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

“A BIG FAMILY PHOTOGRAPH…”

Tolya Chervyakov FIVE YEARS OLD. NOW A PHOTOGRAPHER.

If something has stayed in my memory, it’s like a big family photograph…

My father is in the foreground with his rifle, wearing an officer’s cap. He wore it even in winter. The cap and the rifle are outlined more clearly than my father’s face. I really wanted to have my own cap and rifle. A little boy!

Next to my father—mama. I don’t remember her from those years, but instead I remember what she used to do: she was constantly laundering something white; she smelled of medicine. Mama was a nurse in a partisan brigade.

My little brother and I are there somewhere. He was always sick. I remember him—red, his whole body covered with scabs. He and mama both cry at night. He from pain, mama from fear that he will die.

And then, in the big peasant cottage which housed mama’s hospital, I see women carrying mugs. The mugs contain milk. They pour the milk into a bucket, and mama bathes my brother in it. My brother doesn’t cry that night, he sleeps. For the first night…In the morning, mama says to my father, “How will I repay the people?”

A big photograph…One big photograph…