The Burning Edge by Chichester Arthur

Author:Chichester, Arthur
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Robacuna Publishing
Published: 2018-04-10T16:00:00+00:00

Later in the evening we sat together on the sofa in her lounge-bedroom watching a Russian tv serial set during the war. Soviet soldiers were running at an enemy gun nest in the rubble of Berlin, being cut to ribbons heroically.

‘I was in Germany too,’ Anna said matter of factly over the sound of exploding grenades.

‘Visiting relatives?’ I replied, not realising that the events on the screen had collided with a memory.

‘No, I was sent to the concentration camps to work during the war,’ she replied, not taking her eyes off the screen.

‘Oh…how was it there?’ I replied clumsily.

My Russian, whilst having been greatly improved during my time in Minsk, still lacked the kind of subtlety or finesse needed to approach such topics with any kind of sensitivity.

‘Well they didn’t treat me so bad, others had it much worse. Our soldiers suffered terribly and the Jews worst of all.’

The shrill sound of the Bakelite phone rang out from the other side of the room. Anna Alexandrovna leveraged herself off the couch to take the call, picking up the receiver with her bent fingers.

I grabbed a beer from the fridge and went out into the garden for some fresh air. The night was perfectly still, the only sound to be heard that of Anna Alexandrovna’s distant voice coming from somewhere inside the living room.

The tranquillity of provincial life could be beguiling and for a brief moment I considered the possibility of starting a new life in the village. I could build a cottage, take a local wife and spend my days tending to my vegetable patch. But I had spent enough time in the region not to be so quickly deceived by the romanticism of the provinces. The short summer months when the land was a colourful palette of greens and yellows and butterflies fluttered through the air was merely a pleasant interlude before the snow and sleet would return turning villages into quagmires of muddy slush for months on end.

When I eventually returned to the living room Anna Alexandrovna had made a bed for me on the sofa. I lay down on the cotton sheet and fell asleep to the sound of her snoring from the other side of the room.

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