Essay about The From Soviet Slave Labor Camp
They stand there staring at her, annoyed and impatient. Waiting for her to answer their questions. “Where is your father, then?”
She observes their baggy brown military breeches covered with mud, tucked into equally muddy black leather boots. From the looks of them, they have been searching for hidden food through everything. Gardens. The village. Stockpiles. Whatever. Their pilotka side caps perched on their heads are drenched from the rain. And they are holding those long metal rods that she’s seen so often.
“My fader is in fields,” she says. “Ver-rking.” Careful to hide any vocal inflection that may let them know she’s a Jew. The thought of them forcefully press-ganging her into some Soviet slave labor camp is deeply etched in her psyche. She doesn’t trust them. Not any more than she did the Nazis.
“In the rain?” The smaller one questions, his left eyebrow raised. The shoulder bars on his tunic hold two stars. He’s grinding his teeth and glaring at her in a way that sends a cold feeling shooting up her back. The authoritative man is difficult to understand with is heavily-accented Hungarian.
She has studied Russian in school, so she speaks to them slowly and carefully in their…