Khortiza, February 5, 1920

Now I question: was the epidemic the greatest evil that came to us in these last months? Hardly so! …

When I hear that, today, there passed by our house twenty-one coffins—and yesterday their number was twelve—it alarms us not as much as the news of the return of the Anarchists. All these rumors have much probability. They did come back; three times they had come back. Why not a fourth time?

It was at Christmas and around New Year’s day that they did return, for the last time. They rushed, plundering and robbing, through the colonist villages. The three industrial communities were again the worst off. This time the Anarchists were not driven by the Whites but by the Reds, the Bolsheviks of the North. I never will forget that desperate time. It was on Christmas Eve that we had our most appalling experience. In previous years in the houses here the Christmas trees were lighted.

Where was the joy of those happy days? So far away …

We were all on our sick beds. A twenty-year-old girl, related to my hosts, was with us; a girl willing to make sacrifice;—she was homeless herself when she fled with me in those memorable September days of last year; her former home had been destroyed by fire. It was she who took care of us.

It was perhaps ten o’clock at night when, suddenly, the windows were shaken by heavy strokes resounding gruesomely through the quiet dark night. Rough male voices were commanding to open.

Like a dove in a storm the nurse fled to my bed. She knew too well what kind of men they were. She was trembling; still, she was the only person in the house able to walk to the door. I could not help her either. The voices outdoors grew louder. Those men were going to break down the door or burn the house. That is what they were threatening, and what they are able to do.

Oh, it was a heartbreaking moment to see Cathleen—trembling with fear—going up to the door to meet those robbers and brigands. Like a hurricane they rushed into the unlighted house of ours. They ordered us to bring a lamp, and they themselves kindled the poor oil burner which the family was saving for the neediest cases in the sick room. Having that smoky light placed on the table, they sat down and demanded to be served with whatever there was to eat in the house. They ate the very last bit of bread and drank the very last drop of milk. Then they rushed eagerly to the wardrobes and chests. The drawers were thrown open with the greatest noise onto the middle of the floor. They really acted as if they were going to stab all of us at once. They had, of course, not the least consideration for the sick. They drove the house owner off his couch and took away his fur on which he was lying in default of a mattress. Cynic mockery was the only response when the sick man asked on what he was now to lie.

I was in the adjoining room and heard the proceedings with growing fever. Every moment I was expecting them in my room. Cathleen quickly put my last suit under my pillows and was standing near my bed with steadily increasing fear. It was an insoluble problem how to save that girl. Where could she go? Surely those intruders had occupied all houses of the town. I continually heard the passing of carriages. They had come in great numbers.

Suddenly it came to my mind that one of the neighbors, the dentist, had already overcome the sickness. There Cathleen would be in greater safety, I thought. Thus, upon my advice, she left the house and escaped before the bandits entered my room.

At last I heard heavy steps approaching my door. It was thrown open and three wild looking ruffians surrounded my bed. They asked for my class and nationality. “A Jew?” they asked. When I denied it, they seemed to take me for a “real Russian” and softened their manners a bit.

“Teacher?” they repeated after me. “Well, let’s go.” Besides my bed and a table there was no furniture, and thus they could not suspect anything valuable in the room. So they went out.

Three days and three nights the Anarchists were passing through our place. That was like it had been a week before: when one group had left the house another one came in.

It was terribly cold outdoors, and inside too at times, because the fuel was scarce.

Cathleen and her sisters came and cared for us as well as was possible.—

One thing more I cannot forget; I heard those poor cows bellow in the cold stable. They did’ not mind the cold so much but they had not had anything to eat. The last remnant of the food, up to the last blade of hay, the Anarchists had given to their horses. There was, now, no more milk. Those who were still sick did not want to eat very much; but those who were leaving the sick bed were all the more hungry. The weakened body needed for its restoration nourishing foods like meat and milk.

One day the Anarchists brought my bed into the common sickroom of the family and there we were lying side by side and suffering. They themselves sought booty over all the house.

Only after New Year’s there came a change for the better.