HER NAME WAS MARIA
My first escape attempt from the Molotov orphanage was a failure. The road to the west only went through Kirov-Vyatka. The devil prompted me to get into a workers’ train that was going in that direction. As it turned out, besides workers, railway cops and conductors were also travelling in it. They were going to replace other toadstools who were ending their shifts. They caught me red-handed, and turned me over to the toadstools going back. These cops took the escapee to Molotov and handed him over to the fierce orphanage guards.
Right there in the guard room, they started thrashing the life out of me. I wouldn’t be alive today if it weren’t for a stroke of luck – one of them turned out to be Belarussian.
In an unconscious state, bidding farewell to this life, I start
