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

Mama kept several pieces of sugar. A small paper bag. It was our golden reserve. One day…I couldn’t resist, I knew where the sugar was, I climbed up and took a piece. Several days later, another one…Then…Some time went by—and again…Soon there was nothing left in mama’s little bag. An empty bag…

Mama fell ill…She needed glucose. Sugar…She couldn’t stand up anymore…At the family council, we decided to fetch the precious little bag. Our treasure! Well, we had saved it for such a day! Mama would most certainly recover. My older sister went searching, but there was no sugar. We ransacked the entire house. I searched along with everyone.

But in the evening I confessed…

My sister beat me. Bit me. Scratched me. And I begged her, “Kill me! Kill me! How can I go on living?!” I wanted to die.

I’ve told you about a few days. But there were nine hundred.

Nine hundred days like that…

Before my eyes a girl stole a bread roll from a woman in the market. A little girl…

She was caught and knocked to the ground. They started beating her…Beat her terribly. Beat her to death. But she hurried to eat, to swallow the roll. To swallow it before they killed her.

Nine hundred days like that…

Our grandfather became so weak that one time he fell down in the street. He had already said goodbye to life. A worker passed by, workers had better ration cards, slightly, but better…Anyhow…So this worker stopped and poured sunflower oil in my grandfather’s mouth—his ration. Grandfather walked back home, told us, and wept: “I don’t even know his name!”

Nine hundred…

People moved slowly around the city, like shadows. Like in sleep…In deep sleep…I mean, you see it, but you think you’re dreaming. Those slow…those floating movements…It’s like the person isn’t walking on the ground, but on water…

People’s voices changed from hunger. Or disappeared completely. It was impossible to identify people by their voices—a man or a woman? Or by their clothes. Everybody was wrapped in some kind of rags. Our breakfast…our breakfast was a piece of wallpaper, old wallpaper, but it still had paste on it. Flour paste. So there was this wallpaper…and boiled water…

Nine hundred days…

I walk home from the bakery…I’ve got my daily ration. Those crumbs, those miserable grams…And a dog runs toward me. He comes up to me and sniffs—he smells the bread.

I understood that this was our chance. This dog…Our salvation! I’ll bring the dog home…

I gave him a piece of bread, and he followed after me. Near the house I nipped off another piece. He licked my hand. We went through the entryway. But he went up the stairs reluctantly, he stopped on every floor. I gave him all our bread…Piece by piece…So we went up to the fourth floor, and our apartment was on the fifth. There he stopped and wouldn’t go any farther. He looked at me…as if he sensed something. Understood. I hugged him: “My dear dog, forgive me…My dear dog, forgive me…” I asked him, I begged him. And he went.

We really wanted to live…

We heard…They said on the radio, “The siege is broken! The siege is broken!” We were the happiest of people. There could be no greater happiness. We had survived! The siege was broken…

Our soldiers walked down our street. I ran up to them…But I wasn’t strong enough to embrace them.

There are many monuments in Leningrad, but one that should be there is missing. We forgot about it. It’s a monument to the dogs of the siege.

My dear dog, forgive me…

“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…