I held a letter from a Russian cousin in my hand! From the daughter of my father’s sister. At the end of World War II father’s young and beautiful sister, Rena, a nurse at the local hospital, had been loaded unto a truck and taken to Russia. We never heard from her again. I poured myself a cup of tea to restore my equanimity. Then I sat down to read her letter:
Dear Roswitha,
Your father and my mother were brother and sister. For many years I have dreamt of tracking down your name and address one day, and finally I have succeeded. I was born and grew up in Russia and recently, after turning 75, I was aloud to retire and allowed to travel to Germany.
Rena, my mother, grew up in Germany. World War II had just ended and Russian troops occupied our town. She was working in the local hospital when Russian soldiers came and loaded all doctors and nurses onto trucks and carted them off to Russia. They were taken to labor camps where they had to work. I was born in the first camp.
While Mother worked in the fields, she tied me around her front to protect me from the whip of the foremen because she often collapsed from hunger and fatigue. She and others spent nights in a cave to be protected from rain and cold. It’s only thanks to her love and caring that she and I survived. She never let me out of her sight, because hunger was so acute that the other prisoners would have gladly eaten me if given a chance.
She taught me to read and write. But very little, because it was not easy. We had no books, no paper, no pens. Nor did we have time; as soon as I could walk I had to work at whatever I could do. A friend wrote this letter for me, because for many years I have been speaking only Russian—ever since mother died, long ago.
During the winter they truck us to factories to work there. Sometimes little, sometimes much. We never know. Life is unpredictable. Mother had more children, I did too. But they were taken away. I think one of my granddaughters may still be alive. They do not want us to have children or friends. We are always separated and put in different camps. We rarely know where we are. Russia is very large. They did not school us, only when necessary for work we are doing.
I have a train ticket to return to Russia in two weeks. I do not know if I can stay longer in Germany. Can I see you?
I would very much like that.
Natascha.
A hundred questions flooded my mind. Should I send her a plane ticket to come to America? Would she get a visa? Once here would she ever be able to go back? Or would she be stranded here? Should I travel to Germany and see her? Would we be able to communicate? I didn’t speak a word of Russian and she not a word of English. If I sent her money would she get it? Every letter to or from East Germany used to be opened and read by the Communists. It took many months to get mail from East to West Germany. Had it changed after Germany’s reunification? Worse, Natascha was a Russian citizen who had worked in labor camps all her life. I wondered how much freedom or privacy she was allotted.
Truth can be stranger than fiction. I decided to sleep on it.
Until next time,
Rosi
