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Authors: Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch
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yellow star, standing in a lineup just like this.
“Remove all of your clothing,” said a uniformed woman in a bored voice.
I turned to Marusia in alarm, but she was already unbuttoning her tattered and filthy blouse. She threw it on the pyramid of burning clothing. She took off her skirt and threw it in the fire as well. “Hurry, Nadia,” she said.
My outfit had once been a pink party dress, but now it was blackened with grease and grass and sweat. How many flatcars had we ridden on and how many ditches had we hidden in to get to this place? The days blurred in my memory. I tried to undo my once-delicate ribbon belt, but it was shredded so badly that I couldn’t find the beginning of the knot. And I couldn’t reach the zipper at the back of the dress.
Marusia put her hands at the collar of my dress and with a single motion ripped it off me. She threw it into the fire.
“Undergarments too,” said the woman.
We threw it all into the fire and then stood in the next line.
A woman with a large pair of shears cut off my braids, then snipped away until my scalp was bare. I watched my filthy hair fall onto the ground in clumps.
Marusia’s face remained still as her hair was cut away. We stepped into line with the other refugees waiting for showers. At the door a woman sprayed us with something awful. I screamed.
“It will be all right,” said Marusia. “That’s just to kill the lice.”
We crowded into the white-tiled room and were enveloped in scalding streams of water. I watched blacktrickles of grime and dead lice swirling down the floor drain.
I was glad to be free of that pink dress and all that it stood for. We were given sheets to cover our nakedness when we exited the shower. The sheets had lice, but we wrapped ourselves in them anyway.
Next came the interview. We stood in line yet again, shivering and damp, but cleaner than we had been since our escape. I stood on my toes to see what was happening at the front of the line. A uniformed man sat at a table, taking notes. He stamped a paper and sent the refugee in either one direction or another.
Marusia bent down and whispered in my ear. “Tell them you’re my daughter. Your name is Nadia. You were born in Lviv … ”
I knew that if they found out where I really came from, the Soviets would take me and I would be sent to Siberia. But where
did
I really come from? That I didn’t know. Did Marusia?
A loud banging at the door snapped me back to the present. Linda had said it was against the law to run away from school. Were the police after me? I was too terrified to move.
Another banging. “Nadia!” A familiar woman’s voice.
I peeked out the edge of my window. It was Miss MacIntosh. Maybe I could pretend that I wasn’t home. But just as I was thinking that, she saw me. “Open the door!” she called. She didn’t look happy.
I walked down the stairs, but still didn’t open the door. I ran to the bathroom and looked at my face in the mirror. My eyelids were puffed out and red and my face wasswollen. What would Miss MacIntosh think? I ran cold water over a cloth and held it to my face. The coolness was soothing, but when I looked back in the mirror, the same puffy eyes looked back at me. It was no use.
The knocking on the door was more insistent than ever now. “Nadia!” Miss MacIntosh called. “I know you’re in there.”
I opened the front door. The expression on Miss MacIntosh’s face transformed in an instant from annoyance to concern. She stepped in and shut the door behind her.
“What has happened to you?”
I looked down at my feet and didn’t answer. I was afraid that if I tried, it would be sobs, not words, that would come out.
All at once I felt Miss MacIntosh’s warm arms envelop me and she picked me up like I was nothing more than a baby. She hugged me close and I felt myself go limp. I don’t know whether it was relief or resignation. She carried me into the kitchen and sat down on a wooden chair, still holding me
“Remove all of your clothing,” said a uniformed woman in a bored voice.
I turned to Marusia in alarm, but she was already unbuttoning her tattered and filthy blouse. She threw it on the pyramid of burning clothing. She took off her skirt and threw it in the fire as well. “Hurry, Nadia,” she said.
My outfit had once been a pink party dress, but now it was blackened with grease and grass and sweat. How many flatcars had we ridden on and how many ditches had we hidden in to get to this place? The days blurred in my memory. I tried to undo my once-delicate ribbon belt, but it was shredded so badly that I couldn’t find the beginning of the knot. And I couldn’t reach the zipper at the back of the dress.
Marusia put her hands at the collar of my dress and with a single motion ripped it off me. She threw it into the fire.
“Undergarments too,” said the woman.
We threw it all into the fire and then stood in the next line.
A woman with a large pair of shears cut off my braids, then snipped away until my scalp was bare. I watched my filthy hair fall onto the ground in clumps.
Marusia’s face remained still as her hair was cut away. We stepped into line with the other refugees waiting for showers. At the door a woman sprayed us with something awful. I screamed.
“It will be all right,” said Marusia. “That’s just to kill the lice.”
We crowded into the white-tiled room and were enveloped in scalding streams of water. I watched blacktrickles of grime and dead lice swirling down the floor drain.
I was glad to be free of that pink dress and all that it stood for. We were given sheets to cover our nakedness when we exited the shower. The sheets had lice, but we wrapped ourselves in them anyway.
Next came the interview. We stood in line yet again, shivering and damp, but cleaner than we had been since our escape. I stood on my toes to see what was happening at the front of the line. A uniformed man sat at a table, taking notes. He stamped a paper and sent the refugee in either one direction or another.
Marusia bent down and whispered in my ear. “Tell them you’re my daughter. Your name is Nadia. You were born in Lviv … ”
I knew that if they found out where I really came from, the Soviets would take me and I would be sent to Siberia. But where
did
I really come from? That I didn’t know. Did Marusia?
A loud banging at the door snapped me back to the present. Linda had said it was against the law to run away from school. Were the police after me? I was too terrified to move.
Another banging. “Nadia!” A familiar woman’s voice.
I peeked out the edge of my window. It was Miss MacIntosh. Maybe I could pretend that I wasn’t home. But just as I was thinking that, she saw me. “Open the door!” she called. She didn’t look happy.
I walked down the stairs, but still didn’t open the door. I ran to the bathroom and looked at my face in the mirror. My eyelids were puffed out and red and my face wasswollen. What would Miss MacIntosh think? I ran cold water over a cloth and held it to my face. The coolness was soothing, but when I looked back in the mirror, the same puffy eyes looked back at me. It was no use.
The knocking on the door was more insistent than ever now. “Nadia!” Miss MacIntosh called. “I know you’re in there.”
I opened the front door. The expression on Miss MacIntosh’s face transformed in an instant from annoyance to concern. She stepped in and shut the door behind her.
“What has happened to you?”
I looked down at my feet and didn’t answer. I was afraid that if I tried, it would be sobs, not words, that would come out.
All at once I felt Miss MacIntosh’s warm arms envelop me and she picked me up like I was nothing more than a baby. She hugged me close and I felt myself go limp. I don’t know whether it was relief or resignation. She carried me into the kitchen and sat down on a wooden chair, still holding me
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