I Have a Brother Named Zyama

CHAPTER 5

I must have already mentioned that Zyama was born a year and nine months after me, on the 23rd of June 1916. Here in this picture he is about 2 years' old. The picture was taken in Crimea in 1918. Mother wrote on the back of the picture: "To dear Frieda from Zyama". Frieda received the picture when living in Moscow. I took the original from Zyama in order to make a copy of it.

Zyama was born during our "refugee" period in Vologda, where we had moved from Vitebsk. Tusya and Benno were inseparable and so were Zyama and I. Therefore, the expressions "Tusya and Benno" and "Lyuba and Zyama" became every-day expressions at home. From the age of 5 and until I was about 9 I used to look after Zyama: I looked after him and tried to teach him whatever I had already learned by myself. For example, I tried to teach him how to button his trousers and how to pronounce the letter "r". (I learned how to pronounce it correctly only at the age of 6. I shall write about that later. ) Yet, sometimes it happened that I felt like teasing him. He was a small and a weak child for his age. Sometimes, because of some childish cruelty, I started running away from him and he found it very difficult to keep up with me. He even cried. I cannot understand what was the source of this cruelty. After such incidents I felt very sorry for him and kept kissing and hugging him. Later when I grew up I felt very much ashamed of myself.

We also had some very funny fights: I preferred pinching and he was better at scratching. I used to "torment" Zyama during these fights. I kept saying: "You can beat me and scratch me and bite me!", but did not run away, showing that I can stand the paint. He kept attacking me, but I did not run. Why? I don't know. True, these fights were rare enough. We simply could not live without one another and I used to tell Zyama all my secrets (which he promptly revealed as he obviously did not understand that they were secrets).

…I suddenly remembered something else I wanted to mention. When I grew up a little I found myself becoming upset because Zyama and I had sometimes quarreled and even fought. I was not only upset by this but I even felt ashamed. (I had this feeling once again when I was 13, in a very different situation, but more about that later). So, I started thinking how could we avoid such quarrels and came up with the following idea. I made an agreement with Zyama: whenever we start fighting about something one of us must remember that it is wrong to quarrel and that we should stop it. Whoever will think of it first has to say "Miaow!" (which meant that we shall make peace and be as friendly as two kittens). The method proved to work like magic. We used to say "Miaow!" and it was a signal for the quarrel to stop and for a peaceful change.

From a very early age Zyama was a friendly and a cheerful child. When he got a bit older, at the age of 3 or 4, he always said amusing things and some of his "statements" remained part of the family history. There were lots of Zyama's funny sayings, but I remember only a few. One of them was "for later, for tomorrow". Despite the fact that through all his life Zyama never showed any trace of a sense of ownership, he was quite a stingy child when he was little. Maybe because these were years marked by hunger and there was very little of anything at the time, but when we were given breakfast or supper and Zyama (who was about 3 then) could not finish some food, he would never allow anyone else to finish it. He kept saying : "This is for later" or "This is for tomorrow". He also used to check whether the food had been put aside for him. As a result, the phrase "for later, for tomorrow" came to signify being stingy. Following all this someone called Zyama "Plyushkin!". Zyama loved the unfamiliar word, or rather name, and he kept repeating it again and again and laughed away happily. Who knows why he loved it so much. (Plyushkin is a character in Gogol's "Dead Souls" who keeps collecting all sorts of odds and ends that he comes across "just in case they might be needed later" – Tr. )

Another of Zyama's phrases that became part of the family folklore, (by now used by the younger generations too) was: "Do we come to your place or what?" This is how it came about. At that time we were living in Crimea, somewhere between Alupka and Yalta, "above Sarra" (more about that later). We lived on the second floor of a house, while the couple owning the house lived on the ground floor. There was an outside staircase that connected our floor with that of the owners. The owners, Victor Stepanovich and Anastasiya Ivanovna, were very nice to us, children, and often, when we came to visit, they offered us all sorts of treats. We even sometimes drank cocoa there, a great rarity in those days. One morning Zyama got up and said: "I dreamt that we have been invited to Victor Stepanovich. What do you think, should I go down?" "I don't know, - I said, - ask them!" Zyama went outside, sat down on the top step of the outer staircase, waited until Victor Stepanovich came in sight and shouted: "Do we come to your place or what?!" Everybody laughed and we were invited to come down. Thus, the formula for inviting ourselves to visit someone was known at home as "do we come to your place or what". I see Zyama sitting on that top step of the staircase as clearly as if it happened yesterday.

And there was also "too few dishes". This also took place "above Sarra". The food was not always plentiful those days and one day, at dinner or at supper, there were not too many dishes on the table. Zyama screwed up his little face, said slowly: 'Too few dishes here!" and started crying. Everyone burst out laughing and tried to make him stop crying. The expression remained part of the family folklore and decades later, when the food on the table was not too fancy, someone at the table pronounced in a slow and disappointed voice: 'too few dishes here!" Or Mother simply told us before dinner: "Tonight we shall have too few dishes here!" Thus, Zyama's sayings were remembered by everyone in the family….

Here is another little story connected with Zyama, this time an almost tragic one. It had also remained in the family history. Zyama must have been almost 3 at the time. We were living in Alupka, Crimea, (before having moved "above Sarra"). The control of the area kept changing from the "whites" to the "reds" and back again and each change of rule led to a new wave of searches, arrests and shootings. One day a group of military (I don't remember whether they were "reds" or "whites") came to us to conduct a search. While they were looking through our things one of them asked little Zyama: "Does your dad have a thing like that?" Zyama replied very confidently: "Yes, he does!" And what was the thing he was shown? A gun. The search party looked for a gun for a long time and found nothing. Father was "taken away": arrested and driven away somewhere. I remember that time as a terrible and a depressing period in our family history. Mother used to go out daily to see all sorts of officials or others in order to beg them to intervene on Father's behalf. She came home tired and left again. I do not remember how long all this lasted, two months or two weeks, but somehow she succeeded in securing Father's release. The next morning Father put on his pince-nez, pointed its case at Zyama and said: Boom-boom!", just as he used to do every morning. And suddenly everyone realized why Zyama was so sure that Father had a gun, why he was so confident about saying it. This could have cost Father his life: the times were tough and no-one cared much about people who had been arrested. It was really a miracle that Father had survived this incident. And it all started with a little joke which Father invented to amuse little Zyama who later nearly "betrayed" him.

I shall tell more about Zyama's early childhood when I will write the family history in a chronological order because our childhood went along parallel lines.

Zyama learned to read when he was 6 and later, when he was a young man, he kept teasing me that even though I had learned to read when I was 3, he still read much more and more quickly than I had. At the age of 9 to 11 he read a lot, partly because he was often sick and had to stay in bed a lot. His illness had something to do with his lungs. Mother fed him raw vegetables, nearly raw meat and barely fried liver. He also had to eat garlic and nuts. He needed fresh air, so the window in his room was left open.

Zyama's reading differed from mine. I remember we used to borrow books from a private library "Shneider & Shir" on Dzirnavu St, between Leona Paegle St. and Gorky St. Zyama used to go through the large and thick catalogues and chose numerous books by one author ( Mayne Reid, Jules Verne and others) and only then borrowed books by another author. I could not do that. (I did manage to read all the books by L. Charskaya). I was always amazed by Zyama's "stable" interest in his choice of books. I think Mother taught him that. She also taught him arithmetic, managed to get him interested in geography and bought him the well-known encyclopedia published by Brockhaus and Ephron. When we all left home Zyama rightfully received the encyclopedia into his possession and kept it until the beginning of the war. The bookcase specially ordered when the encyclopedia was bought was later "divided" into two and it survived long after the war ended…

For many years Zyama was a short and thin boy and he grew taller much later, when he was a young man. During certain years, when I was considered a "grown-up" and he was still considered "little", we did not have much to do with each other, but when he grew up and we both started taking part in underground activity, our lives were again running along each other.

Zyama joined the underground later than I but he did not join the Komsomol, as I did. He became active in Krasnaya Pomoshch (Red Help, a sort of a Red Cross organization for political prisoners – Tr. ) and the MOPR (the International Society for Assistance to Revolutionaries – Tr. ) same as Benno. (The choice of joining this or that section of the Communist underground was often quite accidental in those days). I knew that Zyama was active in the underground and he knew that about me, but we never discussed it. We did have a secret place (and a very good one too!) where we used to hide out illegal stuff. I think it was Benno who showed Zyama that place.

I remember one incident from Zyama's underground activity history. He came home late one night and Tusya noticed that the lining of his coat was all smeared in red paint. Everyone at home was well aware of what was going on and, of course, we all tried to find out where did Zyama get the paint and what he needed it for, even though it was clear enough that he was doing "practical work", i. e. that he was painting slogans on city houses or was involved in printing something. However, Zyama did not admit a thing and kept repeating that he "just bought some red ink and it got spilled in the coat pocket". Even though everyone understood what had happened and Zyama realized that, he still kept repeating his version of the events and did not admit a thing. This was what conspiracy rules were all about.

In the summer of 1937, when Iren was born, Zyama stayed with me at the "dacha". It was then that he started calling me "little girl" (I still don't know why) and little by little he turned from a younger brother into an older one. He still calls me that and many people think that he is indeed older; after all he now has grey hair and I do not!

When Iren was a little baby it took him time to get used to her: he found it strange that I have a child. Yet, he loved her dearly and kept making up little ditties for her. …When at the age of 4 or 6 weeks Iren started to cry, Zyama did all sorts of tricks to calm her down and sang the little songs he made up for her.

In the same year 1937 Zyama got married. Here, in this photo Sasha, Zyama and Fanya are with little Iren on the beach in Dzintari, where I lived then. I had Iren's hair shaved off because it was supposed to be good for their growth. Zyama, Sasha and Fanya came to visit us.

At the time when the Soviet rule was established in Latvia, Zyama was in Elgava, doing his practical training as a chemistry student at the Riga State University. I did not mention it earlier that Zyama had graduated from high-school by a correspondence course because he had been expelled from his last year in high-school. He was accused of having participated in "disturbances" that took place at his school following the scattering of some leaflets there. Zyama was accused of having "hit a teacher on the head with a key" (the teacher was planning to call in the police). Zyama denied the charge and persisted in denying it, but he was nevertheless expelled. Mother again did her rounds, visiting the relevant officials, appealing that Zyama be allowed to sit for his high-school examinations despite the expulsion. This was 1933 and the pro-Fascist government was not yet in power, so it became possible to obtain such permission. Zyama did well in all his exams, of course.

He succeeded in entering the University only on his second attempt (we both did not get sufficiently high marks in Latvian composition when we applied for the first time). Once he became a student he did very well. Thus, the events of 1940 found him at some chemical factory in Elgava, doing practical training. He quickly joined the Komsomol activities and become some kind of a "big wig" in the regional committee. After a while he came back to Riga and started working in the newspaper "Jaunais Komunars". He even asked me once to write an article about the Young Pioneers movement. This is how Zyama became a journalist.

Then the war started. I don't remember how he managed to leave Riga, how he reached Gorokhovets, the town where the Latvian Division of the Soviet Army was formed, and how he was sent to the front. I received his first letter from the army much later, somewhere in October 1941, when I was living in a "sovkhoz" in the Yaroslavl district. Zyama was a private, then he became a "politruk" (someone in charge of political instruction) and later he started working in the army newspaper "Latvieshu Strelnieks". Here Zyama was photographed in 1944. He sent me the original picture, a much smaller one, from the army. This enlarged one was used much later when he wrote an article for the book "Reiz Celas Strelnlieks Sarkanais" ("Once a Red Guard Rose").

During all the war years Zyama wrote to me regularly and every month he also sent me money. In all his letters there were usually some parts meant for Iren. Many of these letters survived: I have kept some of them and Iren has some too…

Here are some excerpts. From a letter to me in 1942: "Now when you have found yourself in the real backwoods, I have lost all hope of getting Iren's picture. I would like so much to see what she looks like, especially now when you write about her. I hope that she will fell well in the children's home". And there are also a few lines for Iren: "…How do you like it in the new place? I also move often from place to place. I like moving very much. Do you? I am sending you three of my little rhymes ("yekhali-poyekhali" was a game he invented). Ask Mum and she will give them to you. I am now living in a home where there is a small black dog. I am writing and she is trying to bite my finger off. Even though she is small, she barks very loudly. So, I cannot write anymore. "…

Here is an excerpt from another of Zyama's letters from the army dated 4 January 1943:

…"Tell your postwoman that I will have her arrested for 5 days for having lost the key. That's really a crying shame: after all, I have received today – after a 10-day's brake – four of your letters. One of them, by Iren, was especially interesting. It was read by all my friends here and everyone loved especially the way she wrote "fellas". …I wanted very much to draw something for her but I am no good at it. What a shame! By the way, I am going to be promoted soon. However, I hope I will not have to wear the uniform for much longer, I will be soon be able to wear civilian clothes.

Yesterday we received some parcels from the Molotov District: they contained dry sausage, butter, honey, biscuits, gingerbread and sweets. If you could come and visit me, I would have entertained you the way they do in Riga (almost). I would have liked very much to entertain someone or give presents, but there is no-one here like that. I have started saving some stuff for a present for Dida's birthday on 16 January: some shampoo, a few bars of soap, a small bottle of eau de Cologne. I will also send her my officer's ration which I am due to get on the 15 January. After I add to that a few notebooks, it will be quite a nice present. For you, little girl, I would have come up with something even better, but you are too far way… Zyama,your brother. "

Zyama always wrote a lot about his comrades, about people he had met in the army and through his work (he was the Komsomol secretary of his regiment, then the 'politruk' and then he worked in the army newsapaper). Sometimes he wrote sad stories, about the death of his friends. A few times he wrote briefly how death had passed him by. I remember the following three cases: how, for example, a bullet "brushed" his ear. On another occasion he wrote that he had remained alive by miracle. There were 17 of them who went off somewhere and there were only 2 or 3 of them when they came back. There was also another occasion: everyone was sitting in a shelter and so was Zyama. There was nothing suspicious around. Zyama and another man went outside and that very moment the shelter was destroyed by a direct hit. All those inside were dead. About the fourth time Zyama wrote me more or less the following: "A piece of shrapnel killed Babris. He was not wearing his helmet. Zenta Ozol died the same way. So, I started wearing my helmet. I got hit by a shrapnel too, but here I am still alive"… I used to get Zyama's letters when we were living in the children's home and all the children were waiting for them together with me. They were happy when the letters came. I was forever waiting for his letters, always worried and then, when the letters arrived, I cried of happiness.

After the war ended Zyama was not discharged right away. His regiment was located in Lankstini, near Riga, and I went there several times to visit him in the summer of 1945. Once I even took Iren with me. Zyama asked me: "Whom did you come to visit, me or Futlik?" Both of them, I suppose…

I also saw Zyama when he came home to visit Fanya, his wife. Zyama was "rich". I remember that he took me and Iren to the big department store and bought us cakes that were sold there at a price some ten times higher than everywhere else. Zyama also bought me a cooking pot, an expensive one. It is still in existence: it is the thick one with a black "button" on its lid.

Soon our paths joined again: we both started working in the newspaper "Padomju Jaunatne" in Riga. Zyama started working there when I was already there; he was not yet discharged from the army and was still in uniform. He later graduated from the university, something he did not manage to do before the war started. In this picture we were photographed during some party in the Editor's office. The photographer did not know that we were a brother and a sister and said that he'll make the picture "so that your husband should be jealous".

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