The Misery of Russia

As I said, Rudy stayed in the room mostly while I went out scrounging.  He played Russian Bank, a card game that caused violent arguments.  I grew to hate the sight of anyone playing the game.  I wouldn’t play it or even watch if I could help it.  After lockup I was trapped.  I had to be aware of it then.  My number of D bars was slowly becoming smaller and smaller.  I had now rationed myself to one-half a bar and only on Sunday.  I looked forward all week to Sunday and to the nighttime when lights were out and all was quiet.  It was a pleasure to wiggle into my two blankets which I had arranged into a cocoon style so that I had the same thickness on all sides of my body.  All settled down, I’d think of my D bar and wait.  When I thought all the other fellows were asleep, I’d get it out of my pocket and slowly eat the half a D bar, and for a while I felt sort of content and fell asleep.

Winter had seemed so long with the cold, the hunger and the monotony of being inside all the time.  And my hatred of Russian Bank and the arguments it caused was a constant irritant.

I had to be on constant guard of my food.  I could trust only Rudy if I went out.  It was about this time that I devised a plan of slicing my share of bread in the morning into five slices.  My plan was that I would eat my usual four slices during the day; then I’d have one slice to carry over to the next day.  If I did this every day for a week, on Sunday I’d have six extra slices of bread.  I wouldn’t tell anybody about this plan, and I thought about it a lot.  I’d have so much to eat on Sunday.  I’d have a feast then and top it off with my half of a D bar.

I never succeeded in carrying out this plan.  I’d go to bed thinking of this slice of bread that I had and no one else had and think of nothing else but this slice of bread.  I would try to think of something else, but I couldn’t; and I couldn’t sleep because of this one slice of bread.  I had to finally get the bread and eat it.  I excused myself by promising I’d carry out this plan after this one time of giving into my hunger.  I never succeeded, and in just a day or two gave up this whole plan.  I did, however, continue to slice my bread into five thin slices and spread the pleasure of it over the whole day.

It was hard to be hungry all the time, even after you ate.  No one can imagine what it is like, a constant ache and the only thing you think about and dream about.

I still received letters from home, but no one received any parcels.  I imagine they were all lost in transit or stolen by hungry civilians or soldiers.

I shaved only a couple of times a week and washed only my underwear because I wore all the rest of my clothes all the time to keep warm.

©Joseph H. Harrison 1999