The Secret Holocaust Diaries: The Untold Story of Nonna Bannister (8 page)

Soon Mama is ready to read her book, and I can do almost anything that I wish as long as I am in her eyesight. I pick some flowers—looking around for fear that I am doing something wrong. There stands my favorite bush that has leaves that I like to play with—you pull one off the bush and pull off the petals one by one saying, “He loves me—he loves me not.” There is a beautiful butterfly—so colorful. I want to touch it, but I don’t want to hurt it. Slowly I move closer and carefully put my fingers on its wings. I can feel the butterfly struggling to get away. It makes me feel sad. Quickly I release it, and I am glad to see that it can still fly. Mama is involved in her book, but I know that she is aware of where I am because I know not to walk away too far. The sun is getting warmer, and I am thirsty. Now Mama is ready for a fresh drink of water too. We walk down the path until we reach the water fountain—the water is so cold, and it tastes good.

There is a stage platform nearby, and Mama helps me up the steps. We dance on the stage with Mama singing to our dance. We dance round and round, and we laugh and laugh. Mama lets go of my hand, and she gets off the stage. She pretends to be the audience and starts clapping her hands and says, “
Brava, brava!
The ballerina Nonna has performed beautifully!”

We both laugh and do not notice that there are some children nearby watching us—watching us and laughing also. We stroll around the park for another hour or so. Mama lets me put some flowers between the pages of her thick book and says, “We shall preserve them by pressing them in this book, and when winter comes and we can’t come to the park, we will pretend that we are in the park at our house.” It is a fine idea, I think, and it is a lot of fun to keep the pretty flowers this way. Mama says, “Pretty soon it will be time for Anatoly to come home from school.”

And we head back home. It is such a wonderful day, and I am so happy!

9: The Depression in Russia

Stalin’s Power

Editors’ Note:
At this point in the thick of the Depression years, with Stalin in power, Nonna and her family began to experience some hardships. As a young child, she noticed how people around her suffered and how Russia’s government placed rigid restrictions on its people. Even with wealth, food became more scarce for Nonna and her family, and they depended more on Feodosija to send food from Konstantinowka. Nonna started school in Rostov-on-Don. Nonna was smart, spoke several languages, and loved to learn. But her teachers began to question her about Papa, his family, and his background.

The Depression was in full swing by now, and people were suffering economically in Russia as they were in the rest of the world. Papa was still working at the machinery factory, and we considered ourselves to be lucky. However, food was becoming scarce, and the government had issued ration stamps to everyone. Food was being rationed, and even in our family, things like sugar and bread could not be taken for granted. I remember very well the truck with food would arrive, and people would stand in lines with their ration stamps, which they would trade for sugar, bread, flour, etc.

At the time, my grandmother was sending us packages of food from her home in the Ukraine where food was still plentiful—especially for Grandmother, since she had her own garden and was getting plenty of food from the farm people. So we didn’t have it as bad as our neighbors and the other people in that large city.

The officials were still rounding up people on Saturday and Sunday to perform “friendly labor” in order to help out our “new government,” which by now was beginning to take over all the businesses and factories—it was to become the “power” to all the poor. It was also a time when new rules were being issued against all religions and all believers. Most of the young people were being watched, and the children in school were being taught that there is no God. Most of the churches were closed, except for two or three of the big Orthodox churches, which remained open. But only a few of the older people attended the services. The schoolchildren were instructed to tell on their parents if they practiced religion at home. The people were watched closely, especially at Christmas and at Easter time. I remember Mama and Papa hiding our small Christmas tree in the pantry, and on Easter the colored eggs were not displayed but were kept hidden from the neighbors.

It was also a time when many people of intellect and affluence were being picked up and would never be seen again by their families. It was a time when we children were taught to be silent and not to tell—outside of our home—about our family background or anything that we knew about our families. We were instructed to never talk about anything that happened or was said in our own home. I remember so well that Mama and Papa would tell us that the “walls have ears” and that we should whisper and never talk loudly. I didn’t understand what they meant. I would imagine that our walls could hear us and that there was something very strange about our home and its walls. When I would want to talk, I would look at the walls and ask Mama if I should whisper or if I could speak out.

But as I grew older, I began to understand what they meant. By the time I started to school, you could not bribe me with anything to tell about what took place at my home. There was always that feeling inside that I was somewhat different from other children, especially since I had a Polish name. After I started school, the teachers would ask me if I had any relatives in Poland, and I would just shake my head indicating no. I hated those times, because I knew that I was not telling the truth. However, to protect my family—especially my father—there was no other answer that I could give.

The name
Lisowsky
sounded as much Russian as it did Polish, and since I knew that Papa’s family was in Poland, I had no choice but to deny the truth. Those were times when anyone who had families outside Russia was considered an immediate target for suspicion, and I remember that Papa told everyone that he was from Minsk, which was in
Belorusya
(“White Russia”). I believe that he kept telling people that until he died. Though we children were brought up to always tell the truth, we also understood why it was necessary to hide the fact that Papa was Polish.

HIDING THE TRUTH •
In Stalin’s Russia, the truth about Papa’s family and place of birth might have meant a death sentence for him. Nonna was given special permission to lie in order to protect her family. Indeed, she learned early to keep dangerous family stories a secret.

This was a time when beggars were at our door constantly. They were begging for food—especially bread. I remember that the city was plagued with burglaries and robberies. Extra locks were put on all the doors and windows, and we children were instructed not to open the doors for anyone—even in our apartment where the police station was almost next door. Even with the police station so close, some of the apartments were robbed. But all through these times, Mama and Papa were happy, and they were able to provide a happy home for Anatoly and me.

Papa was doing well in his job in the machinery factory, and in 1931, he invented a machine that would slice sugar cones into sugar cubes. This created quite a bit of excitement, since people could sip their tea through this small square of sugar. Papa demonstrated his new invention at the factory’s banquet, which was attended by many foreigners. He was presented an award by the German representative. We were all so proud of Papa, and we talked about this invention for a long time afterward.

10: Winter Vacation with Babushka at the Dacha

CHRISTMAS

This is the kingdom of winter.

Everything is covered with snow.

The trees are whitened by hoar frost.

They seem spellbound in their new form.

’Tis a wistful but pleasant sight.

This extraordinary quiet both in the air and on the earth!

Silence everywhere!

Here I relive memories of my childhood: the thrill of leaving a warm house, all bundled up to play in the soft, new-fallen snow . . .

There are many happy events in the early years of my childhood that I like to remember. But the memories of my first trip to Grandmother’s during our winter vacation will always remain precious to me. It was like a beautiful dream, except it was not a dream—it really happened, and I was there, and it was so wonderful. None of us knew what was to come!

Every year at Christmastime these special memories come back to me. This year more than any other year in the past, I have been totally consumed by the pleasant memories of the events that took place so far away and so many years ago. Perhaps it is because it all happened just a few days after Christmas as we know it today—or just before Christmas, which was celebrated by the Orthodox people according to the old calendar, on January 7.

“THIS YEAR MORE THAN ANY OTHER” •
Which year Nonna is referring to is not clear; she worked on translating and transcribing her diaries for a period longer than a year.

My grandmother Feodosija Nikolayevna Ljaschova was of the Orthodox religion and a very strong believer in all that was taught by the Orthodox church. She also made sure that all of us grandchildren were taught about God properly and insisted that we were all christened as babies—naturally it was important to our grandmother for us to be christened. The pope (priest) had to do the christening!

ORTHODOX CHURCH •
With Russia’s churches closing all around her, Feodosija invited her family to this last Christmas at the Great House, and on Christmas Day, she took them in the sleigh—the “old fashioned way”—to the Russian Orthodox church to celebrate the birth of Christ. Not long after, Stalin closed Konstantinowka’s churches, as well. Possibly because Nonna’s family made sure she knew God and kept their faith vibrant and constant for her in their home, Nonna never became indoctrinated with the Communists’ campaign to teach Russia’s children that God didn’t exist.

The Orthodox churches were still open in Grandmother’s village, and even though times were changing rapidly, there were still plenty of people who were brave enough to go to church and worship God according to their beliefs. Bibles were still kept and read—and there were icons. Some of them were framed in gold or silver, some of them had a picture of the Madonna with the baby Jesus, and some were of Christ’s head covered with a wreath of thorns. Most of them were painted in oil by famous artists and were very expensive—but there were also cheaper ones, which were reproductions of the real thing. Nevertheless, people stood (not knelt) before them and prayed—my grandmother had an icon in the corner of every room. It seemed that no matter from which angle you looked at an icon, the eyes of Jesus would follow you—or at least we children thought so. Grandmother would light candles in front of each icon on Saturday evening as part of the Sabbath worship.

Celebrating Christmas by the old calendar worked out very well for us for a while, because the Communist government replaced the Christmas tree with the New Year’s tree, decorated by the “new believers” on New Year’s Eve. St. Nicholas was replaced by
Ded Moroz
(Grandfather Frost). Of course, Ded Moroz was dressed in all white—unlike the red colors of St. Nicholas’s coat. Like a good impostor of the old St. Nick, he would come with a sackful of goodies. The schools were kept open until New Year’s Eve, and after school there was a big party for the children. This party was held in a large school auditorium—where there would be a huge New Year’s tree erected and decorated with all kinds of beautiful ornaments. Some of these ornaments were made in the classrooms by the children themselves while being closely supervised by the teachers.