Introduction:

This passage is from The Endless Steppe by Esther Hautzig. In this story the Rudomin family of Poland are arrested by the Russians and sent to exile in Siberia. This book tells of hardship and courage and is a very moving account of this part of World War 2.

Text:

My father was on the doorstep, his hands behind his back. Next to him stood two Russian soldiers with fixed bayonets.

Not one word was spoken. Father and Mother exchanged a guarded look, but Father kept his eyes away from me, as if he was ashamed to have me see him in pyjamas with bayonets at his back. Slowly and silently, Father walked through the hall, past the umbrella stand with his walking sticks, into the dining-room. The soldiers walked heavily beside him. When they reached the centre of the room, the silence was broken. One of the soldiers shouted:

"Down on the floor! All of you! You're under arrest!"

Clearly, before we would do such a silly thing, my father would explain everything and the soldiers would go away. He had not done anything wrong — neither stolen, nor killed anyone, nor committed any other crime — they could not arrest him. He would insist that they apologize. But he remained silent. We sat on the floor — first my father, then me. For a second, I thought my mother would refuse to. My mother must have thought so too because he murmured her name softly: "Raya — " Very awkwardly, but determined to keep her back straight, my mother sat down on the floor too.

 

How could we be arrested without having done anything wrong? I decided to find out.

"Why are we under arrest?" I asked. My mother lifted an admonishing hand, but it was too late.

The soldiers looked from me to my suddenly very pale parents and then at each other. The one who had issued the order had bright little eyes and an extraordinarily broad nose; it was he who pulled out a long white paper and read from it.

"...you are capitalists and therefore enemies of the people ... you are to be sent to another part of our great and mighty country..."

The soldier read on and on, the words seeming to pour out of his huge nostrils — so many words and so dull. Most of them were incomprehensible to me. What was a capitalist? The only words that meant anything to me were the ones that were bringing my world to an end. I was to be taken from my home, from the city where I was born, from the people I loved. I didn't feel like an enemy of the people, only an enemy of these horrid soldiers. I hated them. Loathed them. Despised them. I wished they were dead.

[Excerpt]