The only thing that seemed indifferent to everything that was happening was nature itself. The weather was warm with a slight breeze, and every day tender new leaves began to cover the tree and shrub branches. Every place I looked in the terraces at home, green shoots were poking above the ground, and I knew that they would soon have bright flowers showing. The sky seemed almost a magic blue, and the bird song that filled the air in Dedinye sounded sweeter and more intense than I remembered it. I wondered why people didn’t react to the spring in the same way, why they seemed oblivious to the new life that was appearing all around us. And I remember telling myself that I would be different when I grew up.
At the end of the school day on Monday, March 31, we were told that, due to the unsettled conditions in Belgrade, we would not have school for the next few days. An announcement would be made on the radio telling us when classes would resume. Miss Visnic wished us all well.
“I’m sure this will take only a few days. Before you leave, remember that this does not mean that you are on vacation. You are to study at home, of course, even more now that you don’t have to come to school. You have your assignments, and I’ll see you all back here in a few days.”
That evening at dinner, Father suggested that we all go to Yaintse for the few days that school would be closed. Kristina was concerned about her family and wanted to go to Ljubljana and check on them. While she was gone, we could all “relax” in Yaintse.
When we arrived in Yaintse, I was surprised by the appearance of the house. It looked very pretty at the top of the hill. The exterior had been painted and was very white. The window and door frames had all been painted brick red to match the roof tiles. The dwarf fruit trees lining the walkway that sloped up to the house were beginning to blossom, and the vegetables were all up and a bright, light green.
Mother must have been pleased and briefly happy as we walked up to the house, but dismayed when we entered. Inside the floors had not been installed, and the bathroom had nothing in it—an empty room with a dirt floor and a window. Furniture lay about haphazardly. Nothing matched, of course, and there were far more mattresses than beds. The kitchen table and the coal-burning stove were piled high with dishes, pots, and pans. The kitchen cabinets had not yet been hung.
The exterior mud-brick walls were very thick, and the windows had been set at the outside of the walls so that there was a very deep interior sill at each window—about two feet deep, which I thought would be a nice place for plants.
Aunt ’Lyena and I gathered linens and began to make up the beds in the two bedrooms. Mother and Father were in their room when I went in to make up their beds. Mother was crying, and Father was stroking her hair.
“It will be all right. We’ll only stay for a couple of days. The farmer down the hill will fix us some food for this evening.”
“But I can’t use the outhouse. I can’t even wash. Oh, I really don’t care about food.”
“Don’t you remember when they put you in prison? You and ’Lyena shared a cell with six or eight other women much of the time, and you had only a hole in a corner of the cell.”
“Oh, but how can you compare? I was only seventeen then, and besides, your squad came and rescued us. It’s so much more hopeless now.”
Father had a look of total helplessness as he stroked her hair and wiped her tears, asking her to have faith in him, that he would make things better.
“Mama, can I do anything?”
I felt uneasy because I had entered in the middle of their discussion.
“No, no, Anochka, I’m just so sorry that you are probably going to go through the same hell that I did. But, no, you’re even younger than I was.” She turned to Father, and now crying hard pointed to me as she continued. “Do you realize that she’s just a child? Is she going to have a life like we had during the revolution?”
Papa reached for me and pulled me down to sit next to them, his own tears flowing as he struggled to speak.
“I promise and I swear that nothing is going to happen to my girls,” he said, embracing both Mother and me. “I know that God will protect us all, and besides, we’ll have the house fixed up. This is only for a couple of days. And maybe if Hitler decides he has to go through Yugoslavia, he’ll just go through and they’ll be gone as fast as they came.”
“Yes,” sobbed Mother. “But this is how it started before the revolution in Russia.”
“Oh, Marusha, that’s altogether different. It was the “Hooligans” who started the unrest, who instigated the uprisings. Here we are dealing with highly intelligent people from a civilized country. They want passage. Let them.”
Father didn’t sound at all convincing, but Mother dried her tears. I went outside to let my parents have a few moments to themselves and to clear my head.
I couldn’t sleep that night, and I went outside, wondering how it felt to be in London now that the Germans were bombing continuously. They were not only all around us but in Africa as well. I could not understand why Hitler wanted Africa. And what was happening to all the animals? Were the elephants and lions being bombed, too? Nothing made sense to me. I could not understand why Hitler wanted other countries. Germany already had everything that other countries had. There were so many questions on my mind. Nothing made sense to me.
Father had said that God would take care of us. But I wondered if God knew what was going on, and if so, if he really cared. God, I thought, must be on Hitler’s side, helping him to conquer all these other countries. I looked up at the heavenly canopy of bright stars and suddenly felt I had sinned by questioning and doubting God. I would have to tell our priest that at confession next Saturday. I returned to my room and bed feeling guilty and ashamed.
We returned home to Dedinye on Thursday, April 3, and it felt luxurious to walk on parquet and carpeted floors and to take a long, hot bath. We had bought fresh milk, meats, and cheese from the farmer in Yaintse, and after a light, late supper we all collapsed into our beds.
Father went to Russkii Dom the following day, giving me instructions not to leave the house under any circumstances. He was gone nearly the entire day, and when he returned he told Aunt ’Lyena that she should not go to church for vespers the following evening. The city was extremely tense. Sunday would be Palm Sunday, he reminded us, and we would all go to church together.
Kristina had not returned from Ljubljana yet and was not expected until Monday. Father and I fixed a light supper on Saturday evening, and we all ate in the dining room by candlelight, the drapes tightly drawn because of the blackout order. It was really rather pleasant, reminding me of our candlelight dinners on Dr. Kester Street. We had turned the radio off while eating because the news continued to be worrisome with nothing new.
“I have made some arrangements with the Poltoratskys,” Father said. “Now I’m not saying that it will become necessary, but should the situation change in any way, Sergei will come here to fetch us.”
“Where to, Papa?”
“To Yaintse. He and Sonya could stay with us there. And I have told friends at Russkii Dom to feel free to come and stay with us if need be.”
“Is that why so many brought mattresses and things? So that they can stay with us, Papa?”
“Yes, Asya, but that’s not to say they will. It’s only if there is trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Well, it looks like the Germans will go through Belgrade, and we all hope and pray that it will be without any trouble or any bloodshed.”
“Weee shoooould have gooone to vespers!” Aunt ’Lyena complained.
“’Lyena, the trolleys are not running, and there is a total blackout in the city. It’s absurd to venture out, and Sergei has things he needs to tend to. I didn’t feel we could impose on him for a ride with so much going on. You can pray right here, and we will all go to church together for Palm Sunday services.”
Aunt ’Lyena looked defeated. I could tell she didn’t agree with Father.
“What should we pray for?
” I asked uncharacteristically. “God isn’t listening to us. He’s on Hitler’s side.”
The minute I said it, I was sorry, as three pairs of eyes turned toward me in shock and total disbelief at what they had just heard.
“God does not take sides, Asinka,” said Father softly. “It is not God that causes the misery in the world. It is people’s lack of faith in God that is the cause.”
“I know, Papa. I’m sorry I said that, but I just get so confused.”
Father embraced me and Aunt ’Lyena and brought us to the couch to sit with Mother. All four of us sat on the couch crying—each of us, I believe, for a different reason. I, because I was truly ashamed of what I had said; Aunt ’Lyena, I believe, because she felt she had failed at making my faith as strong as it should have been; Mother, because she could see the future she had hoped to build for me slowly falling apart; and Father, because as the head of our small family he felt helpless against events that were disrupting not only our lives but lives throughout Belgrade and all of Europe.
Father and I went to the kitchen to fix a pot of tea. When we returned, I witnessed something I had never seen before. Mother and Aunt ’Lyena sat on the couch with their arms around each other, crying. I had never seen the two sisters even engaged in a real conversation before. Their relationship always seemed formal.
Mother never had the patience to listen to Aunt ’Lyena’s difficult, drawn-out speech and always made sure that they didn’t get into a lengthy conversation. Aunt ’Lyena, on the other hand, was critical of Mother’s casual approach to church and to religion, always trying not to comment on it. I am positive they loved each other deeply, but they seemed to lack the ability to express their feelings. It made me happy to see them in an embrace.
I kissed my family goodnight and went to my room to say my prayers and go to bed. I asked God to forgive me that night for saying that He was on Hitler’s side. And I prayed very hard for our family and friends. I knew everything was going to be all right.
Dawn was just breaking when I was awakened by loud thunder. I jumped out of bed to rush and close the window. Strangely, there was no rain, not even any clouds. Yet there it was again—very loud, continuous thunder and a high-pitched scream. There were no clouds. I couldn’t figure out what it was. I ran to the living room to look in the other direction and collided with Father.
“Quickly, Asinka,” Father said. “Put your clothes on, grab a few extra clothes, get your toothbrush, and . . . oh, I don’t know . . . just throw some things together. Is Elyena up?
“’Lyena, ’Lyena,” he called out loudly.
Papa ran from room to room, all the while pulling on his socks, his shoes, his shirt. Everybody was up now and doing the same.
“Papa, what is it? What is happening? Why are we running? Why the clothes?”
“We are being bombed, Asya. It’s very serious. Hurry now.”
April 6, 1941: Palm Sunday. German bombers based in Romania began bombing Belgrade without warning, beginning just before dawn. The bombing continued for three full days and nights.
Father and Mother were both pale, fear reflecting in their eyes. Aunt ’Lyena was kneeling in prayer by the couch, and Mother was beginning to cry.
“Don’t worry,” Papa said. “I made all the arrangements, remember? Sergei and Sonya should be here soon.”
Now the thunderous explosions and screaming became louder. It sounded as though hundreds of airplanes were roaring high above. Suddenly a burning, dusty smell reached us. Belgrade was on fire. Papa turned the radio on. We heard only silence and a bit of static. No news reports. Nothing.
“They must have hit the station for Radio Belgrade,” Father said.
The noise grew louder, and the sky was filled with airplanes. We heard a loud screech of tires and frantic horn blowing.
“Hurry, hurry now! He’s here. Grab what you can,” Papa called as he tried to move everyone toward the door. “Are all the windows closed? Oh, never mind. Let’s run.”
Uncle Sergei’s taxi already had three people in it besides Sonya and himself. The four of us squeezed in. I sat on Aunt Sonya’s lap in front, next to another woman, while Mother sat on Father’s lap in the back seat next to Aunt ’Lyena and another couple. Four in the front and five in the back, and we drove off.
“How is it out there, Sergei?” Father asked.
“Awful, just awful. So many dead already. The streets are blocked with debris, and there are bodies everywhere. Belgrade is burning. They seem to have bombed the north side most heavily.”
We pulled onto another street, and suddenly there was silence. No explosions, and the planes had disappeared.
“What’s happening? Why is it so quiet? Is it all over?” asked Mother, anxiously looking out the window.
Sergei drove as fast as the engine would allow. The streets we first passed through seemed untouched. However, people were everywhere, carrying small bundles and running, as cars sped through the streets in every direction.
“Do you think the bombing has stopped?” Mother asked again. “Maybe they wanted to destroy a specific target and it’s all over.”
“No,” answered Sergei. “I think they are just refueling in Romania and will be back soon. The buildings we saw destroyed had no military value at all. They are shops and homes in areas of the city that could have no—”
“How about east of the city center where you are?” Father interrupted. “Any serious damage there? Was your place hit?”
“We are all right, but there is a long beltlike area from the north to the east side of the city that has heavy damage. I had to make several detours to get through it because of bomb damage and debris. But ambulances were already there tending to the wounded.”
“Uncle Sergei,” I asked, “are there many dead people?”
“Yes, child. I’m afraid quite a few.”
We were driving along a street I did not recognize, the houses on one side a mass of rubble spreading out to the street. No people were seen, even though the houses on the other side seemed in good shape. The trees on the heavily damaged side were lying down or simply gone, while on the other side they had only lost large branches, which hung down, broken but still full of spring buds.
The area we were driving through began to look familiar to me, and I realized we were coming close to the Avala-Belgrade Highway, which would take us out to Yaintse. Suddenly the rumble of aircraft engines began again.
“Hurry, Sergei,” Aunt Sonya cried out, tears in her eyes as she put her arm around Sergei’s shoulders. “Please, dear God, don’t let it happen again.”
Just then I heard that screaming again and felt a sharp pain in my ears as the car rocked.
“Papa,” I cried, “it’s an earthquake.”
Suddenly I heard a terrible explosion. I leaned over from Sonya’s lap and saw a building collapsing. Sergei sped away as fast as possible. It felt to me as though we were flying instead of driving.
“Papa, my ears hurt. Was that an earthquake?”
“No, Asinka, it’s pressure from the explosion. Sergei, will we make it through? Please hurry.”
“But what’s that terrible screaming?”
“I’m not sure, Asinka. It’s probably the whistle of the bombs as they fall.”
German dive bombers were fitted with sirens attached to the wings that would spin and emit a terrifying, high-pitched scream as they dived to drop their bombs. Their purpose was only to foster terror among the people being attacked.
I looked back over my parents’ heads at the area we had just left. The street was now obscured in a large cloud of smoke and dust. Within minutes we turned onto the main Avala-Belgrade Highway. I knew that it would be only a short drive then.
The sound of the explosions behind us grew less loud, less urgent. The sun was now up, and the contrast was astounding. Everything looked as it had always looked to me: cows peacefully grazing in roadside fields, the trees that light, early spring green, the sky a brilliant light blue with puffy whit
e clouds, their progress measured by their shadows crossing the meadows.
The highway, however, was full of cars, and both sides of the highway were lined with people clutching bundles or suitcases, headed nowhere, just escaping the horrors of the bombing. When we arrived, we left the car by the farm below and walked up the slope to the house carrying whatever we each had grabbed to take with us from home. Father and Sergei stopped to talk to Mirko, the farmer, who wanted to know what was happening in Belgrade.
As we reached the house, I saw a group of people I recognized from church or Russkii Dom, waiting to be let into the house. I put down the things I was carrying by the front door and ran to the top of the rise behind the house to look across the cornfield. The sky over Belgrade was filled with war planes, the rumble of their engines now constant. I could clearly hear the explosions and that terrifying scream as the planes dove to drop their bombs.
The people standing in front of the house now gathered on the ridge all around me to view the horror. Most were crying, wondering aloud how many had already died in the city.
The planes just kept coming in wave after wave, as far as I could see, high above, flying like flocks of migrating birds. I looked toward the path to see more people coming toward the house, each carrying bundles or suitcases.
“Papa, are we going to get bombed, too?”
“I don’t think so. They just want to destroy Belgrade.”
“But why Belgrade?”
“It’s war,” he said wearily, walking away from me. Father looked pale, wide-eyed, barely acknowledging the people around him.
NINE
The Destruction of Belgrade
I watched the spectacle over Belgrade for only a minute or two, unable to comprehend what I was seeing. As the smoke from growing fires within the city rose steadily higher, I turned and walked slowly down the small slope to the house. Inside I found people setting out mattresses, pillows, and blankets. Everywhere I looked there were pots, pans, suitcases, and bundles lying on the dirt floor or piled on whatever furniture was handy.
Ancient Furies Page 11
