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

he monotony of our daily lives. None of the young people even wanted to go to the club [at the collective farm]. Our Marta joined in all these activities, but she could no longer walk about in the village because of her shortness of breath. Once the snow fell, we carted her about in a sleigh. It was very difficult for her to see how the other girls her age worked. When these girls talked about their activities she sat quietly. Who knows what went through her mind? Yet she never complained or questioned why she of all people experienced such difficulty. She did not want to make things hard for us and bore her cross quietly and patiently. She wanted to knit and began a shawl. The prolonged sitting proved too difficult for her and the task proved a hard struggle. She was MEMOIRS OFJUSTINA MARTENS 89 always friendly and only thought of making others happy. In the evenings she always prayed so intensely and so childlike. We knew she was slowly fading away. She also sensed this though we never spoke about it. It was very difficult for Neta to see her child suf¬ fering without being able to help. It was on a Sunday in March, 1948. We wanted to walk in the village and take Marta along in the sleigh. She was standing at the window and combing herself. She coughed ever so slightly and blood came out of her mouth. When I saw this I rushed to her. Her face was white and she became very upset when she saw the blood. Naturally we all stayed home. She bled twice more before evening. At night she developed a fever and lay on the hard brick floor. She was only skin and bones. At night we slept four across and I lay next to Marta. During the night I could hear the pounding of her heart. She ate almost nothing and only wanted to drink. When I asked her what she wished to eat she replied, “I only want what we don’t possess, bread and milk!” Sometimes I took eggs from the collective farm and boiled one for her. How she loved it! When I think back I’m sorry I didn’t boil one every day. She often said, “But they are not our eggs!” I think it would not have been a sin to give the eggs to the sick child. She coughed up more and more blood and because there was no possibility of getting a doctor, we silently watched as she steadily weakened. One day she was very sad and so I asked her, “Marta, are you afraid to die?” “Yes, “ she replied. “Why are you afraid?” I responded. “Because I’ll be lying in the cemetery all alone.” “Marta,” I said, “the angel will take your soul to heaven. Only your sick body remains in the cemetery. In the resurrection morn¬ ing you will receive a healthy body that will never again be ill. We will soon follow you and then we will all be together. Your daddy is already there waiting for you.” Her eyes sparkled and she was never sad again. Because she was so weak and could not get up, we took turns being with her. She only sat for short periods, then had to lie down again. On one occasi