The Secret Holocaust Diaries: The Untold Story of Nonna Bannister (9 page)

There would be music playing, and the children would hold hands and dance around the tree, which was lit with candles. The children would sing of
yolka
or
yolotchka
(the type of pine or blue spruce tree that was used). Later they would form a line “by twos” and, with great anticipation, wait for Ded Moroz to arrive. When he would appear, there would be clapping of hands and shouts of excitement. Ded Moroz would sit by the exit door with the sack full of goodies and hand out a small bag to each child. In the sack the children would find some chocolate candy, cookies, nuts, etc., and if they were lucky, they might even find a small book or a game of some sort. Then school was dismissed for a two-week winter vacation.

As for Anatoly and me, the greatest celebration and the good times were only beginning. We were packing our suitcases (stuffing them with as many things as possible) and getting ready to make the most glorious and exciting journey by train to our grandmother’s
dacha.
We had the most fun-filled two weeks ahead of us, and we were absolutely ecstatic. It was going to be the best winter vacation we had ever had—especially for me, since it was my first trip to the dacha. Mama and Papa were almost as excited as Anatoly and me, but you could see the sadness in Papa’s eyes because he had to stay behind in Rostov, while Mama was going with us. Two weeks was a very long time for Papa not to have us around, but he was willing to make the sacrifice just to see us having the greatest time of our lives.

11: Our Journey by Train

While at the village, Babushka was preparing all the goodies and getting ready for our visit—which she called the best time of her life. We were too excited to think of anything except the train ride to Santurinowka (Konstantinowka). We rode the streetcar to one of the biggest train stations in the city of Rostov. By the time we arrived at the station, it was quite dark and very cold outside—it must have been one of the coldest winters. The days were very short in the wintertime, anyway, and by 4:00 it looked as though it was late at night.

The station was packed with people, and everyone seemed to be pushing their way to the platform where the trains were arriving and departing. With each departing train, there would be the fear that there would not be another train—or at least that was what I was thinking—but Mama kept assuring me that our train was definitely coming.

Anatoly was holding my hand tightly, as though he was afraid to lose me in the crowd. Mama trusted him completely. Even though he was only two years older than me, he was much bigger and acted very grown-up. Mama and Papa both could always rely on him to protect his little sister, and I knew too that as long as he held my hand, I was quite safe.

NONNA AND ANATOLY •
Nonna possessed a deep love for her brother, looking to him for comfort and security. Anatoly played games with Nonna and read books to her. He taught her how to ice-skate. Nonna described Anatoly’s departure at age fifteen as the “saddest time of my life.” She was “heartbroken” when Papa sent him away on another train trip, for his own safety.

She wrote, “I never lost hope that somehow he would come home, and so many times when I would hear the train whistle, I would run outside, sit on the steps, and watch the trains for a long time thinking that he would be on one of those trains—coming home. I did that for a long, long time, all the while praying to God that this would happen, like a miracle of some kind. After all, Anatoly promised that I would see him sometimes. . . . I never got over losing Anatoly, and for many years, and all through World War II, I kept hoping that my brother would find me and come back to me. . . . I think of him constantly, and there is still a flicker of hope that he is alive.”

But when our train finally arrived, we became so excited by the first sound of the train whistle that we pushed our way through the crowd, and Mama had a very hard time catching up with us. After we boarded the train and got seated in our places, it seemed as though the train would not move, but once again Mama assured us there was nothing to worry about—that there were a lot of people who had to board this train and that we would be on our way in no time. Of course, she was right again, and soon we were actually moving. It was very warm on the train, and since I was all tired out, I had a hard time keeping my eyes open. But every time I dozed off, Anatoly would give me a nudge, and make me look out the window. After a while, even all his nudges did not keep me awake. What did wake me up was the screeching of the train’s brakes—it was coming to a stop.

Anatoly was checking the sign on the station and reading it out loud—“K-O-N-S-T-A-N-T-I-N-O-W-K-A.” This woke me up very quickly, and in no time all the excitement took over again. There were only two people getting off the train besides us—and as we stepped off the train onto the platform, I looked at Mama and saw a worried look on her face. The first thing I thought was that Anatoly had made a mistake reading the sign and we had gotten off at the wrong station—but it was very cold outside, and Mama rushed us to get inside the station. Unlike the big station that we had left in Rostov, this one was small, and there were only a few people huddled in the corners of the benches trying to stay warm. There was a large potbellied stove burning, and it felt good just to come close to it.

Just as Mama was becoming concerned about our having to walk in all that snow and cold to Grandmother’s house, through the door came this little old man—or at least that’s the way he looked to me. It was Petrovich, and he was not that old then. He had a big smile on his face. Needless to say, Mama was extremely happy to see him.

“Petrovich, you know Anatoly, and this is my little one,
Nonnatchka,
” Mama introduced me.

“Let’s hurry—the horses are getting restless, and I surely don’t want them to get chilled,” commanded Petrovich.

With great amazement, I looked over at the sleigh. I was somewhat frightened by the noises the horses were making, so I let Anatoly get in first.

“Don’t be afraid, Nonnatchka,” Anatoly reassured me. “It’s a lot of fun to ride in a sleigh.”

He was talking as though he was an “old pro” at that kind of ride. And he was right. After Petrovich threw the covers over our backs and our legs, it was warm and cozy, and even the cold wind against which we were riding did not seem to bother us too much. The roads were already packed with snow, and the sleigh was moving smoothly—there was a full moon, and there was plenty of light.

We arrived at the gates of Grandmother’s home much too soon. Anatoly and I were disappointed that the ride was so short—especially since I had really begun to enjoy the whole thing. Grandmother’s house was not that far from the station, and it had not taken more than ten or fifteen minutes to get there. However, Mama was very glad that Petrovich had come to get us so we didn’t have to make a long walk, dragging all our luggage along.

The house was lit up, with the shutters still open—there was no electricity in the village yet, but the utility poles could be seen along the roadside. Grandmother had plenty of light in every room by using oil lamps, lanterns, and all kinds of candles. Babushka was already standing by the gate, wrapped up in her shawl. As soon as she saw us, she shouted, “They are here!” It was almost like some general had given a command—the whole army of relatives came rushing out of the house.

First out was Uncle Zhenya (Yevgeny), who was only about fifteen or sixteen years old at the time and was Mama’s youngest brother. He was a very good-looking young man who, according to Babushka, had inherited his good looks from his father, Yakov. He was tall and had black hair, dark brown eyes, and a very light complexion.

“He surely would make a handsome Cossack,” Grandmother would proudly say.

COSSACK •
Grandmother Feodosija’s compliments of Zhenya reflected her unrequited hope that her son would follow in his father’s footsteps. Yakov had been a member of the Tsar’s Imperial Guard as well as of the independent militant group known as the Don Cossacks.

Then came Uncle Ljonya (Leonid), who was somewhat shy and not very tall, with light brown hair and blue eyes like Grandmother’s—he was probably eighteen or nineteen years old. Aunt Tonja was next—she was petite and beautiful with light brown hair (almost blond) and hazel-colored eyes. She was engaged to be married that year and was in a dream world of her own. Aunt Xenja and her husband, Vladimir (Valodya), were absent that year. Then the cousins, one by one, came running out to meet their “big city” relatives: Halina—Uncle Ivan’s daughter, who was the same age as Anatoly; Aljoscha (Alexey), Halina’s brother, who was about a year or so younger than I; and the last one, Ludmila, who was just a baby (perhaps two years old)—she was Uncle Ivan’s littlest girl.

12: Homecoming Welcome

Petrovich took off as soon as he could to put the horses in the stable and put the sleigh away. He was quite tired and was ready to retire to his cottage, which was located between the stable and the orchard. When everyone was reacquainted, all the excitement began to turn to yawns—after all, it was near midnight, and it had been a long day.

After putting the baby (Ludmila) in her cradle, Grandmother returned with yet another announcement to make. Her command stirred everyone up once again: “Listen, all of you!” Grandmother went on, “I would like to make a dedication to my youngest son, Zhenya, and my oldest grandson, Anatoly.” Everyone looked at Grandmother with great curiosity as she went on: “The reason that this dedication is to both of them is because last year I caught both of them sneaking out of the house at the indecent hour of 4:00 a.m., carrying their precious porcelain pots to the sewage tank.” At this time, laughter broke out, and Anatoly’s face turned red with embarrassment. I wanted to come to his rescue, but there was no chance, so I had to watch him endure the humiliation—until even he started to laugh along with the rest of them.

ZHENYA AND ANATOLY •
Though they were uncle and nephew, the two boys seem to have played together. Nonna says that Zhenya was “fifteen or sixteen” at the time, though she might have been mistaken. Anatoly, born in 1925, would have been seven.

Grandmother continued: “To think that I always wondered why their potties were so empty and clean in the mornings.”

Then Grandmother commanded everyone to follow her down the corridor, and there at the end of the hallway was this small closet with a drape drawn at its entrance. With a look of great pride, Grandmother opened the drape, and there it was!—the only one of its kind in the village—a round toilet bowl with a fine, handcrafted wooden top. It was attached to the floor, with modern plumbing connected to pipes underground and all the way to the sewage tank, which was located about three hundred feet from the house.

It was not as modern as the one that we had in Rostov. Ours had a water tank above with a copper chain and a fine porcelain knob attached to the end of the chain. One pulled the chain to flush the toilet. However, this one was extraordinary. It had a big water container in the corner behind the toilet bowl with a bucket attached to it. This container had to be filled when it got empty. This was another chore for us to do—to carry water from the well near the kitchen door. We had to take turns doing that chore, as with all of us there, it did not take long for the container to get empty.

Well, after the “dedication ceremony” and the embarrassment that poor Anatoly had to go through, everyone was really happy to have such a wonderful thing in the house. Besides, we all benefited from it by not having to carry our potties out in the cold mornings. As for me, since it was my first visit to the village, it really did not make much difference, but I was glad for Anatoly and Uncle Zhenya.