Escape into Danger by Sophia Orlovsky Williams

Author:Sophia Orlovsky Williams [Williams, Sophia Orlovsky]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers
Published: 2011-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

23

A Red Silk Camisole

Frau Mannheim, with Gretchen in tow, took me shopping in Pudewitz, a pleasant town centered on the market square. The two- and three-story houses around the cobbled square were narrow and clung to one another as if for support. A church, brooding over alder trees, looked more like a medieval fortress. I remembered with nostalgia Kiev’s light blue, pale yellow, and white churches with golden onion domes.

We collected my ration cards and clothes coupons, and then I agonized trying to decide what to buy. Bolts of fabric and dresses filled the shop. And this in wartime! I bought some underwear, a pair of shoes, and a dress of synthetic silk, light blue with yellow petals—and my precious coupons were all gone.

The misguided German clerk had given me German as opposed to Polish rations when I told him I was from the Ukraine. Germans received more coupons than Poles. No doubt he assumed I was Ukrainian, and he considered Ukrainians superior to Poles. He knew that Ukrainian nationalists were collaborating with the Germans and fighting alongside the Wehr-macht—to “liberate” the Ukraine from the Soviets.

What he didn’t know was that outside his narrow sphere of activity, the race-conscious Germans treated the Ukrainians with the same contempt with which they treated the Russians, Belorussians, and Poles.

“Now, Fräulein Sophie,” said Frau Mannheim jovially, “we’ll take you for coffee at the Konditorei [pastry shop].” She was in a good mood, very likable, and I was thrilled to be able to treat them to pastry with my own food coupons. We spent a leisurely hour drinking coffee and leafing through the magazines at the café.

Frau Mannheim managed the estate with skill and tenacity. She was firm but fair to the Poles in her employ. She often rushed out with a pitchfork and joined the crews at their work in the fields. When potatoes had to be dug, she would go out with the women and work side by side with them. They, in turn, respected her for it.

In spite of his wife’s capabilities, Herr Mannheim was regarded as the lord of the manor. Any major decisions had to be approved by him.

I, too, respected Frau Mannheim, but I was in awe of her. She was brusque and so unreasonable at times. Or so I thought. What exactly is expected of me? I did not know how to respond to her demands, or rather her lack of demands.

When I asked her if there was anything she wanted me to do, she always replied, “Nothing at the moment.” I thought that her kindness was genuine, one that expected nothing in return, like that of Herr Mannheim. It seemed odd, though, in view of what she had told me, that I should be idle when there was work to be done. Very odd . . . until a thought came to my befuddled mind. I had a hunch Frau Mannheim was playing a waiting game: waiting for a letter from her husband, the lord of the manor, with instructions as to what my role in the household was to be.

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