Chapter 17
The ban on correspondence with relatives under the pretext of martial law turned into additional moral torture for Braina. In Lena’s letters from Kharkiv, Braina felt with deep heartache her confusion, doubts, anxiety, fear, and understood that her dear daughter was very much in need of a mother’s kind involvement, wise advice, and was waiting for it with impatience and hope. If not for this stupid ban, she would have persuaded Lena not to leave the orphanage and Kim in such turbulent times, to postpone enrollment in the institute until next year, when the situation in the country would become clearer.
However, by an unfortunate set of circumstances, at a truly fateful moment in her daughter’s life, Braina was completely deprived of any opportunity to help her in some way, and it caused deep suffering that tormented her heart and soul, deprived her of peace and sleep. More and more often Braina had to go to the medical unit for chest and arm pains, bouts of weakness.
After the Germans seized Kharkiv, letters from Lena stopped coming. A heavy foreboding gripped Braina, no matter how hard she tried to console herself with the hope that Lena had managed to escape in time, had been saved, and that she would soon give news of herself. Terrible, frightful pictures appeared in Braina’s imagination and were repeated again in her dreams. A young, defenseless girl in a Nazi hell among murderers, rioters, rapists! And there was no family around, no friends who would help, support, protect…! Horror, horror…! Bitter, inconsolable tears fell like hailstones from her eyes, her hands drooped, but the prisoners were waiting for their rations, and one must work, cut, weigh, distribute bread…!
It is not for nothing that they say, that trouble does not come alone. Braina had heard rumors that there were applicants from among the favorites of the administration to take her place as a bread cutter. This did not surprise Braina. As the prisoners’ diet worsened due to the martial law situation, this job became more and more valuable among them. Soon a beautiful Greek woman, who was well-liked by the site manager, was appointed as a head bread slicer, and Braina was assigned the role of being her helper. The inexperienced, inept, awkward new bread slicer was clearly not able to cope with these duties and also did not trust Braina, fearing some trickery on her end.
Prisoners began to wait in line for long periods of time for their rations, something that had never happened under Braina’s watch. Complaints came in, an inspection occurred, and Braina could again go back to her work, but not for long. Soon instead of the Greek woman, appeared a young, energetic, businesslike woman, patronized by the head of camp security. It did not take her long to master her new position, and the honest, unselfish Braina, who had aroused her antipathy and ridicule, was transferred to the agricultural plot. By a strange coincidence, it was called Darievka, just like the name of the village close to where in the orphanage in Ukraine her children had been before the war.
The “Darievka” section, a rather large agricultural enterprise, where potatoes, cabbage, carrots, beets, onions, and peas were grown on large, well-tilled plots, was a subsidiary farm of the many thousands of people in the Burma concentration camp. Its production constituted a large part of the diet not only of the prisoners but also of the guards and the freelance personnel.
Ripe cucumbers, tomatoes, and lettuce grew in small greenhouses for the superiors and visiting inspectors. In the storage area, consisting of several vegetable stores, cellars, and sheds, the harvested crops were stored for several months and gradually distributed out to Burma’s food units. The barnyard contained working oxen and horses. The entire production team of the auxiliary farm: workers, agronomists, zootechnicians, engineers, consisted of prisoners serving their sentences, who were housed in the men’s and women’s barracks, fenced with barbed wire. The women’s barracks was adjoined by a kitchen and a medical station. The commandant’s office and guards were located in a brick house at the entrance gate.
Braina was transferred to Darievka in the spring of 1942 and was enlisted in the gardening brigade. All spring and summer, along with the same forced laborers, she worked hard in the fields from morning through night, in the cold and heat, in the rain and piercing wind, experiencing at the same time a state of deep mental depression due to constant anxiety for the children and relatives.
By the end of the summer, Braina’s illness had worsened dramatically. To the excruciating pains and swelling in her arms and legs were added non-healing sores that appeared all over her body. Braina was placed in the camp hospital, where there worked many good and experienced doctors from among the prisoners. When Braina got a little better, she was discharged from the hospital, with a certificate stating that she was unfit to be used for doing physically demanding work. With such a certificate she could not be returned to her former place in Darievka, so she remained in Burma as a laborer.
A few days later there was a place found for Braina as a janitor in one of the camp canteens. in-between breakfast, lunch, and dinner she mopped up the garbage that was left in abundance on the floor after the inmates’ visits. According to the camp’s assessment of working conditions, the labor of a cleaner was not considered heavy, but for Braina, whose hands were not only constantly sore but also were poorly obeying, it proved to be unbearable. At the end of the working day, the pain in her hands and back became so intolerable, that if the mop spitefully fell out of her swollen, twisted fingers, sometimes Braina could not even bend over and lift it, and she had to ask for help. Her already unhealthy body could not stand it, her illness worsened, sores appeared on her body again, and once again Braina found herself in the urgent medical ward.
One evening in December 1942, sitting in a hospital bed, Braina absent-mindedly watched through the window the blizzard that was playing out outdoors, and in her head, as per usual as of late, were crowded thoughts about the children, Joshka, relatives…
Suddenly, a nurse who was carrying in the mail, called her name and handed her a homemade triangular envelope, folded compactly from a notebook sheet of paper. It stood out to the eye immediately that the address of the Akmola camp was crossed out with a thick line, above which it was written with red pencil to be rerouted to Burma, and at the bottom the sender’s name was underlined in the same red color – Gershon K.J…
Braina couldn’t believe her eyes; her hands were trembling with excitement as she unfolded the envelope. It was a letter from Kim, which he had sent to the previous address back in September 1941! For almost a year and a half, the letter had wandered through the postal labyrinths of the camps. Kim wrote that he was in the Petrovsky orphanage, that he was very worried about Lena, and asked to have his address urgently sent to her, that he missed her and was “waiting for an answer, like the nightingale of summer!”
These few lines of children’s scribbles disentangled the soul of Braina, exhausted by illness and constant worry. Flooding with tears, she reread the uncomplicated phrases over and over again, rejoicing for Kim’s secure situation and at the same time bitterly regretting that Lena, who could have been with him, was in a place of loneliness and in uncertainty.
Braina convinced herself that Lena’s prolonged silence was due to her evacuation to one of the remote places in the country, where, on account of martial law, the mail arrives very late. In addition, Braina assumed that Lena’s letter, sent to an outdated address, could not only be delayed for a long time but could be irretrievably lost within the camp offices.
Therefore, Kim’s letter, which with the same outdated address still successfully overcame many months of wandering, gave her confidence that sooner or later Lena’s letters would reach her, just as that nondescript in appearance, but infinitely precious and coveted triangle! Braina was well aware of how important her response was to Kim’s well-being as a confirmation that he was still not alone in the world, and she imagined with how much impatience he was looking forward to that letter! But the ban on the prisoners’ correspondence was still in effect, and all that was left to do was to curse through her tears at the stupidity and cruelty of those who had devised this elaborate torment of the already disenfranchised, defenseless people.
As soon as Braina’s health had recovered somewhat, and her wounds healed, she was discharged from the hospital with a certificate of confirmation of unsuitability for hard labor. She was immediately enlisted in the snow retention unit that had been formed at the camp by arrangement with a neighboring state-owned farm. The state farm agronomists assumed that the snow, which accumulated on the fields during the winter, would moisten the soil abundantly during the spring thaw, which in Kazakhstan’s arid climate conditions would significantly improve the performance of the future harvest.
Into this unit were enlisted those prisoners who were not employed in other jobs as well as all those who were in poor health, because the superiors had the opinion that snow retention could not equate to hard labor, because snow itself is a light material, and to work in the bosom of nature is more pleasant than in the prison. However, the prisoners regarded this work as one of the most undesirable and difficult because of it involving too much time spent out in the cold.
Because the snow guards were to be checked daily before leaving the area for their place of work, they were awakened earlier in the morning than anyone else so they could get their bread rations and breakfast before the formation. People who had not rested well during the night had a hard time coming out of their sleep, grumbling, muttering; got dressed, somehow washed their faces, and hobbled to the canteen at dusk in the morning frost. After having received a ration, they hastily swallowed a few spoonfuls of pearl barley porridge, drank a mug of tea brewed with some unknown substances; not satiated at all, but only having teased their appetite, they hurried to the formation, afraid to be late for the roll call.
After the inspection, the unit, surrounded by a convoy, left the zone and headed for one of the pre-designated plots located at a distance of two to four kilometers away from the zone. In a field covered with a layer of snow, people would line up at one end in several rows, and gradually moving toward the opposite end, shoveled the snow, forming oblong mounds in different directions while compacting the snow down with shovels.
In the beginning, the work moves along, everyone works hard and in a friendly way. As the day heats up, the sun rises ever higher in the cloudless sky, softly casting light to the very edge of the horizon of the unsightly expanses of Kazakhstan, on the primordial whiteness of which in some places dense red clumps of reed thickets stand out brightly. In the rays of sunlight, the snow mounds, only just sculpted by people, sparkle like silver ingots, giving a fairytale-like look to the landscape. These living pictures of nature temporarily dislodge heavy thoughts from the minds of the forced prisoners.
The beauty and harmony of the surrounding nature had a calming effect not just on Braina. She noticed, now and then, on some and then on those of others, on the emaciated faces of tired, seemingly indifferent to everything people, an expression of peace and quiet joy, when they briefly stopped shoveling snow and looked around at their surroundings, leaning on their shovels. Sometimes their gazes met, and they smiled at each other in a friendly, encouraging way. These silent, brief manifestations of moral unity and mutual understanding between near strangers, who had ended up in this same predicament, eased the condition of Braina’s soul and were forever imprinted into her memory.
After three hours, however, the work situation on the field had noticeably changed. The strength of the half-starved, tired people was quickly running out. More and more often they stopped shoveling snow, glancing impatiently toward the convoy, waiting for their command to take a break.
Finally, the long-awaited command was heard. The exhausted prisoners would tumble down onto the ice-cold ground, take the frozen pieces of bread out of their sacks, and gnaw at them amid the loud laughter of the guards, who would savor lewd jokes around the campfire. In their winter half-coats, fur hats, and boots, the cold and wind were not frightful. The prisoners though were not saved from the cold in any way by their worn-out cotton pants, cotton wool jackets, and “fish fur” hats. Their feet, wrapped in rags, were desperately freezing in canvas boots, their hands were freezing in homemade mittens on top of mended gloves. Not even an hour would pass before the command to resume the work was given. People would pick up their shovels and rake and rake, trying to get warm somehow. But the work does not warm them up, and there is no more strength left.
The cold intensifies, everyone fights it as best they can: people stomp their feet, flap their arms like wings, with their hands, pushing, jumping… The convoy forces the prisoners to resume their work with rude swearing and profanity, but not for long, then the futile attempts to fight the cold are repeated again. There seems to be no end to this torment, but when the patience of the convicts almost runs out, the command to fall in line is sounded out and the unit is sent to return back. Some of the prisoners are so weakened that they ask for help, and the more resilient comrades in misery, support them.
The frost and wind are getting stronger by the minute, and when in the distance, in the approaching darkness the lights of the zone appear, everyone is glad of it as if it was their native home! The frozen, hungry convicts tumble into the canteen, where awaits a not satisfyingly hearty, without a piece of bread, but at least a warm meal that makes them irresistibly drowsy. In a half-asleep state, people wander back to the barracks and collapse onto their bunks without strength. Some fall asleep without undressing, others are helped by compassionate compatriots, who had returned earlier from other jobs.
The night hours fly by in a flash, and in the early morning, the sound of the signal rail makes one rise again for hard labor. Only sometimes the frost and wind are so strong that work in the open field becomes obviously life-threatening. Then the command sounds: “Until special order!” For the prisoners this is a rare stroke of luck – the opportunity to rest for longer, to put their shabby clothes and shoes in order…
Braina’s disease-weakened body could not withstand the brutal test of the cold. She was hospitalized again with pneumonia and acute tonsillitis. The syringomyelia also worsened. In the end, the medical commission was forced to declare Braina as disabled. Shortly before that, she had turned 44 years old, and the desired release was still more than two years away.
Unbiddenly and unexpectedly, for the first time ever during her imprisonment, Braina received a letter from Roza Alexandrovna Gorelik. The faithful, devoted older friend and mentor in teaching preschool children, was a frequent and welcome guest in the friendly Gershon family in the better times, and after Joshka’s arrest she helped Braina morally and financially, at the risk of paying for it with her own well-being.
When the war began, Roza Alexandrovna evacuated from Minsk to Kuibyshev. By some miracle, she managed to find Genya, who lived in Tashkent with her daughter Raechka and worked in an orphanage. From Genya, she learned that communication with Braina had been severed at the beginning of the war. It was only with the help of the grateful parents of her pupils that Roza Alexandrovna managed with great difficulty to get Braina’s new address from the Ministry of Internal Affairs, and she hurried to tell her everything she knew of Braina’s family, understanding how important it was for her.
From Genya, Roza Aleksandrovna found out that Gennady and his wife Betya had safely evacuated to the Uzbek city of Namangan, and in 1942 he went to the front as a volunteer. Braina was glad to hear the good news about her brother and sister and was grateful to Roza Aleksandrovna, who at the end of the letter expressed her readiness to send Braina a parcel with items of necessity as soon as she received an answer from her. But Braina was still forbidden to write letters, although the parcel would have been beyond necessary for her.
In the late spring of 1943, Braina was discharged from the hospital and again assigned to the subsidiary Darievka farm, where there was found a suitable workplace for disabled women. She was appointed as a night watchman and instructed to guard the vegetable garden from prisoners who, taking advantage of the relatively free regime in Darievka, at night tried to profit from fresh vegetables.
When Braina tried to object that in her physical state she would be unable to handle not only a man, but even a woman, she was harshly threatened with punishment for refusing to work, so she had to remain silent. The women in the barracks advised her to turn to the guards on duty at the commandant’s office for help if needed, but to not herself get involved with the convicts, and then they would not touch her either.
On the first day Braina came on duty, the foreman of the gardeners briefed her on the object to be guarded at night. Before, Braina had had to work in separate parts of the vegetable garden, but she had no idea that it occupied more than 50 hectares of land in its entirety, and the path she was to walk along stretched for three whole kilometers!
In the evening twilight Braina bravely set out for her first shift of duty, looking forward with interest to the upcoming night’s walk alone, in the fresh air, and with complete freedom. But the action developed in accordance with a different scenario.
Braina had barely reached the warehouse and taken a look around, when the moonless night fully took over in its totality. It became completely dark, not a single light around, just the faint glimmer of the occasional star in the sky. And in this darkness suddenly she heard sounds similar to the low jerky yapping of dogs, and nearby there were barely visible silhouettes of running animals. They were jackals. Braina knew they didn’t usually attack people, but nevertheless, the unexpected encounter alarmed her.
Having somehow found the familiar path in the darkness, Braina walked along it cautiously, leaning on a stick with her disfigured fingers and stumbling now and then in the broken ruts. After a few minutes, her attention was caught by a sudden rustling and crackling in the thicket of the vegetable garden, she instinctively turned in that direction, looked closely, and among the plants she saw the outlines of several human figures bent down towards the ground. Freezing for a moment in fear, terrified at feeling her defenselessness, Braina quickly scuffled away. A longing and apathy from the awareness of her helplessness seized her, tears flowed involuntarily down her cheeks…
Since then, Braina was constantly depressed by the awareness of the humiliating futility of her nightly walks and did not let go of her foreboding sense of the inevitable trouble awaiting her. A few weeks later, alas, it came true. Again it was a dark, moonless night. As usual, as she began her rounds from the storehouse in the evening, Braina noticed that not far from her were a dozen oxen and horses grazing under the supervision of a cattleman, who was sitting by a small fire.
After walking around the entire site, Braina sat down to rest on the porch of the warehouse, drifted into thought, and unbeknownst to herself, dozed off. She dreamed that she and her children were wandering through the dense bushes, making crackling noises, in search of a road. She woke up and immediately heard a loud crunching, stomping, and chomping not far from her. In the cabbage patch of the vegetable garden, barely discernible in the darkness, bulky bodies were stirring.
Braina was seriously frightened — first of all, for the oxen, for she knew that fresh cabbage in large quantities could be deadly to them. Calling loudly for the help of the herdsman, Braina rushed to drive out the oxen, waving a branch that happened to fall into her hands. At last with great difficulty, she managed to chase away only one animal, while the others, paying no attention to this, leisurely dealt with the cabbage heads.
Frightened that she would never be able to handle the herd alone, Braina hurried to the commandant’s office to report about what had happened to the guard. Halfway there she bumped into one of them, who was on his way to make another round. Without asking about anything, he knocked the woman down to the ground with a hard blow to the chest and yelled for her to return to her place immediately, or he would shoot her for trying to escape. “Do your duty!” — yelled the drunken guard, not even trying to find out why his help was needed. By the time Braina returned to the vegetable garden, the cattleman was already in full swing. He had used his whip to help drive the oxen away, but they had still managed to damage a dozen or two unripe heads of cabbage.
In the morning it became known that one ox had died after all. Braina, of course, was blamed as the main culprit for the incident. She was reprimanded by the manager of the subsidiary farm at a general meeting of the prisoners for her loss of vigilance, but at the same time, he ordered that one of the guard dogs that guarded the storerooms and the barnyard be allocated for her aid. Braina was introduced to a shaggy Caucasian Shepherd dog named Trezor, taught how to handle her, and after a few days they easily understood each other already.
The smart, good-natured dog became not only a loyal friend, helper, and protector, but also a breadwinner for Braina. Twice a day Braina received for him in the kitchen such a large portion of porridge and canned food that it was more than enough for both of them.
With the arrival of Trezor, night duty was no longer perceived by Braina as a miserable burden. Accompanied by a strong and clever dog, she felt secure and almost no longer afraid of the darkness, especially since Trezor’s loud, menacing barking scared off overly enterprising convicts from nighttime visits to the vegetable garden, and only hares and stray cattle sometimes unsuccessfully tried to profit from the vegetables.
Sometimes, on some particularly bright, calm nights, when the ghostly light of the moon and the boundless dark sky with its twinkling scatterings of bright stars disposed her to a lyrical mood, Braina indulged in memories of the people dear to her heart, and of the happy years she had spent living together with them. Looking at the moon and the stars, she repeated the names of her relatives many times, showering them with words of love, tenderness, and hope, even singing songs they had once sung together. She wanted to believe that the cosmos would carry the echoes of her heartfelt appeals to those for whom they were intended.
The faithful Trezor, sympathetically wagging his tail, patiently watched his mistress, repeating time and again unfamiliar names — Joshka, Lenochka, Kimochka — and not having enough time to wipe away the tears running down her cheeks. In the absence of letters and visits, such “psychotherapy sessions” brought Braina temporary relief.
On August 4, 1943, early in the morning, after finishing her duty, Braina sat on the grass near the warehouse, waiting for the gardeners to arrive, after which time she usually returned to the barracks. Tired, after having spent a sleepless night, she unintentionally dozed off, and immediately she had a dream: a huge table, covered with cakes, boxes of chocolates, pastries, fruits. But she could not eat the sweets at all: everything she touched immediately disappeared. Distressed, Braina opened her eyes and saw a group of gardeners in the distance. They waved their hands and called loudly for her. One of the women, ahead of the others, ran up to Braina and, looking at her meaningfully, asked what she had dreamed about today.
No sooner had Braina answered than the others arrived, with the incredible news that the section master had summoned her urgently because the order for her early release had arrived. Braina rushed as if on wings to the commandant’s office, rejoicing and not believing her happiness. There, it was explained to her that her early release was due to her disability as a result of an incurable illness, as well as in view of her exemplary behavior during her imprisonment. After saying goodbye to those around her, not forgetting her faithful Trezor, Braina immediately departed for Burma for the registration of the necessary documents.
At the main camp chancellery office, Braina was given the information that due to martial law, until there was a special order, as a former prisoner she was not allowed to reside in the European part of the country, nor in the republican and regional centers. Taking into account these requirements, she had to specify the name of the station to which she wanted to get a ticket.
It turned out that she was not permitted to go to either Petrovsk, Kuibyshev, or Tashkent, where there lived those who would have been happy to have her arrive. Only the city of Namangan, where her brother Gennady and his wife were staying, remained accessible. After some thought, Braina decided to head there, especially since it was not far from Namangan to Tashkent, where Genya was. No less important for her illness was the favorable Central Asian climate: an abundance of heat and an absence of cold winters.
At the camp office, Braina received a special certificate of identity, which she had to present to the police at her place of residence in order to obtain a passport. She was also given a small sum of money and issued an order for a free railroad ticket for a ride in a common wagon to Namangan station. Then they picked up some decent clothes and shoes for her at the storehouse, and in the canteen gave her a loaf of bread and three cans of preserved fish for the trip. Loyal friends in misfortune escorted her to the gate of the camp, and for the first time in many years, Braina without a convoy went outside the zone.
At the Karaganda railway station, she received a ticket, while waiting for the train she wrote and sent out letters to Kim and Roza Aleksandrovna, enjoying her freedom, took a walk in the park, rested in the waiting room, and a few hours later stepped into the car of the train bound for Tashkent.
Thus ended her prison epic, which had lasted five years and nine months instead of the appointed eight. However, even this term length was enough for a woman in the prime of her life, full of strength, to turn into a sickly, crooked, stooped, almost old woman with sad, yet still clear, blue eyes.
On the third day of her journey, Braina arrived safely in Tashkent and immediately hurried to search for Genya at the postal address she had, confirming the route with passersby. Along the way, Braina looked with interest at the Asian city unfamiliar to her. Behind the mudbrick walls enclosing the streets, among lush gardens, she could see one or two-story, nondescript houses. Along the streets, a stunted donkey harnessed to a high-wheeled cart trudged leisurely.
Handsome Uzbeks in solid multi-colored coats and identical skullcaps sat importantly in the carts. The sun, not at all in accordance with autumnal weather, was mercilessly scorching, and on the sidewalks were people who by their clothing and behavior was easy to guess were refugees from the western regions.
Upon reaching her desired destination, Braina discovered that it turned out to be an orphanage. The clerk on duty confirmed that Genya Borisovna had worked here for several years, but had recently achieved a transfer to the city of Namangan, where her brother’s family lives. Upon learning that Braina was Genya’s older sister and had been parted from her for a long time, the woman felt sorry for her and offered to call the Namangan orphanage where Genya now worked. As soon as she heard her voice on the phone, Braina was choked with excitement. With a great struggle to contain her sobs, she stated that she would be arriving in Namangan soon. In response, there were heard sobs, fragments of unintelligible speech, crying…
Leaving Tashkent in the evening, the next day Braina arrived in the cherished Namangan, both rejoicing and worrying about the undefined new stage of her life ahead. She easily recognized Genya, who was standing on the platform, squinting myopically, peering into the windows of the cars slowly rolling past her.
When she saw Braina coming out of the train, graying, exhausted, sickly, almost unrecognizable, Genya for a moment was stunned by fright and surprise, and then the sisters embraced and wept silently. Crouched on a bench in the station square, imperceptibly to themselves they quietly talked for several hours straight about everything that had amassed over the years of forced separation. Here, Braina learned from Genya of the death of her beloved brother Gennady in the battle near Smolensk.
This tragic news painfully wounded Braina. Before her mind’s eye appeared a beautiful, inspired face of a blue-eyed Jewish young man — a cheerful, witty lover of life, full of hopes and creative plans. Among the millions of victims, the insatiable war consumed him too, a young, romantic poet, whose talent was not destined to unfold. What great sorrow! What an irreparable loss to his family and relatives!
Without waiting for the only old bus, which without any schedule sometimes ran between the station and the city center, the sisters walked unhurriedly to Genya’s house, where Braina was now going to live. On the way, Genya introduced her to the city and its features.
In 1943 Namangan was a provincial Central Asian backwater town, with streets covered in a thick layer of dust. Along with them, behind solid mudbrick walls — duvalas — were extensive homesteads of residents, with orchards, vineyards, and corn plots around squat houses with flat roofs, built in the ancient custom of clay mixed with straw and cow dung. Only in a few city blocks were built two- and three-story administrative and residential brick buildings equipped with electricity, running water, sewerage, and stove heating.
The rest of the city was supplied with water from the Naryn River through a system of canals and ditches. The water from the ditch had to be settled and boiled before use. In the evening here, kerosene lamps were used for lighting, and food was cooked either in the courtyard on a primitive hearth near the ditch, or indoors on a stove with burners. What served as fuel were dried stalks of cotton sold at the market.
Genya, who had always been distinguished by efficiency, briefly and convincingly, like a teacher in class, explained to Braina everything she had to go through to return to civilian life. First of all, it was necessary to obtain a passport. There were no difficulties with this because the accompanying certificate from the camp stated that Braina had been sent to live in Namangan.
The next step was registration. The city was overcrowded with refugees, so it was very difficult to find an apartment, the residential area of which per sanitary standards, would allow for a new tenant to be registered. Genya herself and her daughter Raechka temporarily occupied the office apartment of the orphanage and had no right to register anyone else in it. But she did not doubt that Betya, who lived in a nice apartment, allocated by special order of the authorities to the family of an evacuated writer, would do it.
However, even obtaining a residence permit – was only half the battle. As soon as the stamp appeared in one’s passport, it followed that one should not lose a single day trying to get a job, because that was the only way to escape from starvation. All workers and employees at their place of work received ration cards to ensure their survival under wartime conditions. Without such a card one was doomed to the pangs of hunger and death.
Noticing that Braina had little idea of what she was talking about, Genya explained that with the beginning of the war in the country, a ration cards system was introduced for supplying the population with basic foodstuffs. Bread, sugar, oil, salt, cereals at the usual state price were no longer sold to all who wanted it, but only to customers who presented the appropriate coupon, which indicated their allotted norm. And although the assigned norms were far from the real needs of the people, nevertheless, this system saved ordinary workers, employees, and their families from hunger, for whom the market prices for food had become unaffordable.
All able-bodied people received the life-saving cards under strict control only at their place of work. These circumstances explained the urgency for Braina to secure employment. Genya was sure that the road to a school or kindergarten was closed for Braina because of her criminal record, and advised her to reconcile herself to the idea that for the sake of the cards she would have to agree to take any job.
Genya was delicately silent about her own material difficulties. But, after listening to her, Braina pointedly realized that she would be a heavy burden for her sister, until she could provide for her own livelihood. And she firmly decided by any means and in the shortest possible time to obtain the coveted cards! To her curious neighbors, Genya explained that her sister had been evacuated to Kazakhstan, and now she had moved to Namangan, to her sister’s home, because she was ill and needed help. This unsophisticated fable served as a preventive measure against unwanted inquiries or accidental disclosure of the truth about Braina’s fate, which would have seriously complicated Genya’s official position, and for Betya, would mean disaster.
Betya taught chemistry at a military school that had been evacuated from the Moscow region. The working conditions there were unusually favorable. Firstly, classes with cadets observing military discipline took place in a calm, businesslike environment, giving Betya moral satisfaction. Second, in addition to her salary, she enjoyed three meals a day in the canteen of the school, which was perceived not only by herself but also by everyone she knew as being a fabulous success.
At the school, Betya was respected and valued as a specialist, but if the “special” department (internal state security service at every Soviet enterprise and institution, which existed until the early 1990s) found out who Braina was and who she was to Betya, most likely she would not have been able to avoid being fired. That is why she could not settle Braina in her own apartment, and was even wary of inviting her to visit, but, practicing caution, she helped her sisters with food, medicine, money, and later managed to register Braina in her apartment unnoticed by neighbors and coworkers, quickly, without any red tape.
More than once Braina thanked fate for the fact that at such a difficult time for her there were Genya and Betya by her side. Without their help and support, she, sick, helpless, and lonely, most likely, would have simply disappeared. And her relatives even managed to give Braina after her arrival a few days of complete rest with abundant food and fruit for dessert, which immediately had a positive effect on her well-being. She was moved to tears by the heartfelt care of her sister and sister-in-law and was deeply grateful to them, but at the same time, she constantly blamed herself for having unwittingly caused their unbearable expenses and troubles. She could not wait to get the coveted ration cards so that she could contribute her share to the “common cauldron”. After she obtained a passport and a residence permit, all she had to do was just get a job. But here she was met with yet another test.
An educator by vocation, of course, Braina aspired to return to school. For her, teaching children had always been her favorite creative activity, and school attracted her like the stage attracts an artist, and a sailor – by the sea. Even the years of imprisonment did not shake her life choice made in her youth: “to sow the reasonable, good, eternal.” And although during the war there was a great shortage of teachers in schools, as many of them were drafted into the Red Army, the way to getting there was closed for Braina. The label “family member of an enemy of the people” ruled out any possibility of returning to the teaching environment. It was useless to conceal the fact and reason for the arrest and imprisonment because a special cipher in her passport indicated it.
It was not easy for Braina to give up hope of returning to a familiar and beloved business, but there was nothing to be done – she had to put up with it and set herself up to find any feasible work she could.
Per established tradition, the wall at the entrance to the city market was used for posting all sorts of advertisements. This was where Braina went in search of the necessary information. As if preordained, the first thing that caught her eye was a neatly typed out by typewriter invitation for a permanent job at a school as a teacher of Russian language and literature. Braina took it as a sign from above that the school was calling her, despite the prohibitions. In her creative imagination immediately arose the assumption that in this distant
Uzbek city, public education was governed by an honest, decent, fair person, who would not be embarrassed by her criminal record. He would find it necessary to talk to her personally, and she would be able to convince him of her desire to work conscientiously and usefully. In the joyful excitement of these thoughts, Braina decided immediately, without delay, to submit the necessary documents to the city department of public education.
However, when she was released from the camp it turned out that in her personal file Braina had neither her diploma of graduation from the pedagogical institute nor her employment record book, which had been seized during her arrest in Minsk. By some miracle, only a certificate of work as a teacher of Russian language and literature in the 7th Minsk school had survived.
Braina took the application for the job, the certificate, and a brief autobiographical resume with only a brief mention of her criminal record, to the specified address. An elderly female inspector politely suggested to come back in two days for an answer. At the appointed time, not without excitement, Braina entered the now familiar office, and the inspector silently handed her papers to her. On the application, in clumsy handwriting, was scrawled, “Refused!” No miracle had happened. Braina had to become convinced once more that the way to school was closed for her.
Her next attempt to get a job was in the canteen of a textile factory, where they needed a helper for washing dishes. The supervisor, looking at Braina, sympathetically told her: “Grandma, this work is too hard for you, you can’t handle it!” The “grandmother,” who had recently turned 45, had no choice but to dejectedly head back home.
However, the premonition of a happy occurrence did not leave Braina. And it did not take long in coming. Half-starved, preoccupied with her misfortunes, Braina was walking in the morning along the dusty street to the market, when suddenly a woman walking towards her stopped and hesitantly called her by name. Braina regarded her and recognized Revekka Wolfovna Kulkovich, a teacher she knew well, whom she had often met in Minsk. The long-time acquaintance looked at Braina with deep sympathy and heartache, with tears in her eyes. She invited Braina to her home, and over tea, they told each other their unhappy stories. Revekka Wolfovna was sentenced to five years in a concentration camp on account of her husband, which she served from call to call, after which she came to Namangan, to where her two adult daughters had been evacuated. She too had been unable to find work for a long time, until she accidentally learned of a cooperative artel of home-based labor that made hand-knitted shawls. The artel hired any residents of the city who could crochet, provided ration cards, and paid a salary depending on the quantity and quality of shawls that were made. At the end of the conversation, Revekka Wolfovna offered to give Braina a few crochet lessons, and then to help her get a job at the artel.
Braina after her return from the camp. Namangan, 1943.
As a child, Braina had known how to crochet, and it would not have been difficult for her to regain her knitting skills if it had not been for her fingers, which had become crooked from illness. But the situation compelled it, and years of confinement had accustomed her to perseverance. And after two or three days of persistent training, Braina not very skillfully, but confidently enough, crocheted shawl patterns without flaws.
In the artel, Revekka Wolfovna was respected, and on her recommendation Braina without unnecessary red tape was established as an at-home worker. At the warehouse there were issued hooks, hanks of thread, drawings of scarves, and in the accounting department she received the coveted ration cards of the working class, according to which Braina was entitled to a daily norm of 600 grams of bread — in those times a genuine wealth.
The artel bosses had informed her that for failure to meet the monthly plan for the production of shawls, she would be fired without notice. And Braina was glad that at least by knitting she would be able to ensure her livelihood, and for the sake of that from morning until late at night, on weekdays and weekends, she did not let the hook out of her hands. Although the monthly rate of production had so far remained unattainable for her, she was not threatened with dismissal because the artel bosses were convinced of her good faith and sympathized with her kindly.
Braina did not earn much, but the nourishment of her friendly family was much improved, and this was also reflected in her mood. Now in the evenings the sisters often even sang their favorite Jewish songs of their youth, to the delight of little Raechka, who diligently sang along, “Spire, balalaika…”
In the winter of 1944, the city council on a waitlist system allocated Genya an “apartment” in a one-story adobe barrack consisting of separate rooms arranged in rows, nicknamed kibitkas. The barrack was in the courtyard of an Uzbek mosque.
The kibitka was a room of about 12 square meters with a dirt floor, without electricity, running water, or sewerage, with one small window and an entrance directly from the courtyard, without a tambour. There was a two-burner stove in the corner for cooking food and heating the room in winter. Large niches for home utensils, crockery, and clothes were arranged in the walls.
From the previous occupants there was left a small table by the window, a wooden bench, and old mats that covered the floor. Genya did not want to move into this room, especially since she was not the first to be offered it, but it was insistently demanded of her to vacate the service apartment, so even this miserable accommodation had to be accepted. After many years in an oppressive environment, in the bustling and cramped conditions of the camp barracks with their stale air, stifling heat in summer and icy drafts in winter, constant swearing, moaning, and crying of destitute women, Braina perceived being in the kibitka with her dear close to her soul sister and funny niece, as being a gift from fate. The experience of life in the camp helped her tolerate the difficult living conditions, which in many ways did not provide for the most basic needs of the residents.
The water supply looked especially ridiculous. As needed, water was drawn directly from a ditch that flowed next to the barracks. However, for drinking and cooking the necessary volume of water was drawn at night, as it was believed to be cleaner at that time. After several hours of settling, the water was separated from the sediment, filtered through gauze, boiled in a large pot, and cooled in that same ditch.
Washing was done from an antediluvian washbasin over a bucket underneath. In the city bathhouse, one had to wait for hours for one’s turn to enter the soap room, and then queue up again to draw a pail of not very hot, murky water.
The only public toilet in the entire barracks was constantly in an unsanitary condition and at night in the darkness was only illuminated by the moon. Every evening Braina took out of the alcove and made herself a bed on the bench, folding it back in the morning. Nevertheless in those difficult war years, such living conditions on the home front were seen as quite acceptable, because in them, people could still live with hope for a better future.
Despite all the evil that the authorities had inflicted on Braina, she remained a staunch patriot of her country and considered it a matter of honor to contribute actively at any opportunity to the fight against the fascists. Such an opportunity presented itself to her when the collective of artel workers decided to send gift parcels to the soldiers at the front for Red Army Day. Braina enthusiastically took part in this action. She composed warm letters to soldiers unknown to her; knitted several pairs of mittens and socks; the money she had saved up for clothes, she gave away for the purchase of apples and tobacco. And she experienced great pleasure when, together with other women, she accompanied the warm carriage, in which the city’s delegation accompanied the parcels to the front.
From Kim there arrived exciting letters, in which he expressed a burning desire to leave the orphanage that he was sick of as soon as possible, come to Namangan and live a completely different life together with his own dear, caring, affectionate mother in a cozy and welcoming home environment, as it was before in Minsk. These letters stirred the mother’s soul. She was overwhelmed with desire to see her son as soon as possible, to hug and caress him, to ask and tell him about many things…
But his sincere, exuberant childish delight in anticipation of their meeting, and the rosy hopes for a new “home” life seriously worried Braina. She understood that Kim’s hopes were sparked by the memories of a safe, warm home in Minsk, where he was happy in being surrounded by loving and beloved, young, caring parents. Now he was to meet his aging, sick, and exhausted mother and live with her in an almost miserable existence in a cramped kibitka.
How would Kim perceive these unexpected conditions? Would it have an undesirable effect on his well-being, his behavior, and his studies? After some reflection and consulting with Genya, Braina came to the conclusion that Kim should stay in Petrovsk until the end of the school year in order to successfully finish the seventh grade, which would conclude his uncompleted junior high school education. This was important because, with a certificate of this education, it was possible to continue studying in specialized secondary schools for acquiring a specialty. In addition, Braina hoped that by the summer she would be physically stronger and would improve their financial situation. Furthermore, city officials had promised to soon bring electricity and running water to the barracks.
When Kim found out about the postponement of the meeting and the reasons why, he was upset and disappointed, tried to object, assured that he was not afraid of difficulties, but in the end, he had to agree to wait a few more months.
One winter evening, when Braina as usual was busy knitting by the light of a kerosene lamp, Genya returned from work upset, and in frustration complained to her sister that the principal of the orphanage had reproached her for the pupils in her group were failing at math tests, which became known to her by one of the schoolteachers.
Genya was very upset that she could not help the children, because she was not good at math. Braina mechanically asked about what particular sections of mathematics were the issue. Some time ago in her youth, when studying at the gymnasium, she had no problems with this subject. Genya took out a workbook, paper, and a pencil. Braina put away her knitting, read the problem, thought about it, and immediately found the right solution. Genya was delighted! Henceforth their kibitka was frequented by children from the orphanage — Braina with enthusiasm and great joy worked with them. After all, it was her favorite thing to do! The children quickly became friends with Braina. She helped them cope with their assignments not only in math, and in return, some of the kids learned to knit and helped her with the quota for making shawls.
Pretty soon the results of these classes had a noticeable effect on the school grades of the children in Genya’s group, and word spread in the orphanage that it was from the merit of Genya’s sister, who “cracks any problem, like a nut”. The director of the orphanage appreciated the benefits of such cooperation with Braina and offered her an hourly payment for her work, so that such consultations would become permanent. In addition, the kitchen was instructed to give Braina a free lunch each day.
Braina was extremely pleased and touched by this attitude. Unexpectedly having gained access again to the profession she loved, she felt not just moral satisfaction, but the true joy of creative work. This had a beneficial effect on her mood and overall health, not to mention the improvement of her material opportunities.
At the principal’s urgent request, Braina agreed to try to pull up a few hopelessly lagging students from different groups. And in this case, her pedagogical experience, natural talent, and patience bore fruit, awakening in most of the children an interest first in mathematics, and then in other school subjects. Things got better for them.
Braina (standing first on the left) teaching classes at the Namangan Children’s Home. 1944.
The orphanage began to treat Braina as their own freelance worker and even occasionally invited her to pedagogical council meetings. During one of these meetings in the spring of 1944, the principal accidentally learned from Braina that her son was in Petrovsky’s orphanage, and that she hoped to reunite with him soon. Knowing about the difficult household and material conditions in which the sisters lived, and sincerely wishing to help Braina, the principal expressed her willingness to enroll Kim among the children in her orphanage. Braina gratefully accepted this unexpected offer, and in May 1944 she sent the corresponding application and copies of the necessary documents to Petrovsk, and at the same time notifying Kim.