lord! Till evening. I slept, woke up…

  That’s how I wound up with the partisans…

  Vera Sergeevna Romanovskaya

  PARTISAN NURSE

  There was a parade…Our partisan detachment merged with units of the Red Army, and after the parade we were told to surrender our weapons and go and work on restoring the city. But it just didn’t make sense to us: the war was still going on, only Belorussia had been liberated, but we were supposed to surrender our weapons. Every one of us wanted to go on fighting. And we went to the recruiting office, all our girls…I said that I was a nurse and asked to be sent to the front. They promised me: “All right, we’ll register you, and if there’s a need, we’ll summon you. Meanwhile go and work.”

  I waited…They didn’t summon me…I went to the recruiting office again. I went many times…And finally they told me frankly that there was no need, they already had enough nurses. What was needed was sorting bricks in Minsk…The city was in ruins…What kind of girls did we have, you ask? We had Chernova; she was pregnant, and she carried a mine at her side, next to where her baby’s heart was beating. So go and figure what sort of people they were. For us there was no need to figure, that’s just how we were. We were brought up that we and the Motherland were one and the same. Or another friend of mine, she went around town with her little daughter, and under her dress her little body was wrapped in leaflets. The girl would raise her arms and complain: “Mama, I’m hot. Mama, I’m hot.” And in the streets there were Germans everywhere. Polizei. It was possible to deceive a German, but not a polizei. He was one of us, he knew your life, your insides. Your thoughts.

  And so even children…We took them into our detachment, but still they were children. How to save them? We decided to send them back across the front line. But they escaped from the children’s centers and returned to the front. They were caught on the trains, along the roads. They would escape again, and again return to the front…

  History will spend hundreds of years trying to understand: What was it? What sort of people were they? Where did they come from? Imagine, a pregnant woman walking with a mine…She was expecting a child, yes…She loved, she wanted to live. And, of course, she was afraid. But she went…Not for the sake of Stalin, but for the sake of her children. Their future life. She didn’t want to live on her knees. To submit to the enemy…Maybe we were blind, and I won’t even deny that there was much then that we didn’t know or understand, but we were blind and pure at the same time. We were made of two parts, of two lives. You must understand that…

  Maria Vasilyevna Tikhomirova

  PARAMEDIC

  Summer was beginning…I finished medical school. Received my diploma. War! They summoned me to the recruiting office at once. The order was: “You have two hours to get ready, we’re sending you to the front.” I packed everything in one small suitcase.

  What did you take to the war?

  Candy.

  What?

  A whole suitcase of candy. In the village I was sent to after training school, they gave me some relocation money. So there was money, and I spent it all on chocolate candy, a whole suitcaseful. I knew I wouldn’t need money at the front. And on top of the candy I put my class picture, with all the girls. I came to the recruiting office. The commissar asks: “Where do you want to be sent?” I say: “And where are you sending my friend?” She and I came together to the Leningrad region; she worked in a village ten miles away. He laughs: “She asked the same question.” He took my suitcase, to carry it to the truck that was to take us to the station. “What have you got that’s so heavy?” “Candy. A whole suitcaseful.” He said nothing. Stopped smiling. I saw he was embarrassed, even somehow ashamed. He was no longer a young man…He knew where I was going…

  Tamara Illarionovna Davidovich

  SERGEANT, DRIVER

  My fate was decided at once…

  An announcement hung in the recruiting office: “Drivers needed.” So I took a driving course. Six months long…They didn’t pay any attention to the fact that I was a teacher (I had studied to be a teacher before the war). Who needs teachers in wartime?
It’s soldiers that are needed. There were many of us girls, a whole auto battalion.

  Once during a drill…For some reason I can’t remember it without tears…It was in spring. We finished shooting and were going back. I picked some violets. A little bouquet. I picked it and tied it to my bayonet. And went on like that.

  We returned to the camp. The commander had us all line up and asked me to step forward. I did…I forgot that I had violets tied to my rifle. He began to scold me: “A soldier should be a soldier, not a flower picker…” He found it incomprehensible that I could think about flowers in such circumstances. A man was unable to understand it…But I didn’t throw those violets away. I took them off and put them in my pocket. I got three extra turns of duty for them…

  Another time I was standing at my post. At two o’clock in the morning they came to relieve me, but I refused. I sent my replacement to sleep: “You’ll stand during the day, and I’ll stand now.” I would accept to stand there all night till dawn, just to hear the birds sing. Only at night was there something reminiscent of the former life. Peaceful.

  When we were leaving for the front, we walked down the street, and people stood all along it: women, old people, children. And they were all crying: “Girls are going to the front.” We were a whole battalion of girls.