JOURNEYS Mennonite Stories of Faith and Survival in Stalins Russia, John B. Toews, 1998

rrowed from the sovkoz and went to the local depot in order to load the grain I promised to bring back. During my return trip I was overcome with fatigue. Suddenly I was jarred awake by a mighty crash of thunder. Three kilometers from the sovkoz it began to rain and soon I could drive no further. I took off my sandals and started walking. I was head¬ ing to the directors office to tell him what had happened when I met one of the Russian drivers whose wagon had also been confis¬ cated. I was startled by his sudden appearance. Didn’t I know what happened during the course of the day? He suggested we walk to the riverbank among the trees. They were searching for me all day he told me, because I had stolen a cow. The threshing machines were halted and a trial process inaugurated. Four wag¬ ons were sent to our farmyard to load our possessions and take them to the sovkoz . The chickens and our pig were also taken. He had seen my little children walking towards Kleefeld. I personally 168 JOURNEYS was to be captured dead or alive. The news filled me with fear and trepidation. I hurried down the low valley in the direction of Kleefeld as rapidly as my tired feet allowed. I was not concerned that I was suddenly an impoverished and hunted man, I simply wanted to find out what happened to my Anna for sometimes these chaps held wives as hostages. When I was about three kilometers from the sovkoz I saw a child sitting on the roadway and the mother next to her. Gradually I realized this was our mother and little “Bubi.” She briefly informed me what happened. They had only allowed her to keep a pail. As far as she was concerned I was safe and that was all that mattered. Her courage revived me. We de¬ cided she and the children would go to Bergens in Kleefeld. I would hide in the tall corn until dark, then join them .... It was around twelve midnight when I arrived at the Bergens. Sadly brother Bergen advised us not to spend the night there. It made good sense but where were we to go? The children sat in the street in their light dresses. Already they were learning what suffering meant. Kleefeld was a long village. As we walked from one end to the other we could not decide where to stay. It was not a question of only one night or of not having enough room. The houses in the German settlements were constructed with a great deal of fore¬ thought. They were soundly, spaciously and beautifully built. The inhabitants were friendly, hospitable people. We shared many a blessing with them. It was awkward to appear at someone's door at this late hour of the night who was not a close friend or relative, especially in view of the current [food] shortages. At the end of the village we turned into the yard of a dear family, the Gerhard Johann Baergs. They were relatively poor people but possessed something precious and rare — an all-encompassing love. They received us warmly. Though they had little to spare they provide