Entry VI – February 23rd 1949
Last night, I dreamt of the camp. All the memories I had tried to erase had coerced themselves into my subconscious. The most frustrating thing was that I had no control over what my subliminal psyche brought to the fore; forced me to relive. The wretched reminiscences haunting my dreams are disturbing; unfit to be disclosed.
I am penning my entry this morning from the shelter. Justus and Petrus left about ten minutes ago for a swim in the pool. Hannah’s accompanied them to fetch more water for washing. I had readily volunteered to stay back and ‘hold fort’. It gave me an excuse to avoid the water and continue with my autobiography.
I shall begin my rather long tale of the build-up to our escape; the four months prior to our conspiring the getaway.
An hour after my horrific experience with the bleach-bath, Hannah, Nikola and I were set to work.
Dressed but lacking all dignity, we filed rigidly out of the filthy bath complex, and waited. The officer, seemingly in command, who’d had to decency to prevent my rape, had bawled a second command to the soldier who he’d reprimanded, apparently instructing him guard over us. The rapist-officer was now leant against the wall, puffing a cigarette. A dull-metalled gun was slung over his arm. A haughty silence loitered in-amongst the clouds of heaven.
I managed a brief glance. He was rather short; possessed a crop of blonde hair, and a large, crooked nose. Plastered upon his face was a monstrous smirk. I had the overwhelming desire to clout the arrogant little man in the mouth.
I kept my impetuous desires at bay, forcing to the fore of my mind pleasant memories of my childhood.
You may have noticed that, up until this point, there has been no mention of my parents. I suppose I have been avoiding the subject. You see, the fondest of my recollections are the ones in which my mother and father do not appear.
My mother’s name was Anastajia. Hannah remembers her, but I do not. Both she and the child she had carried within her womb died in childbirth when I was only eighteen months old.
My father was a drinker. He did not show me love: the kind of affection and attention a child expects from a parent. However, I was fed and clothed and schooled. Pride was the main motivation behind my father’s slaving to earn money. Pater had re-married when I was three years old, to a woman named Lucia. She was strict and disciplined; possessed a belittling tongue and a pessimistic outlook. Lucia was a decent housewife, but hadn’t an ounce of patience.
That day, in the camp, I thought back to happy summers at my grandfathers’ cottage. Such recollections warmed my heart. Nearly every summer, Hannah and I were sent to stay with our Grandfather – my birthmother’s father – in southern Germany. Oh – how wonderful those few months of the year were! My Grandpapa was a lovely man; extremely affectionate and caring and optimistic.
He used to say that I looked like my mother. I think perhaps that I made him feel sad, for through those summer months, I was a constant reminder of what he had lost. Still, he made time for me and Hannah. It was incredibly refreshing to be in the company of an individual who embodied the virtue of patience.
He passed away two weeks after his eight-fourth birthday. His death was somewhat expected, (he had suffered with Cancer of the Prostrate for many long, painful years) but still incredibly devastating.
Where was I? Oh, yes: now, allow me to continue.
I had been separated from Hannah and Nikola, who were standing further frontward in the throng. My eyes groped for them. I spotted them, slouching, bundling their limbs for warmth. Panic rose in my throat. I felt vulnerable - naked - without them by my side. An icy wind gently whistled across the grounds, prickling my skin. I clenched and unclenched my fists, trying to boost circulation. The cold had seized my joints; fused them crooked.
A cluster of solid brick buildings – seemingly made up of bunk-houses, an armoury, and offices – lay only a few yards away. From the nearest exit marched a well-built officer, with a gold tooth and yellow fingertips.
The thud of his soiled hobnail boots riddled the earth with echoes. Turning his back to us, he shared a few words - and clearly a dirty joke – with the rapist-officer. Seedy laughs broke the stillness of noon air. Suddenly, Gold-tooth twirled on his heel. His gaze was intense; piercing. It was as though he was staring right through each and every one of us; examining our very organs. A chilling shiver tingled down my back, and my blood turned ice cold.
His tone of voice was rich and deep; possessed certain aloofness. His words slashed through the air like a knife.
‘You have committed crimes against the United States of the Soviet Republic. You are enslaved to labour for a minimum of twenty-five years.’
Gold-tooth took a long, deep pause, as if to fully capture our reaction. The expression slapped across his disgusting face reflected just how much he had relished dropping that bombshell.
Stifled gasps rippled through the congregated throng. A young, pasty-faced girl clinging to her mothers’ leg began to wail. A woman stood only a few feet away from me swooned into the arms of another. An adolescent, perhaps no older than fourteen, collapsed to the dirt, audible sobs racking her body.
The scene was disturbingly pitiful.
My knees suddenly felt weak, as if there was nothing to support my upper body-weight. I slumped to the earth, devastation flooding my veins.
‘Silence!’ he screeched angrily, thudding his gun to the ground. The earth seemed to quake beneath us, or perhaps I just imagined it so. Forcibly wrenching my limbs from the ground, I stood upright, physically paralysed with terror.
All at once, a hush descended. I swear you could’ve heard the drop of pin.
‘That’s better.’ Gold-tooth’s tone was studded with arrogance. He cleared his throat. ‘You are here to be punished. Your labour begins right now. You will work for a minimum of eleven hours a day. Because half the day has gone already, you will work into the night.’
He turned, motioned the rapist-officer.
‘Take them.’
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