ESCAPE FROM STALINGRAD
(© 1998) by KAIN MASSIN
The children in the village wouldn’t often play with him, but they would behave differently if he ever had to take away their whimpers. One day, Marinka had fallen under a cart and the scream in his head had driven him to his knees. When he tried to take the scream away from her, it had hurt him badly, but he’d stuck with it. Hands on her head, he’d opened the path and reached inside her, looking for the bright centre of light. It shone with an intensity that was common to all young people, but a dark stain spread over Marinka’s as he watched. He drew the pain out of her, even though it seemed to grow inside him until the scream he heard in his head had been his own. But he did not let go, not even when the pain in her shattered legs rushed into him. No; he kept drawing it out, pushing in his own health until the scream in his head faded. She stood up, looking in shock at the places where her leg bones had stuck out of her skin only moments earlier. But, the bleeding had stopped and her legs were fine. She’d reached down and kissed him on the cheek, then. Then, she’d run off with the older boys, singing: "I kissed the dummy," and he’d liked the warmth of her lips on his face. For a time afterwards, he couldn’t hear anybody’s whimpers.
The army had come, and the general had told them that they had to go away because Fashis were coming. Sashi hadn’t known what Fashis were, but everyone had got scared, and he’d got scared, too. He could hear them whimpering in his head, and he’d done his best to help them, but this hurt was different, and he couldn’t reach it. The entire village was evacuated and headed east, carrying whatever they owned and camping in the open.
One day, he walked into their part of the camp and found the general there with his Mama and Papa and the Party Secretary, whom no-one in the village liked. They stopped talking and turned to look at him as he walked up. Mama jumped up and ran to him and held him fiercely, looking angrily at the Party Secretary while tears made her eyes shine.
"Comrade Dudaniev," the general said to her, "he will be well cared for, under the circumstances. But, you can see that we need his … particular talent."
Mama held him even closer, and she was moaning in his head. He tried to take the moan away, but she stopped him with a determined shake of her head. "Can’t you see that he’s helpless?" she growled at the general. "He’s not like other children – he’s still a little child. Only a malchik."
"He’s twenty," the Party Secretary put in. Sashi had never been this close to him before, and didn’t like him now. He sounded like a slobbering dog, but, in Sashi’s head, he sounded like a snake. "He’s hardly a child," the Party Secretary continued. "It’s time he served in the army, like any true patriotic party member. Why do you deny his services to our country? Do you have any filthy German blood in you?"
The general stood so quickly that they all jumped. "Thank you, comrade," he said to the Party Secretary. "I appreciate your pointing out this young man’s talents. I will handle it from here." The Party Secretary opened his mouth to say something, but the general had snapped his fingers and some soldiers appeared from the bushes. They escorted the Party Secretary away. The general came over to Sashi and looked him in the eyes. "Sashka Dudaniev," he said, and his voice was serious, although his eyes were kind, "Mother Russia is being hurt by some very bad men. I have to fight them, but I can’t do it alone. There are so many of them. Will you help me?"
Sashi looked him in the eyes, trying to understand him. There was a voice in Sashi’s head, and it said that the general was in much pain. But the pain was not something Sashi could fix: it had something to do with not wanting to hurt other people, but doing it because it was right. The general did not like himself for this, but he would do it, even though it hurt him. Sashi could not understand this pain at all, but he wanted to help.
"Will I have to leave Mama and Papa?" he asked. Their whimpers whispered in him as he asked it. Mama’s hand flew to her mouth.
"Yes, Sashka," the general said. "You will have to leave them and come with me. We may be gone for a long time."
Sashi swallowed and looked at Mama and Papa for a moment. Tears were sliding down her cheeks. Papa’s bottom lip was shaking, but he stood as he always did: straight and tall, like the oak trees in the village. Sashi looked back at the general.
"Will I get a uniform?"
Papa turned away to hide his face and a loud sob burst out of Mama.
The other soldiers told him it was called Stalingrad. The name meant nothing to Sashi; all he could remember was the screaming that never left his head. He would go to the hospital tents and try to take away their screams, but he was never strong enough to see all the wounded and dying. He hadn’t even known there so many people in the world, but there they were, and screaming in his head.
He would place his hands on them and isolate each individual’s shout of pain from the rest of the sound. And he would suck air with the urgency of sucking the pain and hurt out of them. And, it would flood into him. All the agony and bleeding and hate and fear. It burst into him and he would drop to his knees and cry, but he always kept sucking, his lungs burning with the force of his breathing. The other screams would fade then, for a little while, while he was so weak. But, as he regained his strength, so did the screaming, and he would have to find someone else, just to keep the sound manageable.
His directionless wanderings brought him to an old man who nearly destroyed him … he had so much pain from his wounds, Sashi felt himself shattering as soon as he touched him. He felt the old man’s agony, circling Sashi like a hungry wolf. When he opened the way, the wolf lunged. Sashi cried out, but he kept on drawing out the hurt. It tore and savaged him, but Sashi drew it all in, breathing hard. His vision contracted until all he could see was a black tunnel with a light at the end, and he would have floated down towards it, but the old man grabbed his shoulders and shook him.
"Stop it boy," he rasped, his voice still weak. "You’ll die if you keep it up."
Sashi slumped back, floating in the dark and not able to make the extra distance to the other end of the tunnel. It was a long, long time before he heard the screams, again. He lay on a pallet in a tent, shivering, even though there was a warm fire always burning. After some time, they moved the old man next to him.
"This is Dimitri," they said. "The general said he can look after you."
The old man stayed with him, feeding him and talking to him into the nights. He said that, when he was young, he had fought the Germans at Tannenberg, but Sashi knew it was Stalingrad. He started calling the old man dedushka.
Sashi was still weak and cold when Dimitri woke him, one day. "Come, boy," he shouted. "The Germans have surrendered! It’s all over!" He helped Sashi from the tent, and supported him as he tried to stand, looking around in shock.
Soldiers and officers were jumping up and down, singing and shouting. For a while, their voices drowned out the screams in Sashi’s head.
But, only for a while.
He turned his head and looked over to where the hospital tents were, and heard the moaning of fragile bodies.
But, from behind him … Sashi looked in the direction where the fighting had been. The city of Stalingrad was obscured by rubble, and over there were the Fashis.
The scream of agony from the Fashis was like thunder, rolling over him in an avalanche of pain and misery. Sashi sobbed helplessly.
Sashi and Dimitri were given the task of driving one of the supply wagons.
"That’s good for you, boy," Dimitri explained. "It means that we’ll always be behind the fighting; we’ll only get there after the killing and bombing are over. You’ll still have to go to the hospital tents, but you should be safe. I think the general wants to make sure you’re safe. It’ll be better than it was in Stalingrad."
Dimitri told him other names, like Kursk and Kharkiv and Minsk and Warsaw. Towns and villages and open fields and river crossings; all had names, but they were all the same place. Always there was the thumping of artillery and the firing of guns and the screams of men. He continued to share others’ pain and watch them die when he was too weak to take on the load of their wounds.
No matter what names they told him, Sashi knew they were all really Stalingrad.
(story continues)