out.
Anna lifted her head. Her heart raced.
Anna, wait for me. Those were the last words she heard when Sofia escaped. Anna heard them again as clearly as if Sofia were standing next to her now. They hung in the air, insistent. Wait for me. All these months Anna had worried and fretted and tortured herself with nightmares, imagining every kind of hideous fate for her friend. A slow and painful starvation in the steppes or pitch-forked to death by a farmer or raped by a soldier. Torn to shreds by a bear or savaged by a wolf. Recaptured and sent to slavery in a coal mine or, worst of all, recaptured with a bullet in the head. Recaptured. Recaptured. Recaptured. The word had whirled around her brain.
Wait for me.
Anna looked around her at the women lining up for the exhausting trek back to the camp. It was the end of a long workday, a two-hour march ahead of them, their feet sore and blistered, backs aching and stomachs clenched with hunger. But it was a brief moment of time that Anna always enjoyed. Heads came up instead of drooping between shoulders, scarves were retied and leggings that protected against insect bites in the slimy ditches were stripped off. Work had to be performed in strict silence, but for these brief few minutes the women broke into conversation with each other. To Anna it was as sweet as if they’d broken into song. It wasn’t important whether they discussed that day’s moans or laughed at stupid jokes so hard it set their chests aching, what mattered was that they talked to each other.
‘How’s your cranky knee today?’
‘Much the same, you know what it’s like. What about your leg ulcers?’
‘A bloody pain.’
‘Has anyone got a length of cotton? Look, I’ve torn my shirt.’
‘Have you heard about Natalie?’
‘No.’ A cluster of voices. ‘What news?’
‘She’s had the baby.’
‘Boy or girl?’
‘A boy.’ A pause. ‘Born dead.’
Two women crossed themselves discretely, so guards wouldn’t notice.
‘Lucky fucking bastard,’ Tasha snapped. ‘Dead is better than-’
‘Shut up,’ Nina scolded, taking her place with a shrug of her broad shoulders beside Anna in the crocodile line. It used to be Sofia’s place. Whenever Anna stumbled or fell behind, Nina’s strong hand was there. ‘There’s a rumour going round,’ Nina said under her breath.
‘About what?’ Anna asked.
‘That we’re soon to be put to work constructing a stretch of railway.’ She picked off a fat scab on her arm and slipped it into her mouth for something to chew on.
‘The northern railway?’
Nina nodded and the two women exchanged a look.
‘They say,’ Anna murmured as they started marching, ‘that the railtrack has killed forty thousand this year already.’
Yet always more came, an unending river of prisoners carted across the country in cattle wagons. Each new arrival in the hut raised Anna’s hopes but each time she drew a blank.
‘Have you spoken to anyone called Sofia Morozova? In a transit camp? On a train? In a prison cell? ’
‘ Nyet .’ Always the answer was ‘ Nyet ’.
Anna’s eyes travelled to the dense wall of copper-coloured tree trunks on either side of the road, a raw scar that raked its way through the forest to another godforsaken camp and then another and another. Was Sofia out there? Somewhere? She raised her face to the silvery summer sky. She tried to hear the words again: Anna, wait for me, but they had gone. She felt cold and the pain in her lungs sharpened. She coughed, wiped away the blood with her sleeve.
‘I can’t wait,’ she murmured.
One foot. Then the other. And the first one again, left right, left right, keep them moving. A brief summer storm had passed, leaving the evening sky pale and drained, much like the snaking trail of women beneath it. The pine trees stood like stiff green sentinels along the track as if in league with the guards.
One foot. Then the other. Don’t let them stop.
The ground was soft with pine
Anna lifted her head. Her heart raced.
Anna, wait for me. Those were the last words she heard when Sofia escaped. Anna heard them again as clearly as if Sofia were standing next to her now. They hung in the air, insistent. Wait for me. All these months Anna had worried and fretted and tortured herself with nightmares, imagining every kind of hideous fate for her friend. A slow and painful starvation in the steppes or pitch-forked to death by a farmer or raped by a soldier. Torn to shreds by a bear or savaged by a wolf. Recaptured and sent to slavery in a coal mine or, worst of all, recaptured with a bullet in the head. Recaptured. Recaptured. Recaptured. The word had whirled around her brain.
Wait for me.
Anna looked around her at the women lining up for the exhausting trek back to the camp. It was the end of a long workday, a two-hour march ahead of them, their feet sore and blistered, backs aching and stomachs clenched with hunger. But it was a brief moment of time that Anna always enjoyed. Heads came up instead of drooping between shoulders, scarves were retied and leggings that protected against insect bites in the slimy ditches were stripped off. Work had to be performed in strict silence, but for these brief few minutes the women broke into conversation with each other. To Anna it was as sweet as if they’d broken into song. It wasn’t important whether they discussed that day’s moans or laughed at stupid jokes so hard it set their chests aching, what mattered was that they talked to each other.
‘How’s your cranky knee today?’
‘Much the same, you know what it’s like. What about your leg ulcers?’
‘A bloody pain.’
‘Has anyone got a length of cotton? Look, I’ve torn my shirt.’
‘Have you heard about Natalie?’
‘No.’ A cluster of voices. ‘What news?’
‘She’s had the baby.’
‘Boy or girl?’
‘A boy.’ A pause. ‘Born dead.’
Two women crossed themselves discretely, so guards wouldn’t notice.
‘Lucky fucking bastard,’ Tasha snapped. ‘Dead is better than-’
‘Shut up,’ Nina scolded, taking her place with a shrug of her broad shoulders beside Anna in the crocodile line. It used to be Sofia’s place. Whenever Anna stumbled or fell behind, Nina’s strong hand was there. ‘There’s a rumour going round,’ Nina said under her breath.
‘About what?’ Anna asked.
‘That we’re soon to be put to work constructing a stretch of railway.’ She picked off a fat scab on her arm and slipped it into her mouth for something to chew on.
‘The northern railway?’
Nina nodded and the two women exchanged a look.
‘They say,’ Anna murmured as they started marching, ‘that the railtrack has killed forty thousand this year already.’
Yet always more came, an unending river of prisoners carted across the country in cattle wagons. Each new arrival in the hut raised Anna’s hopes but each time she drew a blank.
‘Have you spoken to anyone called Sofia Morozova? In a transit camp? On a train? In a prison cell? ’
‘ Nyet .’ Always the answer was ‘ Nyet ’.
Anna’s eyes travelled to the dense wall of copper-coloured tree trunks on either side of the road, a raw scar that raked its way through the forest to another godforsaken camp and then another and another. Was Sofia out there? Somewhere? She raised her face to the silvery summer sky. She tried to hear the words again: Anna, wait for me, but they had gone. She felt cold and the pain in her lungs sharpened. She coughed, wiped away the blood with her sleeve.
‘I can’t wait,’ she murmured.
One foot. Then the other. And the first one again, left right, left right, keep them moving. A brief summer storm had passed, leaving the evening sky pale and drained, much like the snaking trail of women beneath it. The pine trees stood like stiff green sentinels along the track as if in league with the guards.
One foot. Then the other. Don’t let them stop.
The ground was soft with pine
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