Last Witnesses : An Oral History of the Children of World War II

“THEY TOOK THE KITTENS OUT OF THE COTTAGE…”

Tonia Rudakova FIVE YEARS OLD. NOW DIRECTOR OF A KINDERGARTEN.

The first year of the war…I remember little…

The Germans arrived in the morning; it was still gray outside. They lined everybody up on the meadow and ordered all those who had cropped heads to step forward. These were prisoners of war whom people had taken into their homes. They drove them into the woods and shot them.

Before that we used to run around outside the village. We played near the woods. But now we got scared.

I remember mama baking bread. A lot of bread: it lay on the benches, on the table, on towels on the floor, in the entryway. I was surprised.

“Mama, what do we need so much bread for? Those men have been shot. Who are you going to feed?”

She chased me out of the house. “Go play with the children…”

I was afraid that mama would be killed and followed her all the time.

During the night the partisans took the bread. Never again did I see so much bread. The Germans picked all the cottages clean, and we were starving. I didn’t understand…I asked mama, “Heat the oven and bake bread. Lots and lots.”

That’s all I remember from the first year of the war…

I probably grew older, because I remember more from later on. How our village was burned down…First they shot us, then they burned us. I came back from the other world…

They didn’t shoot people outside, but came into the cottages. We all stood by the window.

“Now they’re going to shoot Aniska…”

“They’ve finished at Aniska’s. They’re going to Aunt Anfisa’s…”

And we stood there, we waited. They were coming to shoot us. Nobody cried, nobody shouted. We stood there. We had a neighbor and her little sons with us. She said, “Let’s go outside. They don’t shoot people outside.”

They came into the front yard: the first one was a soldier, the second an officer. The officer was tall, his boots were tall, his cap was tall. I remember it very well…

They started pushing us toward the house. Our neighbor fell on the grass and kissed the officer’s boots. “We won’t go. We know you’ll shoot us there.”

They shout, “Zurük! Zurük!”—meaning “Go back.” In the house mama was sitting on a bench by the table. And I remember that she took a little mug of milk and began to feed our little brother. It was so quiet that we heard him slurping.

I sat in a corner and put a broom in front of me. There was a long tablecloth on the table. Our neighbor’s son hid under the table. Under the tablecloth. My brother got under the bed. And the neighbor knelt by the door and pleaded for everybody.

“Dear sir, we have little children. Many little children…”

I remember her pleading. For a long time.

The officer went to the table, lifted up the tablecloth, and fired. A cry came from there. He fired again. The neighbor’s son cried out…He fired five times…

He looked at me…No matter how I tried to hide behind the broom, I couldn’t do it. He had such beautiful brown eyes…Just think, I remember that…I was so frightened that I asked, “Are you going to kill me, mister?” He didn’t say anything. Just then the soldier came out from the other room. I mean…he tore down the big curtain dividing the rooms, that’s all. He called the officer and showed him—there were little kittens lying on the bed. There was no cat, just the kittens. They picked them up, smiled, started playing with them. They finished playing, and the officer gave them to the soldier to be taken outside. They took the kittens out of the cottage…

I remember my dead mama’s hair burning…And, next to her, our little brother’s swaddling clothes…My older brother and I crawled over them, me holding on to his pant leg: first to the backyard, then to the kitchen garden. We hid among the potatoes till evening, then we crawled into the bushes. There I burst into tears…

How did we manage to stay alive? I don’t remember…My brother and I and the four kittens stayed alive. Our grandmother, who lived across the river, came and took us all…