get off to sleep.
âIt was not long before the first snow appeared. From then on I had to be careful about leaving trails of footprints. As the snow became heavier, I left the small paths that I had been following, and I went deeper into the forest where nobody would be able to spot my tracks so easily.
âI had to keep walking to stay as warm as I could, but I soon realized that I was going in circles. I came to the same cottage in a clearing more than once. I would peek at it from behind a tree. But I never approached it.
âAnyway, it turned out to be a good move to go deeper among the trees, because one day I had a great stroke of luck that saved my life.
âI was crawling on all fours through some undergrowth. I put my hand forward and it suddenly touched something: I immediately knew it was human. I jumped backward. I was petrified and panting with fear. I expected that whoever it was would grab me and that would be the end of me.
âI found a stick nearby. I crawled back through the bushes. I could see a man lying there. I wasnât sure if he was dead or alive.
âI reached out and poked him gently with the stick. He didnât move. I jabbed him again, harder this time and on his chest, but he didnât stir at all. That restored my courage. I stood above him. I could see heâd been a soldier. He was still in his uniform. There was a stream of blood coming out of his body. It was brown and congealed on top of the snow.
âI crouched down next to him. His eyes were closed. Then suddenly it crossed my mind that he might be like that lady stuck in the pit. You know, everyone mustâve thought she was dead, but she was alive.
âI commanded him in a loud voice, âWake up, mister, wake up!â so that I could be sure that he would hear me. When he didnât answer I was a hundred percent certain that he was dead.
âI sat down next to him. Despite the fact he was dead, I started talking to him. I hadnât spoken to anyone for a long time, and, well, he was better than nobody. I wanted to tell him what had happened to me. I told him those words I remembered, the ones that I told you: Koidanov and Panok. Even then they were already fixed in my mind. Perhaps my mother had drummed them into me, told me not to forget themââ
âWhy would your mother say that to you?â I cut in. âIf she thought that you were going to die, then why would she tell you to remember something?â
My father paused, looking puzzled. âI donât know,â he said and then went quiet as if something were dawning on him for the first time.
âWhatâs wrong?â I probed.
âWell,â my father said, âwhat if somehow or other, my mother knew that I was going to escape?â He stared at me. âYou know,â he continued slowly, âshe mightâve put me up to it.â
âWhat do you mean?â I asked. âThatâs not what you said before.â
âNo, thatâs true,â my father admitted. âI canât remember every detail of that night. But perhaps somehow because she knew what was going to happen the next day, she hoped that one of usâmeâmight stand some chance of getting away. It would have been impossible for her to escape with the two little ones. Perhaps she did say something to me, like âGet away, sonâ or âGo now while you can!ââsomething like thatâ¦â
We sat in silence. Then my father seemed to set aside the thought and, sipping on the dregs of his cold tea, returned to what he had just been describing.
âI started to examine the dead soldier more closely. I noticed his overcoat, and then I thought to myself, âTake it! He doesnât need it!â I tugged away at it for ages. His arms were so heavy, but somehow or other I managed to get them out of the sleeves.
âThe hardest part was getting the back of the coat from underneath him.
âIt was not long before the first snow appeared. From then on I had to be careful about leaving trails of footprints. As the snow became heavier, I left the small paths that I had been following, and I went deeper into the forest where nobody would be able to spot my tracks so easily.
âI had to keep walking to stay as warm as I could, but I soon realized that I was going in circles. I came to the same cottage in a clearing more than once. I would peek at it from behind a tree. But I never approached it.
âAnyway, it turned out to be a good move to go deeper among the trees, because one day I had a great stroke of luck that saved my life.
âI was crawling on all fours through some undergrowth. I put my hand forward and it suddenly touched something: I immediately knew it was human. I jumped backward. I was petrified and panting with fear. I expected that whoever it was would grab me and that would be the end of me.
âI found a stick nearby. I crawled back through the bushes. I could see a man lying there. I wasnât sure if he was dead or alive.
âI reached out and poked him gently with the stick. He didnât move. I jabbed him again, harder this time and on his chest, but he didnât stir at all. That restored my courage. I stood above him. I could see heâd been a soldier. He was still in his uniform. There was a stream of blood coming out of his body. It was brown and congealed on top of the snow.
âI crouched down next to him. His eyes were closed. Then suddenly it crossed my mind that he might be like that lady stuck in the pit. You know, everyone mustâve thought she was dead, but she was alive.
âI commanded him in a loud voice, âWake up, mister, wake up!â so that I could be sure that he would hear me. When he didnât answer I was a hundred percent certain that he was dead.
âI sat down next to him. Despite the fact he was dead, I started talking to him. I hadnât spoken to anyone for a long time, and, well, he was better than nobody. I wanted to tell him what had happened to me. I told him those words I remembered, the ones that I told you: Koidanov and Panok. Even then they were already fixed in my mind. Perhaps my mother had drummed them into me, told me not to forget themââ
âWhy would your mother say that to you?â I cut in. âIf she thought that you were going to die, then why would she tell you to remember something?â
My father paused, looking puzzled. âI donât know,â he said and then went quiet as if something were dawning on him for the first time.
âWhatâs wrong?â I probed.
âWell,â my father said, âwhat if somehow or other, my mother knew that I was going to escape?â He stared at me. âYou know,â he continued slowly, âshe mightâve put me up to it.â
âWhat do you mean?â I asked. âThatâs not what you said before.â
âNo, thatâs true,â my father admitted. âI canât remember every detail of that night. But perhaps somehow because she knew what was going to happen the next day, she hoped that one of usâmeâmight stand some chance of getting away. It would have been impossible for her to escape with the two little ones. Perhaps she did say something to me, like âGet away, sonâ or âGo now while you can!ââsomething like thatâ¦â
We sat in silence. Then my father seemed to set aside the thought and, sipping on the dregs of his cold tea, returned to what he had just been describing.
âI started to examine the dead soldier more closely. I noticed his overcoat, and then I thought to myself, âTake it! He doesnât need it!â I tugged away at it for ages. His arms were so heavy, but somehow or other I managed to get them out of the sleeves.
âThe hardest part was getting the back of the coat from underneath him.
Similar Books
