Katja

Rations

Pskov, Russia
Winter

The line did not seen to get any shorter as I had been patiently waiting for the past two hours. My heels were starting to throb due to standing for so long with the cold seeping into my shoes from the damp ground. Blowing air in between my half covered hands, I attempted to warm by fingers that had grown numb in the first five minutes of waiting. The gloves had done little to protect my skin as they had numerous holes in the thin, black material. The skin of my fingers turned a dark red color and I feared that if I had to wait much longer, they would be completely frostbitten.

    Sighing, I looked ahead in the line of people and estimated that I had another 15 minutes to wait until I could finally receive my rations. Multiple people had been filling the town center but in an orderly fashion as we all knew we had to wait. Despite the number of people, the square was quiet and all you could hear was the "next" yelled out by the Russian soldier who was in charge of providing the rations and markings.

    The wind had started to pick up and harshly smacked against my face. I could feel my eyes watering due to the wind along with my cheeks turning pink and frosty. Everyone looked the same like me. Starving, cold, and miserable. All cladded in ripped and torn coats and mismatched garments. My coat was luckily quite warm due to the heavy woolen material that kept my frail body warm during the harsh Russian winter. My brother had bought this coat before he was ordered to move to the front to stop the Germans from invading Russia. He wanted to make sure that I would have something to keep me warm for all the months that I would be alone in the tiny wooden cottage.

    My father and mother passed away years ago when I was only 11, leaving my brother, Nikolai and I to ourselves. My mother passed from scarlet fever and a year later, my father succumbed to pneumonia that he had been fighting for months. Nikolai being six years older than I took it upon himself to provide for the both of us. Enlisting in the military, we had a small income that gave us food and clothing. When he had left me to go to the front, he asked our neighbor Mrs. Petrova to watch over me. Little did Nikolai know that she died two months later in her sleep. Letters would come every so often from him but once the fall had come, the letters completely stopped, leaving me completely unknown to whether he was alive or not.

"Next."

I stepped up to the small shack where a man sat in the inside with a large notebook.

    "Name?"

    "Katja Kuznetsova," I provided while handing him my small ration card.

The tired and irritated looking man quickly searched my name before checking it off and making a small side note. Stepping away from the window for a moment, he went in the back before picking up a small package. He placed my card on the top and handed me the package that was covered in brown paper.

    "Five pieces of hard bread, 2 oz of butter, 2 oz of tea, 8 oz of cracked wheat, 8 oz of canned beets, 1 can of Tushonka, 5 oz of milk, 2 oz of sugar, and salt tablets."

"Thank you," I said as I gratefully accepted the package.

The man smiled at me slightly keeping his eyes trained on mine. I quietly walked away still feeling the mans eyes watching me before he yelled out "next."

Walking home took about ten minutes to the northern part of the town. The streets remained covered in a thick icy coat that made it quite difficult to not slip on. Snow had fallen a night ago and the pine cone trees still remained wearing their winter coat of snow. No signs of life were present on the walk. No birds, no bunnies, no other civilians. Everyone these days remained in their homes not only due to the cold but also the fact that we all knew that we were losing the war. The only way to find comfort in that was to stay home with family.

Germans could arrive at any point.

The cabin that I have lived in my whole life was slowly starting to appear. It was an isolated cabin that held no more than two bedrooms, a kitchen, a family room, and a small dining room. It was surrounded by an iron gate all around the perimeter that was currently covered in snow but in the summer was covered with flowers and green vines. A small stack of firewood remained outside to the left of the house that was used indoors for the fireplace. Coal was scarce and nowhere to be seen.

My hands numb and shaking slowly searched my coat pocket for the small key to the house. Finally grasping my hands on it, I pulled it out and attempted to unlock the door. My fingers not moving properly caused me to try three times before I successfully unlocked it. The heavy wooden door opened with a loud creek. The air inside was chilly as this mornings fire burnt out, the ashes still in the fireplace. Placing the package on the small table next to the door that had a picture of my parents on it, I walked out and grabbed several pieces of wood, ignoring the tiny pieces of wood that were stuck in my gloves and hands. Placing them in the fireplace I lit a match and set the wood on fire. The bag of pine cones I had collected in the fall remained next to the hearth and I placed several by the wooden logs in order to help the fire build up more.

Still squatting by the fire, I rubbed my hands together quickly before facing my palms towards the growing fire. A dull pain started in my fingertips as they started to thaw out. When I had movement back in my fingers, I took off my coat, hat, and scarf and placed them on the coat hanger in the corner.

The house seemed extremely empty ever since Nikolai left. There was no one but me. Often I imagined what it was like when my parents were alive but all I can remember were the long months my brother and I endured where we saw them both die a ugly and painful death. I can only remember Nikolai coming home in his military uniform, bringing home food whenever he could. We always managed to place some food on the table but most nights we went to bed with an empty and howling stomach.

Deciding to wait on opening the bread and wheat, I opened up the small cardboard box that held the two ounces of tea. Setting the kettle over the fireplace I waited for the water to start boiling. In the winter I retrieved water from the snow and in the summer I retrieved it from the creek out in the backyard. The tea had no drastic smell and looked rather quite dull but I placed a small amount in a glass teacup. When the water boiled I graciously poured it into the small cup and watched the tea turn a dark green color.

To say the least it looked unappetizing but I knew that it would provide me a few hours of subtle satisfaction. The daylight slowly started to darken as the evening approached. A light snow fell outside covering the icy roads. Sitting in the old wooden rocking chair, I found comfort from the crackling fire and the weak but hot tea that rested in my hands.

For a while I felt at peace.

Before I heard the slight sound of hundreds of boots marching and the roar of military vehicles slowly approaching the sleepy town.