The war changed everything. Women and children replaced men.
We had
harvest in August and September 1941, two months before the war had started and
women were everywhere. Even driving trucks for pickups were women. In my
school, post office, the farm, almost everywhere. Only men who couldn't be
replaced and old men, they stayed. And young boys, teenagers who were too young
to join the army. Every day when I looked or we looked at each other, we knew
there is war.
My aunt
left to work on a factory that was making tanks. Once a month me and my cgrandmother
were bringing her food. The factory was in a city, far. We had to walk for
about an hour and catch a truck going to the city.
It was winter,
February, cold. Me, and my grandmother were walking to the stop and when we got
there in an hour, there were no truck. My heart felt like dropped, and surely,
my grandmother's too.
We waited
for another hour, alone, on the field of snow. And there were no trucks.
“We have to
go to another stop" – my grandmother said wearing her bag back on her
back.
We started
to walk again. For one more hour. I don't remember, I was freezing. My face, my
legs, my feet, everything. Soon I couldn't walk. I set at the snow and started
to cry.
I looked
around, white snow and clear blue sky. There were no trees or hills. Only big
open space.
I felt I
was dreaming. The sun was just shining through me.
Some one
kicked my foot. I looked up, almost like in a dream.
“I cannot walk
anymore “ – I looked at her.
She looked
so high up. White like snow, with light blue eyes.
“I cannot walk
anymore “ – I replied.
My
grandmother looked at me, like she was very angry.
“What are
you going to do? Freeze here?”
And some
power lifted me up and put back on my feet.
We started
to walk again. In two four hours I was hugging my aunt. She was so happy. We
stayed with her at the room she was living with other women working at the
factory. The room was packed, I had little space on the floor.
My aunt sat
close to me, she smiled. Then she covered my head with a blanket leaving tiny
space to breathe.
“This is
your little house “ – she said smiling again.
