The Secret Holocaust Diaries: The Untold Story of Nonna Bannister (13 page)

Aleksandr is known to have studied mathematics at the university, and he would go on to live a notable life of his own, including winning the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1970.

One day, Mama and I decided to pay a visit to Mrs. Solzhenitsyna—we were especially looking forward to seeing her. It was a beautiful morning. After Anatoly had left for school and Papa had gone to work, Mama decided to keep me home from school that day to keep her company on the trip to Nachichevan. It was one of the nicest days in May, and the flowers were in full bloom. We walked the couple of blocks to the streetcar station and boarded the streetcar. There were only a few people on that particular car, so we sat by the window and looked out—watching the people on the streets rushing to work, school, or wherever.

Before we realized it, we had reached Nachichevan. We got off near the theater and walked down the street past the park and theater, close to the cathedral. Since we had no phone communications, we arrived at Mrs. Solzhenitsyna’s quite unannounced, and Mama felt a little embarrassed. She did not like the idea of just “dropping in,” arriving at someone’s home without at least writing a note. However, this was a “spur of the moment” trip, and besides, it would have taken a few days to deliver a note. This day, Mama just felt like visiting a friend and did not feel like waiting a few extra days. It was a great idea to me! I was quite happy to skip school that one day and go with Mama. She left a note on the kitchen table for Papa though, telling him where she and I were.

Mrs. Solzhenitsyna was very happy to see us. We got there just before she was going to go shopping, so all three of us decided to go down the main street of Rostov, taking a little ride by streetcar to get there.

The first stop we made was an ice-cream parlor, where round tables with umbrellas were set up outside. We must have been the only customers at such an early hour of the day. I ate so much ice cream that I felt like my stomach was frozen. After the ice-cream treat, we headed to the bookstores. However, as we passed a toy store, Mama looked at me and said, “We really don’t want to go in there, do we?” By the time she finished asking the question, I was at the entrance to the store.

I just looked at everything on the shelves, because we were always taught not to pick up the toys in the store but rather to wait until we were asked if there was anything that we wanted Mama to choose for us. My eyes caught a little plastic doll (it was a boy doll) dressed up in a sailor’s uniform, with a little boat in his hand. I had that little doll for many years; it had a special place on my toy shelves. I admired that doll all the time—it was a very special toy that reminded me always of that enjoyable trip down Main Street.

On the way back to the streetcar and the ride back to Mrs. Solzhenitsyna’s, we stopped in a music store, and Mama and Mrs. Solzhenitsyna bought some new music books. When we got back to her house, they tried the new music pieces and were quite happy with what they had selected. The cook had made some delicious cookies and some freshly brewed tea for us. The day passed quite quickly, and it was time for Mama and me to head back home.

As we started to leave, Mama looked up at the sky and saw ugly black clouds. The wind had picked up, and people were running to safety. Mrs. Solzhenitsyna persuaded us to stay because it was obvious that the beautiful day had taken a turn and a big storm was on the way. Mama was quite concerned about Papa and Anatoly worrying about us, but there was no way to let them know that we were safe. It turned awfully dark outside, and the priest at the church opened the big doors to let some people on the streets come inside the church.

There was no doubt that a cyclone was on the way, and we all went down into the cellar with pillows and some blankets. We spent that night (or at least half of the night) playing cards and games and singing and reading—any way that we could entertain ourselves until the storm passed over. We decided that we would have to spend the night at Mrs. Solzhenitsyna’s and go back home in the morning.

This was one of those trips to Nachichevan that I could never forget. It was pleasant; yet at the same time it was exciting and scary. Needless to say, when we got home the next day, Papa and Anatoly were extremely happy to see us safe and sound.

MEMORIES OF THE SOLZHENITSYN FAMILY •
Nonna’s childhood descriptions of Aleksandr were accurate, and she even kept a photograph of Taissia throughout the war; it survives to this day. Despite her memories of their cook, ingredients to make a Napoleon cake, and the purchase of music, Taissia and Aleksandr lived in relative poverty in their small apartment in Rostov-on-Don. Their many family possessions and all their family wealth had been confiscated by the government. Possibly as a child Nonna never understood the state of the other family’s affairs.

18: Troubled Times

1933–34

Rumors of war were spreading throughout Russia, and it seemed inevitable that we were in for some troubled times. Papa was still working at the machinery factory and was in contact with many foreigners from the Western countries. We had many foreign visitors at our home, and Papa would take them into his library and have long conversations with them. I never could really understand the conversations because they were spoken in several languages. However, Papa seemed worried, even though he never talked about the situation with Anatoly and me. He spent as much time with us as he could and would always try to be cheerful—but always teaching us things that would be useful to us later on.

School was still being held, even though Russians were preparing for war. We would have drills on what to do in the event there were bombs being dropped. The Russian Air Force would fly over and drop fake chemical bombs during these drills. The civilian population were being instructed to dig shelters in their yards. These were to be like large ditches dug in a zigzag fashion that people could jump into in case of an attack. These large ditches were covered with boards in order to keep small children from falling into them. The government was also busy installing air-raid sirens as an alarm system.

I was doing very well in school, maintaining a straight-A average. However, all these things were distracting. I remember the day I learned a lesson twice—first from my algebra teacher, Dr. Shutzburg, and then from my papa.

I didn’t like my math teacher, so when he wrote a problem on the blackboard, I knew that I had to do it to him! When he asked for a volunteer to come up and solve the problem, I raised my hand up high (no one else wanted to go to the blackboard). He called my name and I marched up to the blackboard, picked up the chalk, and started to write whatever came to my mind—however stupid it was. When I got to the bottom of the blackboard, I made a “finished” sign. I really enjoyed watching the expression on Dr. Shutzburg’s face as it became red with anger. He told me to go back to my desk and work the same problem exactly as I had done it on the blackboard, and I did what he asked me to do. He asked for my paper, and he wrote a big
F
on it with red pen. He added the question, “
Why?
” He then put his initials under the question and told me to bring the paper back to school the next day with Papa’s signature on it.

When I got home that afternoon, Papa was in his study, and I took the paper to him and waited for what was yet to come. To my amazement, Papa started to laugh (knowing that I liked algebra and always made excellent grades). I guess he thought it was funny. But then, with a very serious look on his face, he told me that what I had done was very wrong and that my punishment would be to sit at his desk (for as long as it took) and work this same problem over again until I finished it. It took me about two hours to get finished (it was about two pages of work), and Papa looked it over and signed it and told me to take it back to school the next day. However, he told me that Dr. Shutzburg may not be as tolerant as he was. He told me to apologize and ask the teacher to give me another chance—to give me another problem equally difficult to work on.

I stood in the hallway waiting for Dr. Shutzburg; then I gave him the paper and apologized like Papa had said for me to do. I was really surprised when he said OK, and the first thing he did when he went into the classroom was to write another problem on the blackboard and call my name.

Everyone in the class had a great time watching me march to the blackboard again, and I am sure they expected to have another laugh. This time I worked very fast and wrote all the answers, step by step. I did not turn around when I had finished. Dr. Shutzburg looked it over, faced the class, and spoke in a soft voice, saying, “Now, I hope that all of you learned something from this experience and that no one will try anything funny again. And now, Miss Lisowskaja will get her grade changed from an F to an A+.” From that day forward I liked him, and algebra continued to be one of my favorite subjects.

Another lesson that stands out in my memories happened when I was six years old and in the first grade. The thing I remember most was that Papa was insistent about teaching me different languages while I was very young. By the time I started school (at age five), I spoke at least three other languages really well (Polish, Yiddish, and German). Of these three languages, German and Yiddish were the easiest for me to learn, with Yiddish being the easiest—however, German and Yiddish are both similar. When I was six years old, I was very proud that I could speak different languages. One day, I got angry with one of my classmates, and I called her some names—it was very harmless—but I used the Yiddish language to call her the names. The teachers sent for Papa, and he had to come down to the principal’s office and do some fast explaining on my behavior in school and why I was speaking Yiddish. Papa had to tell her that he had taught me several languages. He was very upset with me, and told me never to do such a thing again.

YIDDISH •
Nonna’s teachers called Papa to the principal’s office because Yiddish was the language of the Jewish people. Papa had taught her Yiddish but had warned her to speak Yiddish only at home, not in public—since speaking the language of the Jews could arouse suspicions of having Jewish sympathies, if not heritage.

From then on, my every move in school was watched by the teachers. They also watched my brother, Anatoly, as well as my entire family. The teachers would question Anatoly and me and ask if we were Jewish, and from then on, I was careful to not use my language ability in school. With the rumors of war and all the suspicions from everyone, I was losing my excitement for school and was not as happy as I had been when I started school.

19: Changing Times

1934–35

Editors’ Note:
Most farms in the Soviet Union had become the government’s “collective farms.” Communists had taken over private land and livestock. During these years, Nonna’s family—especially Feodosija—lost most of their wealth and property, including animals. Nonna noticed these drastic changes when she visited the Great House again.

The laws the Communist government had enforced so strictly in other villages finally became enforced in Konstantinowka, too. They greatly affected Grandmother, Petrovich, and the Great House with its mill, land, and orchards.

The next visit to my grandmother’s house was in 1934–35. Things had changed quite drastically by then, and even though the Depression was easing up, the Soviet regime had taken over and a new style of life was being enforced on almost everyone. Grandmother no longer owned her horses—they had been “donated” to the collective farms, which had been organized everywhere in the villages. The orchard was still Grandmother’s, along with the empty stable, but the property was heavily taxed, and almost everything owned by Grandmother had to be given away to the “new government.” The house was still Grandmother’s, but she was no longer considered to be a private owner, and she had to pay heavy taxes on it.