Chapter 13
Upon learning of the outbreak of war, the orphanage residents first laughed about the Germans, who were now supposedly about to experience the indestructible might of the Red Army upon their own hides. But after a week there was talk among the staff about a possible evacuation inland.
Almost every day, children and adults couldn’t believe their eyes as they watched groups of planes with crosses on their wings flying freely eastward in strict order, as though on a parade, and then returning back. Everyone was equally perplexed as to why there weren’t any of their own Soviet planes in the sky? And they found solace in that the ones in charge “there” knew how to act, therefore, it must be right!
Sometimes muffled explosions could be heard coming from the direction of Shpola, there were fires burning, columns of smoke rising. It was becoming frightening, especially as darkness fell, but during the day, everyone wanted to believe again that “ours” were about to show the Germans ”where crayfish hibernate”!
Meanwhile, orders came from Kyiv to take the children temporarily to Kharkiv and place them there in one of the suburban pioneer camps. The director tried to arrange a train from the nearest station, but it turned out that passenger trains were no longer going through Shpola, and there were no freight cars equipped to drive people to the station. The only thing they managed to do was to arrange a few freight cars that would be prepared for the orphanage at the junction station of Smela, 50 kilometers from Shpola.
After two days of assembly, on the morning of July 11 the unusual caravan set out on foot for Smela. Two horse-drawn carriages and two big wagons, loaded with clothing, blankets, and provisions, surrounded by about fifteen hundred children and adolescents between the ages of 10 and 17, plus a few educators and teachers, led by the director, moved in clouds of dust along the country road.
Lena and Kim walked side by side, holding hands. Lena was very concerned about the uncertain situation she found herself in because of the German attack. In May, she had successfully completed the ten-year curriculum; in early June, she received a certificate and a passport, hoping to arrive in Minsk in mid-July and submit documents for admission to the Pedagogical Institute. Lena even managed to send a parcel with her clothes and shoes to Ida’s address, but the war distorted all plans.
According to radio reports, the Nazis had already repeatedly bombed Minsk, so going there would be dangerous and senseless. Lena understood that in such a difficult situation she should not break away from the orphanage collective and leave Kim behind. So together with everyone else she decided to get to Kharkiv, and there, depending on the situation, it would be clearer as to what to do next. It was still believed that by that time the Germans would certainly be driven away, order would be restored, and it would be possible to continue on as previously planned.
They stopped for the night in a village about ten kilometers from Smela. Early in the morning, the director and the logistics manager saddled the horses and rode to the station to clarify the time and place for loading the orphans into the wagons. The whole convoy quickly got ready to move, but the scouts didn’t return for a long time, and when they did, reported that there was total confusion at the station. It turned out that no one knew anything about any wagons for the orphanage. The question was: whether to go back to Shpola or to keep moving in the direction of Kharkiv, trying to get onto a passing train on the way. Opinions differed, but the director insisted on continuing the trek.
Bypassing Smela, the caravan headed for the town of Cherkasy to try to cross the Dnieper. In this area, it overflows so widely during the spring floods that it’s not easy to cross to the other side. But in Cherkasy, there was an old functioning wooden bridge, widely known in the area for being more than four kilometers long. At the entrance to the bridge, a chain of Red Army soldiers held back the flow of refugees, allowing the military units to pass: infantry, artillery, and cavalry. It was not permitted to cross the bridge on foot, and the military took advantage of the fact that many carts had amassed near the bridge and placed the orphans on them, without even asking the owners for their permission. The wagons could barely move, often stopping because the bridge was loaded to capacity.
When Lena and Kim were already close to the coveted shore, suddenly the air-raid siren sounded, and German planes appeared on the horizon. There were no fewer than two dozen. They approached the bridge, flew into a linear formation and one by one began to dive, dropping bombs on the bridge. Panic broke out: screams, cries, neighing horses, mooing cows, piercing whistles and explosions of bombs, the rumble of anti-aircraft guns, the crack of machine guns – all merged into one hellish cacophony.
During the direct hits of the bombs, it was terrifying to see bodies of people, animals, and wreckage of carts flying upward… A frightened, pale Lena held Kim’s hand tightly. Like many others, they attempted to make their way forward, but it was impossible; in front, there was an impassable barrier of tightly packed carts, horses, and cows. The children had no choice but to hide under the nearest cart. Trembling with fear, they consoled each other that the horror would soon be over.
As endless as the bombing had seemed, it was finally over. The enemy planes flew away, the confusion, the crowded shoving, the screaming continued, but the movement of traffic on the bridge gradually resumed. The orphanage staff were on duty at the exit, directing the children to a small wooded area not far from the road.
Behind the trees was a small lake, on the banks of which quite a few people had already gathered; people were washing, cows were drinking water.
The orphans grouped around two horse-drawn carriages, near which the director and other staff members were bustling about. It took a long time to gather the children. And after two hours, a new group of German planes appeared on the horizon. Panic erupted again. The director, tearing up, ordered them to get down on the ground, but many threw themselves into the water. “They’re going to stifle you there like fish!” the director shouted, but few heard him.
When the raid was over, a roll call was made. It turned out that more than twenty children were missing. For some reason, two carts with possessions, pulled by oxen, had not crossed with the others, but they did not wait and look for them; it was necessary to urgently leave the dangerous place.
From Cherkasy, a continuous stream of refugees stretched eastward along the main highway, which would inevitably slow down the movement of the children’s convoy. There was also a great danger from German aviation, which was in the sky during all daylight hours. Given these circumstances, the director decided to lead the children along country roads from village to village, deciding this would be a more convenient and safer, though longer, route.
He managed to get a detailed map of the area with the names of villages and road networks from somewhere. This map helped to successfully navigate the planned route without blindly wandering within a web of rural roads.
By choosing this route, the director hoped for the help of the villagers and he was not mistaken. Pitying the disadvantaged children, the peasants in most instances treated them warmly and cordially, fed them, sheltered them for the night, and some even drove them several kilometers ahead on their carts.
According to a strict schedule of travel, which was drawn up by the director, they had to walk 30-35 kilometers a day in order to rescue themselves. Every 10-12 kilometers they made a halt. During the second, the longest one, everyone received a scrap of bread and a mug of milk from the permanent supply that was regularly replenished along the way.
At the last resting stop, they usually had to wait for the weaker ones who lagged behind and put them on their own two wagons. When, finally, the caravan reached its final destination, where a contingent of staff and senior pupils who’d been sent ahead had taken care of hot food and overnight lodging for the whole collective, a daily little celebration ensued.
And early the next morning, as a rule, having had breakfast from the hospitable hosts, that God had sent, the children would gather at the appointed place and walked onward. During the first few days, many of them had chafed their feet, but they quickly got rid of this ailment after they began to use urine for treatment on the advice of experienced people.
Shoes, often in need of repair, were put in order by their owners under the guidance of one of the teachers, who was responsible for shoemaking tools and materials.
If there was a river along the way, the order of travel was changed: two or three hours were allotted for bathing and washing. Thusly day by day the squad of refugees moved closer and closer to Kharkiv. They had to give up all hope of traveling by rail. None of the adults knew exactly what the real military situation was, where the Germans were, and how the Red Army was operating.
Sometimes gun and machine-gun fire could be heard from somewhere off to the side, diving planes could be seen in the distance, and it did not scare anyone anymore, it just made them speed up their movement. But as soon as an approaching airplane even appeared far ahead or behind, there were exhausted cries of “Air!” and everyone immediately scattered in all directions, hiding in roadside bushes and crops.
In these instances, Lena found herself close to Kim just in time, and her hand held him firmly to the ground until the German pilot, having fired several machine-gun bursts, turned away.
At the beginning of August, the convoy of the orphanage was passing through a large village 70 kilometers from Kharkiv. At that time, a small Soviet military unit had set up in the village square and was gathered around the field kitchen for lunch. Seeing the tired children wandering along the dusty road, the commander suggested to the director that they feed them.
They halted there, the cook made a full cauldron of millet porridge, put it into pots, and the children sat around them and, accompanied with the sympathetic jokes of the Red Army soldiers, dug in with their spoons.
Kim noticed that Lena and her friends were talking animatedly with the unit commander about something, and then the director of the orphanage got involved in the conversation. It was obvious that the conversation was serious, and indeed it turned out that Lena and her classmate Natasha Tsaplinskaya, with the director’s permission, had asked the unit commander to give them a ride to Kharkiv in their cars.
Lena explained to Kim that she was very afraid to miss a whole year of college studies because of the delay in submitting her documents. Natasha very opportunely suggested, before it was too late, that she might try to enroll in one of the Kharkiv institutes, and later, when the circumstances permitted, transfer to Minsk.
Natasha had relatives in Kharkiv, and she assured Lena that they would let her stay with them for the initial period of time. This offer also appealed to Lena because she would not lose touch with Kim while studying in Kharkiv since the orphanage was supposed to be located somewhere nearby.
Lena explained to Kim, “The deadline for accepting documents to the institute is expiring, I can’t waste a single day, so we’ll have to split up for a little while. But as soon as the orphanage gets a permanent place in Kharkiv, the girls will let me know, and I will come right away, so don’t be troubled and don’t worry!”
What could a ten-year-old boy say in objection to that? He was sad to part with his caring and kind sister, but he understood that it was important to her, and believed that the separation would not be for long. They hugged, Lena kissed her red-haired brother’s head. They parted, not suspecting that they were destined never to meet again…
On the third day after Lena’s departure, the orphanage convoy finally reached the suburbs of Kharkiv and settled in a square near the terminus of one of the city’s streetcars. The director hurried to the city center to declare their arrival and receive further instructions.
Kharkiv by no means looked like a calm city on the rear of the front lines. Now and then troop units were heading somewhere in full gear, and heavy guns were rolling along in horse-drawn carriages. For the first time, the children saw several tanks here. And in the twilight, the air-raid sirens sounded, the silhouettes of planes flashed in the floodlights, anti-aircraft guns opened frequent fire on them, somewhere in the distance the explosions of bombs could be heard, tongues of fire appeared. The war was already ruling the ball even here!
In the evening, the director returned. Everyone crowded around him. He briefly announced that due to the changed military situation the orphanage would be evacuated inland by railroad and that in the next day or two they would agree on a destination, allocate wagons, and it would be possible to depart. In the meantime, everybody was strictly forbidden to leave the area even for a short while because of the possibility of getting left behind and lost.
Kim became very alarmed. He could vividly imagine how worried Lena would be, not knowing where the orphanage had gone and where her brother was. After all, she was sure that they would meet in Kharkiv. So he must urgently find her and warn her! This thought completely took hold of the boy. He did not doubt that someone among Lena’s friends knew where to find her and would agree to go with him. It seemed that it would not take much time, especially since it was possible to use the streetcar.
But no one dared to break the ban and go into town with Kim on their own. Nor was it possible to find the address of Natasha’s relatives. It only turned out that just before they left, the girls had decided to submit their documents to the Automobile and Highway Institute.
Upon learning about this, Kim went there on his own, naively believing that the institute would help him find his sister. One of the older girls walked Kim to the streetcar, asked the conductor to tell him the best way to get to the right place, put some coins into his pocket, and strictly ordered him to be back by evening no matter what.
The streetcar was already in the center of the city when suddenly the air-raid sirens howled again. The streetcar stopped, the conductor shouted for everyone to leave immediately. People crowded to the doors. Kim was floundering in the crowd when some woman screamed angrily that her wallet had been stolen, and immediately a strong man grabbed him by the shoulder and asked who he was riding with and where he was going. The answer clearly did not satisfy him, and he walked out with Kim and led him to the policeman at a post.
“This boy says he’s from an orphanage and is looking for his sister, and a woman just had her wallet stolen on the streetcar,” the man said. “We’ll figure it out!”, the policeman replied and, without asking anything else, quickly took Kim to the police station, located almost opposite the stopped streetcar. He told the policeman on duty that he had brought a homeless boy who was suspected of theft. The officer on duty, absorbed in some business, without turning away from the phone, handed the key to the incomer, and waved his hand toward the door at the end of the corridor. A few steps down the corridor, a click of the door lock, and Kim was alone in an empty cell.
It all happened so suddenly and so quickly that Kim could not recover from the shock and confusion for several minutes. Finally, he gathered his courage and knocked on the door once, twice, three times. No one responded to the knocks. To the walls of the cell were attached three small foldable shelves. In utter despair, Kim plopped down on one of them. Thoughts of Lena, the orphanage, his situation swarmed in his head, but gradually fatigue took its toll and the boy imperceptibly fell asleep. He woke up to a rough jolt. Three teenagers, about 16 or 17 years old, appeared in the cell. One of them pulled Kim off the shelf, searched his pockets, took his money, took his cap off his head, and, after giving him a hurtful slap on the forehead, announced that this shelf was his rightful place. The other two were taken by his buddies.
As soon as Kim had settled down in a corner on the floor, two policemen entered the cell and began beating all the detainees without any explanation. Several punches were given to Kim as well. He roared loudly, not so much from pain as from fear and resentment. The children’s crying evidently surprised the executioners, and one of them turned his attention to the howling boy and asked how he had come to be here. Kim explained, and the policeman believed him.
He led Kim out of the cell, asking the officer on duty to feed the boy and help him. The officer on duty, who had recently replaced the previous one, appeared not even aware that there was a minor in the cell. He offered Kim tea, sandwiches, and began to inquire about the Darievsky orphanage. Kim quite opportunely remembered that the director had gone on business in the morning to the regional Party Committee, and the policeman began politely and courteously calling his department. One by one the answers were disappointing, but the conscientious officer did not back down, and a little miracle happened!
The director, who was completing paperwork related to the evacuation, in one of the departments of the regional committee heard a secretary mention the Darievsky orphanage in a telephone conversation and inquired about what the matter was. He immediately confirmed Kim’s identity and assured him that he would definitely pick him up.
Kim had never waited so impatiently for anyone in his life and would always remember the happy moment when his savior showed up at the police station! Having found out the reason for the unauthorized absence, the director did not scold Kim, he even expressed his regrets that due to the lack of time he could not find and take both girls with him, who, for sure, will now have no chance to study at all, when the German troops are rushing into Kharkiv and all state-owned enterprises and institutions are being urgently evacuated from the city. After these words from the director, Kim’s anxiety for his sister’s fate only increased, but there was nothing he could do.
The next day, the orphanage collective, which had shrunk by almost 50 people during the 700-kilometer trek, loaded into three freight cars at the station equipped with bunk beds and, after another day of standing in a deadlock, proceeded along the Kharkiv-Saratov route.
At the end of August, upon arrival at their destination, the refugees were distributed among different orphanages in the Saratov region. Kim as part of a small group was assigned to the city of Petrovsk. Before the departure, one of Lena’s friends, fulfilling an assignment she had received in advance, handed Kim a matchbox containing a small photograph of Braina and the address of the Akmola camp. “You have to write a letter to your mother when you are settled. She will know your address, give it to Lena, and then you will be able to meet. Remember: the fate of the whole family depends on you now!” the girl instructed Kim. And this last, farewell sign of attention from the caring sister subsequently truly played its fateful role…
The Petrovsky orphanage was strikingly different in appearance from the Darievsky orphanage. It was located in a separate section of the town and consisted of a couple dozen buildings, most of which were small village-type residential dwellings. The only buildings that stood out for their size and construction were the directorate, the canteen, and the clubhouse. A little ways away was the “farmyard” – a group of outbuildings and warehouses.
Questionnaires were immediately given out for the new arrivals, distributing them by age and educational group. But then it turned out that the personal files of many of the children, including Kim, were missing; during the evacuation, almost the entire archive of the Darievsky orphanage had been lost. The woman who filled out Kim’s questionnaire asked him questions and from his words filled out the fields one by one. Remembering Lena’s instructions, when asked about his parents, Kim answered that he knew nothing about them. The employee then confidently advised him to take advantage of the confusion and change his personal details: the “discordant,” as in her opinion, last name Gershon should be changed to Ershov, and “Russian” should be written in the nationality column instead of “Jew”. “When you grow up, get a passport, and when the time comes to get a job, you’ll understand how important it will be,” the experienced official insisted.
Kim himself had more than once had the opportunity of seeing that people around him, both adults and children, shunned, vilified, and insulted Jews for no reason, simply because of their ethnicity. Lena explained that this was due to a lack of culture, education, and people’s poor upbringing. But these explanations did not bring comfort, and the unjustly offended often regretted that they had been born Jewish, and not Russian.
However, faced with the possibility to take for himself a “saving” coup, Kim suddenly felt keenly the inadmissibility of such an action: that in so doing, he had to give up his family, betray his parents and Lena, the dearest people in the world to him! Even at ten years old, he was able to realize this and replied without hesitation that he did not agree. The woman did not insist anymore and filled out the questionnaire with the real data.
He was enrolled in a group of fourth-graders. Thus at the end of August 1941, a new stage of Kim’s orphanage life began in Petrovsk, but now without the constant caring support of a relative, his devoted sister. He was assigned to a permanent place in one of the residential buildings. The commandant escorted him there, pointed him to a bunk, and introduced him to a teacher named Yevgenia Agafangelovna.
The house consisted of two rooms: an entrance hall and a bedroom. A few primitive washbasins were placed near the entrance, and on the wall was a clothing rack – a long board with hooks. A few crudely made tables and benches occupied the rest of the area. On one table stood two buckets of drinking water and iron mugs. In the bedroom, 15 beds were arranged along the walls in such a way that one aisle with a nightstand accounted for two beds. The central place in the house was occupied by a cast-iron stove. Almost all of it, including the firebox, was in the bedroom, with only the backside protruding into the hallway. The toilet – a plank booth with double-sided entrances – was in the yard.
This house was the accommodation for a group of 12 third- and fourth-graders, as well as two older students in charge of maintaining order, and a disabled young adult in his twenties, a former pupil nicknamed “Kultyapy,” who had been left as a laborer in the orphanage out of pity. As a child he had frozen his legs, both feet were half amputated, and he wore special prosthetic shoes, but physically he was a sturdy, very strong young man.
Kultyapy had rubbed shoulders and gained the trust of the teacher, subjugated the older students, and, acting on the principle of carrot and stick, single-handedly ruled the little boys’ group. With his manners, Kultyapy reminded Kim of Grinya from the Darievsky orphanage, about whom he had almost forgotten. And here again, because of his nationality, he was immediately counted as one of the outcasts. “A Jew, and even a redhead too!” – Kultyapy proclaimed upon meeting Kim for the very first time, and he and his entourage from then on used these nicknames constantly.
Kim tried to avoid meetings with Kultyapy and his underlings. During the daytime this was not difficult to do, but in the evening, after supper, when all were assembled in the house, he often had to endure the slaps and silently listen to undeserved insults, because the slightest attempt to defend himself or to object against the lackeys would lead to an altercation, which quickly turned into a group beating. During this, Kultyapy himself, clearly enjoying such scenes, only watched and encouraged his vassals.
Kim aided himself by reading books, which became his favorite pastime, bringing him incomparable joy and pleasure. He admired honest, kind, courageous literary heroes, their fair deeds, and secretly dreamed of a happy meeting with such a person who would become for him an older friend and a reliable defender against the attacks of Kultyapy and his gang.
According to the established schedule, two hours daily after lunch were allocated for “socially useful work”. During this time, the pupils were engaged in cleaning the rooms and grounds, and a variety of work in the household yard. One day carpenter’s helpers were needed, and Kim ended up among them. Since then, he began to visit the carpenter’s workshop constantly. He was pleased to be surrounded by planks and blocks smelling of pine resin, enjoyed watching the beautiful sweeping, then sweeping, then stingy movements of the experienced elderly craftsman, in whose hands unpretentious tools transformed a rough workpiece into elegant and attractive details. Kim eagerly mastered the basics of carpentry, and the hour came, when he experienced the joy of “creating” his first stool!
Children from the orphanage studied at a city school, located in the center. It took at least half an hour to get there from the orphanage. In order not to be late for class and to have time to wash up and have breakfast beforehand, the boys had to get up very early. And this was not an easy task! Evgenia Agafangelovna successfully coped with the role of an alarm clock. Early in the morning, the teacher’s voice was heard in the bedroom, “Ding-dong-dong, ding-dong-dong. From the Soviet Information Bureau! In the last hour…” Everyone awoke at that signal and listened while still lying in bed for a few minutes to the news of the situation at the front.
Alas, the news was disappointing. The Germans persistently continued in their advance. At the end of October, the Red Army left Kharkiv. This news alarmed Kim, but not for long: he was sure that Lena had evacuated from there in time – he couldn’t imagine any other scenario. In early September he sent a letter to Braina, in which he did not forget to remind her to give Lena his new address. Time passed however, and there were no return letters from either his mother or his sister.