Page 47 - Images Literary Magazine 2016 - 2017.pdf

The next morning, Darius and Valentina were still in grief but showed signs of life when Soviet
soldiers came around with pieces of bread. We devoured the pieces in minutes, and I hoped it would
make Alexei feel a little bit better. To my horror, it did not. He would vomit blood almost every hour,
crying louder and louder. Other children would stare as I would try to calm him down, but nothing
would help. Finally, I tried singing my mother?s lullaby, praying that it would put him to sleep.

?Hush little boy, sleep and dream

About peace, love, and cookies and cream

May you sleep in comfort and know what is true

That Mama and Papa will always love you?

My singing might have been questionable, but it miraculously put little Alexei to sleep, and as he
closed his eyes, we could finally see shoreline on the dim horizon. As we neared the coast, women
came around and threw us new clothing. This new land must have been hot because what she gave us
looked like desert clothing. Tan blouses and skirts for girls, and shorts and shirts for boys. They also
gave us these ugly hats that protected us from the sun, and Valentina acted as if she was royalty,
waving her hand in the air, and spinning around in her new skirt. The ship finally docked at a port-city
that someone told me was named Pahlavi. We were led down the plank and set foot on new soil, and a
new home. A man with a large camera took my sister and brothers aside, and along with a few other
children and snapped a picture of them. Maybe they made the local newspaper! I laughed. Some of the
children looked like little soldiers with their army hats. From there, we were led to a station where they
inspected us for diseases. I was scared that they would take Alexei away, but instead, a kind Iranian
woman gave him a spoonful of medicine and led us to a train. If something happened to Alexei, my
world would definitely crumble beneath me. From there, we were seated and after ten minutes we
were en route to Isfahan.

Night came when we arrived. To my surprise, signs had Polish written on them. Stores bore Polish
names and products. Happily, my siblings and I jumped out of the train and were led into a building
where all four of us shared a room. It was much better than sharing it with hundreds of other children
spreading sickness. Alexei already started to look better, and a woman pulled me outside of our room
to explain what was going on.

?Hello Ms. Nowak, my name is Kiana. Welcome to the city of Isfahan,? Kiana introduced. Like Putinov,
her Polish was rusty.
?Thank you, please call me Katka,? I politely replied.