Letters from the North. War at the Arctic Circle, 1941 – 1944. Yakov Shafirovich

a nurse. I looked at Arkhangelsk. There is mud here now, the river has not yet opened up. The Fritzes never flew here. I enjoyed absorbing the features of the city life during the war, because I have been in a city for the first time since May.

      With a friend, I thought of the following thing. In the city in the cinema there is “Defense of Tsaritsyn”. Tomorrow, we want to go for a walk and climb there, which is generally not allowed.

      There were female students of 9^th grade of an Arkhangelsk’ school in the hospital. They have medical internships here. I enjoyed talking to them. I plunged into my beloved, at the same time close and distant school life. It turned out that in some ways I was already outdated. Young people look at many things differently. OK, I’ll catch up.

      Now I read a lot. But I just don’t understand what interests me. I liked Podyachev. Read “My Life.” Indeed, “to live life is not to just cross the field.”

      What else? We are 15 people in the room. The food is good. This morning there was a potato with fried cod. For lunch, meat noodles and buckwheat porridge with meat cutlet. Yesterday we had pancakes with sour cream for dinner. In the morning and evening for tea, 15 g of butter. In general – the grace of God.

      Yesterday I listened to a rally “in defense of children.” When a mother talked about her 16-year-old tortured son, I swallowed tears with her.

      Well, that’s enough for now. It’s still unusual to write. The little finger interferes.

      Yes, Nadya, I received a letter from Zhenya Khapulin’s mother and did not have time to answer. She asks if I have learned anything new about Zhenya. Tell her there is nothing new. I ask you to go to her. I won’t write to her separately then. Hint to her that I have nothing new to say. I will personally report some details of his death.

      Nadya, how do you all live there? Hello to Lyalya with the kids. It hurts that she didn’t bother to drop me a line. I wrote to her an hour before the injury and left it in the dugout. I don’t know if the comrades sent it. Maybe at least now she can write a little bit.

      I kiss you and mom hard.

      Regards, Yasha.

      PS To your medical heart: the doctor said that my lungs are so healthy “that God grant everyone.” Of course, this is the most precious thing for you.

      Write, maybe the letter will find me in the hospital. Hello to Nogintsy. Yasha.

      Address: Arkhangelsk PO Box No. 675/3.

      Nadya, I completely forgot to write. Ammargen is used to treat in the hospital. Doctors speak well of it.

      Only now has the doctor prescribed a new treatment for me: paraffin therapy. It’s kind of like mud therapy. The hands are lubricated with heated liquid paraffin, and when it cools down, they remove it. I have to take 30 sessions. Today – the first.

      And Pyotr Irmalaich is probably happy that his Ammargen is working for defense.31

      Well, all the best.

      Sorry about the handwriting. It is unusual to write with an unbendable little finger. Yasha.

      25.

      22 April 1942

      Hello Mom!

      Yesterday I received your letter sent in response to my telegram. I was wounded on the 7^th of March at 11 pm, i.e., almost a month before the time I sent the telegram, but I could not write to you earlier due to the following circumstances: firstly my hands were in plaster from fingers to elbows, so I could not write on my own, and I was afraid to dictate a letter because you might have thought that I was with one foot in the grave, besides, dictation of the letter (I wrote to the guys at the front) is the most difficult thing for me. I always write all my thoughts and do not tolerate a template, dictating my thoughts was torture for me, during which I sweated mercilessly. An honest word.