B&N Reads, BN Book Club, Guest Post, Historical Fiction

Darling, Just a Little More: An Exclusive Guest Post from Paula Lichtarowicz, Author of The Snow Hare, Our February Book Club Pick

The Snow Hare (Barnes & Noble Book Club Edition)

Hardcover $21.75 $29.00

The Snow Hare (Barnes & Noble Book Club Edition)

The Snow Hare (Barnes & Noble Book Club Edition)

By Paula Lichtarowicz

In Stock Online

Hardcover $21.75 $29.00

An incredible novel that expertly weaves together sadness and love, courage and loss, hardship and hope. Everything comes rushing back toward the end of Lena’s life: memories of her childhood, first love, early motherhood … as well as the staggering darkness of being forced into a Siberian work camp. Profound and moving, this story of a woman finding hope in the face of impossible odds will linger with readers long after the last page. Keep reading for a guest post about how Paula Lichtarowicz was inspired by her grandmother after she recorded her grandmother’s experiences in a Siberian work camp.

An incredible novel that expertly weaves together sadness and love, courage and loss, hardship and hope. Everything comes rushing back toward the end of Lena’s life: memories of her childhood, first love, early motherhood … as well as the staggering darkness of being forced into a Siberian work camp. Profound and moving, this story of a woman finding hope in the face of impossible odds will linger with readers long after the last page. Keep reading for a guest post about how Paula Lichtarowicz was inspired by her grandmother after she recorded her grandmother’s experiences in a Siberian work camp.

My grandmother liked to feed things. She fed the birds (bacon rinds or lard-soaked bread). She fed neighbours and passing priests (honey cakes usually, with black tea). She overfed her dog (chicken breast, always by hand) until it gained the spreadeagled bearing of a sedated seal. Most of all, she’d feed us, her grandchildren, stacks of cheesy nalesniki, potato and onion pierogi, chocolate wafer cakes layered with sweetened butter, babkas dribbling icing into wet white moats. Resistance was futile, but just in case, she’d stand above us at the small kitchen table, splashing down cream onto innocent apple charlottes, pushing forward second, third, fourth helpings, a quavering note in her voice, Are you not hungry today, sweetheart? Darling, just a little more…

It was a family joke. As we walked up the path to her door we’d giggle, Darling, just a little more, making a show of loosening our belts. Even in her final years when she renounced baking for the spongy treats she discovered in discount shops, she’d leave plaintive messages on my father’s phone, begging him to hurry over for his bigos, still warm in the pan. 

We laughed about her behaviour all the time, but never stopped to think why Babcia was like this, just as we knew a little of her life before our existence, but never enquired further. It was only when she was in her eighties that I sat down with her and a tape recorder. Amid repeated diversions to feed the birds or me, she talked about her wartime experience in a Siberian work camp, where she spent two years trying to keep her young daughter, Martusha, alive. 

Now I listen to the conversation after two decades have passed, and Babcia is here again, telling me about soup concocted from foraged mushrooms and a handful of stolen grains, gold jewellery, traded for an onion, the sweets Martusha was given once, and shared. And endless days logging trees, queuing for a ration of black bread. You cannot imagine it, – her most frequent refrain. And no, I couldn’t imagine how she had lived in daily fear for Martusha’s survival. But this is how it had been. 

And so, the rest of my grandmother’s life became a mission to feed her loved ones, those she had left. As children we sniggered when she brought out plates piled high, and monitored our every forkful, but to her it was no laughing matter. Scarred by everything she’d lost, made wise by fortune’s cruelty, food was, quite simply, the only thing that mattered; the one thing she could control. She sliced and served her babka as if it was the most important job in the world. And of course, it was.

When I first replayed the conversation, about eight years ago, I was approaching middle age. A story that had simply gathered dust in the corners of my childhood now seemed extraordinary. Moreover, I was about to have a child. I felt a renewed connection to Babcia, but this time not just as the old granny living in suburban Britain; I could see her as the wife and mother she’d been during the war. It felt important that everything she went through – like so many others – be not forgotten. I decided to try to write a version of her story.

Train to Siberia

Audio of Paula Lichtarowicz Speaking with her Babcia about the train to Siberia

Clearest bits of conversation are in bold.

Babcia: but the train was like for animals, you see. No toilet. Nothing put there, only just put in the corner your place and that’s already some people put there.

Paula: Did you have anywhere to sit down?

Babcia: No on the floor! Paula! Imagine! Like animal train, even not clean special. The train full of people crying 

Then, on the end, we go. Quick sometimes – what we doing when we go to toilet? And was few people and we say you know what we doing and find some string or something and some packing and put a sheet or something  – so when you go – there was hole there. You can imagine! And sometimes stop and say to people ‘you can go out – so much time’. And the people don’t bother because sitting here and sitting there. I’m laughing now, because in the night I nearly crying when I thinking what I must tell you.

Work In Camp

Audio of Paula Lichtarowicz Speaking with her Babcia about work in the camp

Babcia: I working in the forest. Cutting – I have picture like that one – picture of cutting and put on the top. Wood. So much you must doing and then you have bread. If not, then less bread. Black bread. And –

We have water. Little bit food. Black bread. You know black bread, but you couldn’t imagine. Black, black like soil. Like glue, you see, and that’s one. Good that I have something for my child.)

Paula: Did they have guards?

Babcia: They have no guards because if you go missing in the forest – animals eat you -finish. 

Bartering Food

Audio of Paula Lichtarowicz Speaking with her Babcia about bartering food

Paula: You bartered jewellery for an onion?

Babcia: What you can do? You must have vitamins. Everything what I have is jewellery and in Poland you usually have quite a lot. And sometimes I need something for clothes, or something. And Bolek buy – because my sister come back with small boy – and Bolek buy a goat to milking. But of course that was for Ala because she keeping and for baby. Then seldom my little girl have because goat not give much milk. 

Typhus

Audio of Paula Lichtarowicz Speaking with her Babcia about typhus

Clearest bits of conversation are in bold.

Babcia: Because when we coming there we go fetch the tea and there was one Uzbek who have typhus and probably this all flea – they moving for everybody and catch them….

Paula: Did you have it as well?

Babcia: I have. My daughter have as well, Dziadziu have as well, my husband have as well. In another room was my sister, two brothers and dziadziu and babcia. Somebody coming, you know, and try to do something. At last taked a few people to hospital. That was my husband – because he have nearly finish typhus but he have inflammation vein in the leg – couldn’t walk. And who else tooked to hospital? another officers, you see. (unclear here) And my daughter feel better and dziadziu die. And my mother say ‘I lie there, but why he so cold? I must try to keep him warm.’ But he dead, you see. And of course funeral like funeral – you couldn’t put anywhere, you put in the sheet and that’s it. And my daughter – two days dead. Dziadziu die in vigilia, and my daughter die two days later, when she say, ‘kiss me mammy’.

Paula: She died?

Babcia: Two days later after Dziadziu

Paula: In Christmas time?

Babcia: Christmas time.