Creative Connector

Andrei Matusa

Her name was Elena, Elena Novak.1 She was an old wealthy lady, with a wealth that had been
taken by the German forces during the war. Though she was stripped of most of her money, she kept
her car and abnormally large house. Tamara and I glanced at the towering house as we approached the
front doors. The house was fully intact, but the war had set a gloomy mood upon it, clouding its once
divine beauty. “It was used as a temporary base,” recalled Elena as we watched in awe. “I was forced to
lend it to the German forces for whatever reason they wanted. Otherwise, it would’ve been taken from
me.” The house was now empty, the Germans had only left the day before, she told us. Upon arriving at
the house, we were relieved to have a sanctuary, a place to rest, and even happier to know we’d be
getting proper medical care, thinking about Tamara’s sickness. “I am a doctor, you will be well taken
care of,” she reassured us as we walked through the front doors. Walking into the house, we felt like
royalty, even if it was during the war. The house was the grandest thing I had ever seen. It had a room
for everything, a ballroom, an exercise room, a library, cozy sitting areas, everything one could ever
dream for. “It’s amazing,” I turned to Elena, “Thank you.”

Over the next few days, Tamara and I spent most of our time resting. Within a week, thanks to
Elena’s help, we were up and about in optimal shape. Tamara was no longer sick, and in the dresses that
Elena had lent her, looked prettier than ever. We started to get to know each other, to work around the
house. Elena was a widow, whose husband was killed in the First World War. She also had 2 kids, a son
and a daughter. Her daughter Alina, also a doctor, was living in America, safe from war. Unfortunately,
her son Aleksandr, who was conscripted into war as a Russian soldier, had been wounded in the very
battle that overthrew our Battalion Headquarters back when I was first on the German front lines.2 He
had been taken to a Russian hospital and had gone missing when the hospital was attacked. I suddenly
felt sick; my stomach turned. Although Tamara didn’t realize, it hit me like a brick in the face: Aleksandr
was the name on my stolen Russian uniform when I first got wounded on the German front lines.3 It was
Elena’s son that I had taken the uniform from, it was to Elena I wrote the letter in the hospital telling her
that her son was alive, and now, I was standing in front of her, getting treated and helped, while she
thought her son was missing, not knowing that he was actually dead.

I could not tell her, I couldn’t. How could I tell her that her son was in fact dead, that I had gave
her false hope, that she had been lied to. She would refuse to treat us, kick us out, plus, I still had a bad
knee.4 I concluded not telling her would be the best thing for all of us. 10 days had passed since we first
arrived at Elena’s place, and it was starting to feel like home. Elena made the best soup, and treated
Tamara and I like her own son and daughter. We did not want to leave, but we felt guilty, especially me,
guilty for staying on top of her head, consuming resources, living like royalty even during the war,
without paying her back.

1
Wulffson 178.
2
Wulffson 122.
3
Wulffson 76.
4
Wulffson 92.
 We continued our lives living with Elena for the next 3 days until the inevitable happened. On
one morning, an extreme civil unrest was thriving in the town. Looking out the window to the west, we
saw big masses of German forces coming towards the town. They were not going to overthrow it, they
were going to take control of it and set it up as a base, a hospital for their wounded. This meant go time
for Tamara and I. Within 15 minutes we were ready to leave, loaded with food, water and clothes.
Tamara and I got in the car, in the passenger’s seats, but Elena waited outside. “Go,” she said. “Go
before they find you. Take the car and run, take the old dirt road, it’s always clear.” “You’re not
coming?” asked Tamara. “I have lived in this town my whole life, I will not abandon it, but you are
running out of time, so GO!” replied Elena. After a very sad goodbye, we took off and headed for the old
dirt road, which was clear, just as Elena had described. We took one final look back and saw Elena
outside, just as the German forces had arrived at the edge of the town, a most saddening thought, after
spending the past 2 weeks with her.