Katerina

26

I READ THE PSALMS and prayed to God not to lead me into temptation. Aside from the Old and New testaments, books were forbidden. Only there, in that darkness, did I learn to pray. I am not sure whether it was conventional prayer, but I felt devotion to the words and that devotion sometimes drew me out of the darkness in which I was lying.

But the sights one sees are stronger than the soul’s yearnings. The women’s wing was flooded with blouses, sweaters, pillows, and candlesticks. That loot blinded me. Everyone received gifts, even the women who hadn’t received anything at first. Lipsticks, bottles of cologne, and a few packets of soap also made their way in here.

The chief jailer averted her eyes from several infractions, and it was clear that a new regime had arisen. The face of things outside had changed. All the women were awaiting a tall, strong man who would come and break down the iron doors and free them. A kind of dark joy enveloped the women by their bedsides. They laughed wantonly and flounced about in the Jewish clothes.

Sophia, who slept in the neighboring bed, got a long silk dress from her sister, a necklace, and two jackets. Her lust for new clothing calmed her fears. Now she strutted about with her neck outstretched like a peacock’s. “Don’t wear those clothes,” I asked her, but she ignored my request.

The long dress imbued her with courage. She spoke like a peasant woman about to marry her daughter off in the city, as though her fears were forgotten. My hands shook, but I restrained myself. Finally, I couldn’t contain myself and I said, “At thy enemies’ fall shalt thou not rejoice.”

“So it’s forbidden to dress up?” she said impudently.

“It’s permitted to dress up, but it’s forbidden to rejoice.”

“I hate sanctimonious people.”

“I’m a simple woman, not sanctimonious. I’ve never been sanctimonious in my life. I didn’t preserve my body for myself, but I won’t wear the clothes of persecuted people. It’s forbidden to wear the victims’ clothes. Torments are holy.”

“Why do you always defend the Jews?”

“I was talking about taking malicious pleasure.”

“I can’t live on proverbs. With me, feeling comes before everything.”

My arms were already charged with power, but I, for some reason, still checked myself. But she went on, saying, “We’re talking openly. Let’s not hide our hatred.” I couldn’t bear it any longer. I lifted my arms and knocked her down. No one came to her assistance, and I knew no one would. I stood there and beat her resoundingly with my fists. She was bleeding when the chief jailer rescued her.

They don’t put true murderesses in solitary confinement but in a special room with a bunk and sink. Before long the chief jailer motioned to pack up my things and move them to the special room. I did so, saying nothing.

“Why did you beat her?” the chief jailer asked me without raising her voice.

“She drove me crazy.”

“You have to restrain yourself.” She spoke like a woman who knew people’s weaknesses.

“I wanted to hit her for a long time.”

“Now you’ll have to live in total isolation.”

“I’m already used to not talking.”

“A person still needs a little company, isn’t that so?”

“I can be by myself.”

“I’ll come and visit you,” said the chief jailer, and locked the door.

A new life opened before me. Indeed the room was very narrow, but when I stood on my bed I could fill my gaze with fields and meadows. Moreover, the room wasn’t entirely isolated. In the evening I caught the prisoners’ voices, and from their voices I learned that the Jews had already been driven out of their homes and the looting was continuing. People celebrated with malicious joy until late at night.

Only after midnight was I with myself and my dear ones. The gates of the land opened before me, and Benjamin came toward me, crawling under the table. I saw the shadows of his hands, and the room filled with his laughter. He had not grown since he was taken from me. Now his look is like that of a little Jesus, clasped in his mother’s arms, just like the wooden relief carved by an artist in the chapel. I bent my knee and called to him, “Benjamin, my dear.” But I was immediately alarmed by the words my dear, because I never called him my dear. “Benjamin,”I say. “Your mother is talking. Why are you hiding?” I stepped back a little, waiting for him to appear, but he didn’t come out from under the table. I gathered my strength and took a few steps on my knees, saying, “Benjamin, I’m your mother. Don’t you remember my voice?”

“I’m here.” I heard his voice, familiar to the marrow of my bones.

“I want to see you.”

“I’m right at your side.” I heard his laugh.

I tried to lift my knees, but my knees wouldn’t come away from the floor.

When I woke up the next day, I felt his body in my arms.

That morning they placed us, Sophia and me, in the same row. There were still some black-and-blue marks on her face from the blows I had showered upon her. She begged and pleaded not to be put next to me. A few of the prisoners felt sorry for her and were willing to trade places, but the jailer stubbornly refused. Finally, she had no choice but to take the spade in her hand and force it into the hard earth. She worked at my side in dread, without lifting her head and without uttering a sound.

“Why aren’t you talking?” I addressed her.

She was alarmed. She raised her head and said, “I’m afraid. They put you in solitary confinement because of me.”

“I won’t hit you again.”

“But I’m afraid.”

“For my part, I won’t hit you. I swear by my departed parents that I won’t hit you. Solitary confinement isn’t so bad. And how are things in the sheds?” I tried to continue the conversation.

“Everything’s fine. The mood is good. The Germans are doing great things on the front, driving the Jews out of the villages. There’s lots of booty. Everybody’s getting something out of it.” For a moment she was swept away by that enthusiasm, but she immediately noticed her error, took her head in both hands, and shouted, “I made a mistake again! I sinned again!”

“What’s the matter?” I tried to calm her down.

“I always annoy you.”

“Today you’re not annoying me anymore. You can talk as much as you please.”

“I won’t talk. I’m afraid to talk.”

“I’m a Ruthenian daughter of Ruthenians, and nothing Ruthenian is alien to me. When I die, they’ll lay me next to my mother and father. You mustn’t be afraid.”

“I’m afraid. What can I do? It’s hard to stop fear.” She was relieved, apparently, and she wept. For a moment I was about to put my hands on her shoulders, but in my heart I knew that would frighten her very much. She wept for a long time and finally immersed herself in her work, not speaking to me again until the evening.