Katerina

27

DURING THE DREADFUL NINETEEN FORTIES I almost didn’t write, and what I did write, I destroyed with my own hand. I worked without fatigue, as if the beet field were my own farm. The trains, which would pass before us, were crammed with Jews. All the women were happy that we would be rid of them once and for all.

They would fight among themselves over every piece of cake, blouse, or ointment. The cells in solitary confinement were full, and shouts were heard day and night. The jailers used to spray water into the cells to silence the women. During the nineteen forties, darkness descended upon me. All my bonds with my dear ones were severed. I knocked on the doors at night in vain. No sign, or any word, came from them, only darkness upon darkness and a great abyss.

At that time a skin disease spread over my body. The disease ravaged my face and made it hideous. “The monster,” the prisoners used to whisper. My face was covered with red and pink spots, and my hands swelled. I was like an uninhabited cave, with no sights and no thoughts. True, they still didn’t dare offend me and they didn’t abuse me. Mainly, I worked alone, and if they attached a prisoner to me, she refrained from talking to me. Sometimes the chief jailer would come into my room and exchange a few words. Once she asked me if I wanted to return to the shed. “I’m better off here,” I said, and she didn’t bother me about that anymore.

Sweet and sourish smells wafted in from every side. I didn’t know that was the smell of death. Everybody else knew, and they said it, that it was the smell of the Jews’ death, but I refused to listen. I was certain they were wicked hallucinations.

In the early morning, while I was still pulling beets out of the earth, long freight trains would pass by. The prisoners used to greet the trains with shouts of joy, “Death to the merchants, death to the Jews.” They knew everything. Their senses were lively. They sat in prison, but they knew everything that was going on around them—how many Jews had been sent and how many were going to be sent. Each train aroused a wave of joy, and at night they would sing:

That was a mighty song that reverberated until late. The jailers ignored standing orders and let them sing. They sang enthusiastically, the way they sang Christmas carols, and they tapped their feet and bellowed.

And I, almighty God, I took care of myself. I was certain that pink, virulent sickness would do away with me. That concern filled my whole being. Now, when I think about my blindness and selfishness, shame devours me. Let me quickly add that it was then that I once again found a path to the Psalms. I clung to the holy words, and I used to pray for long hours. The verses would calm my fears. Forgive me, God, for that selfish prayer as well.

Day after day the trains rolled by. There was no longer any doubt that death was not far away. In the courtyard, wagons heaped with clothes stood abandoned. No one wanted them. Moisture ruined them, and within a matter of days they lost their shape. On visiting days, people no longer brought clothes but gold jewels.

At lunch, Sigi approached me and said, “It’s hard for me to bear your silence, Katerina. Not many years ago we were friends. Why are you pushing me away? I have no one in this world.”

“I’m not angry at you.”

“Why won’t you come back to us in the shed? It’s easier together than alone. Isolation makes you sick.”

“I need to be by myself. To sit quietly and heal my wounds.”

“Come to us. We need you very much.”

“Thanks, Sigi.”

“We women are all responsible for each other, aren’t we?”

“True.” I said what I had to.

Sigi had grown old in the past two years. Her full face, which had known both lust and faith, had sagged. When the day came and she was set free, she wouldn’t know what to do with her freedom. Her face had put on a prison mask, the same pallor and the same neglect. Now she still sang at night, but on the outside she wouldn’t know how to open her mouth. No wonder all her relatives had abandoned her and her children had not even visited once.

“You’re thinking about the Jews.” She surprised me.

“True. How do you know?”

“You mustn’t think about them. That’s their fate. That’s God’s will.”

“I understand.”

“We mustn’t ask about what’s above us and what’s below us. Do you understand?”