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

“LIKE RIPE PUMPKINS…”

Yakov Kolodinsky SEVEN YEARS OLD. NOW A TEACHER.

The first bombardment…

They began dropping bombs…We dragged pillows, clothing into the garden, under the cherry tree; the pillows were big, we couldn’t be seen behind them, only our legs stuck out. The planes flew away, and we dragged everything back into the house. And so it went several times a day. Later we already didn’t care about anything, our mother just gathered us children, and we left everything else behind.

That day…I believe I’ve added something from what my father told, but I remember most of it myself. In the morning…Mist in the garden. The cows had already been taken out. My mother woke me up, gave me a mug of warm milk. It was nearly time to go to the fields. My father was riveting the scythe.

“Volodya.” A neighbor knocked at the window, calling my father. He went outside. “We’d better run for it…The Germans are going through the village with a list. Somebody reported all the Communists. They’ve taken the teacher…”

They both scrambled through the kitchen gardens into the forest. After a while, two Germans and a polizei came into our house.

“Where is the man?”

“He’s gone haymaking,” answered my mother.

They went through the house, looked around, didn’t touch us, and left.

The blue morning haze was still hanging outside. Chilly air. Mama and I watched from behind the gate: a neighbor was pushed out into the street, they were tying his hands, the teacher was taken, too…They tied everybody’s hands behind their backs and stood them two by two. I had never seen a man tied up. I began to shiver. My mother chased me away: “Go into the house, put on your jacket.” I stood there in my shirt, trembling all over, but didn’t go into the house.

Our house stood right in the middle of the village. They gathered everybody there. It all happened quickly. The prisoners were standing, their heads bowed. They counted them according to their list, and led them outside the village. There were many village men and the woman teacher.

The women and children ran after them. They were led quickly. We were left behind. We ran up to the last barn and heard gunshots. People started falling, falling and getting back up. They executed them quickly and were about to leave. One German on a motorcycle turned around and drove all over those dead people. He had something heavy in his hands…Either a bludgeon or a crank from his motorcycle…I don’t remember…Driving slowly, without getting off of the motorcycle, he smashed all of their heads…Another German wanted to finish them off with his gun; but the first one waved his hand as if to say no need. They all drove off, but he didn’t drive off until he had smashed everyone’s head. I had never heard the sound of cracking human bones…I remember that they cracked like ripe pumpkins, when my father split them with an ax and I scraped out the seeds.

I got so scared that I abandoned mama and everybody and ran off somewhere. Alone. I didn’t hide in a house, but for some reason in a barn; mother looked for me for a long time. I couldn’t utter a word for two days. Not a sound.

I was afraid to go outside. I saw through the window a man carrying a board, a second an ax, and a third a bucket. The boards were trimmed, the smell of freshly planed wood was in every yard, because in almost every yard there was a coffin. Even now I get a lump in my throat from that smell. To this day…

In the coffins lay people I knew. None had their heads. Instead of their heads, something wrapped in a white cloth…Whatever could be found…

…My father came back with two partisans. It was a quiet evening, the cows had been brought in. It was time for bed, but my mother prepared us to set out. We put on our suits. I had two other brothers—one was four years old, the other nine months old. I was the biggest. We got to the forges, stopped there, and my father looked back. I also looked back. The village no longer looked like a village, but like a dark, unknown forest.

Mama carried my little brother. My father carried the bundles and my middle brother. And I couldn’t keep up with them. A young partisan said, “Put him on my back.”

So he carried his machine gun and me…