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

“AND SHE RAN AWAY: ‘THAT’S NOT MY DAUGHTER! NOT MI-I-INE!’ ”

Faina Lyutsko FIFTEEN YEARS OLD. NOW A CINEMA WORKER.

Every day I remember, but I still live…How do I live? Explain to me…

I remember that the death squads were all in black, black…With tall caps…Even their dogs were black. Shiny.

We clung to our mothers…They didn’t kill everyone, not the whole village. They took those who stood on the right. On the right side. And we were there with mama…We were separated: children here, and parents there. We understood that they were about to execute the parents and leave us to ourselves. Mama was there…I didn’t want to live without mama. I asked to stay with her and cried. Somehow they let me through…

As soon as she saw me, she shouted, “That’s not my daughter!”

“Mama dear! Ma…”

“That’s not my daughter! Not my daughter! Not mi-i-ine…”

“Mama-a-a!

Her eyes weren’t filled with tears, but with blood. Eyes full of blood…

“That’s not my daughter!”

They dragged me away somewhere…And I saw how they first shot the children. They shot and watched how the parents suffered. My two sisters and my two brothers were shot. Once the children were killed, they began killing the parents. I didn’t see my mama anymore…Mama probably fell down…

A woman stood holding a young baby in her arms; he was sucking at a little bottle of water. They first shot at the bottle, then at the baby…Only after that did they kill the mother…

I’m surprised that I can live after all that. I survived as a child…But how do I live as a grown-up? I’ve been a grown-up for a long time now…