Opaps p2

Opaps p2
Earliest Memories

The earliest thing in my memory is going to the Kikuri tavern. It was a dark evening, the path was muddy, and my mother carried me on her back, like a backpack [kunkulprece]. I remember that we went up to the tavern window, hoping to see my father among the drinkers. After a little while we went home, only two, just as we had come; I am sure that I did not walk at all, but slept on my mother's back. Only that walk has clearly remained in my memory, from when I could have been less than a year old. In later years I still remember it, because at the time I deeply felt my mother's sorrow about the money spent on drink, which was so much needed for sustenance.

The second event I remember was a bit later, when I was called to the nearby Muizaraji house to say goodbye to my playmate, Malite. I was carried to the barn, and shown Malite lying in a coffin, completely pale and somehow unusually dressed. Not understanding, I went away, and returned home without understanding any of the talk and explanations I heard. I did realize, though, that something incomprehensible had happened to Malite which ended our playing permanently.

The third moment which stayed somewhere deep in my collection of memories, is the walk I took to the Silis house to play with my compatriot (latv. 'versu puiseli'), Oskars. I would go there filled with fear, not so much of the dogs, which frightened me greatly then, as of Oskars's brother, for Becis was older than both of us, and a bully. We both suffered violence at his hands, but I was beaten more often. I had to go through a great struggle between my fear and the enjoyment of play, which made the three-hundred-paces-long swine-herding path twice as long and difficult.

If I am now speaking of the Silis's , then I shall have to relate everything about them, though the events stretch fifty years ahead in time. Old Silis was a teacher, but when the policy of Russification was imposed, he could no longer carry out his tasks as a teacher, since he did not know the Russian language, which was to be driven into the children's little heads from primary school on. Up to that time the second language was German, the tongue of the barons and lords. Thus old Silis remained only as sexton for the St. Peter's congregation in the Klostere parish. For that he received for his use the sexton's parcel of land, about three acres with a garden and buildings, next to the school. I later met old Silis in Liepaja after I had returned from my emigration. I also met his sons, Aleksandrs, the former school inspector, and Oskars, my former playmate, by then a Social Department director; but we did not get to talk about our childhood days.

In Germany, during the refugee camp days, I would have to drive to the camp (probably in Wiesbaden) where Oskars was a camp director, and was being pursued by the U.S. Militaryl government as an alleged Nazi party member. We discussed the basis of the accusations and the persons involved in the case, and agreed that I would come to defend him. Not long afterward I received a despair- filled letter asking me to hurry to his aid, since he had been imprisoned without a trial. I drove to the prison and found him so depressed and desperate that embracing me, he pressed himself to my shoulder and cried, saying that he wouldn't survive his imprisonment. I went to the Military Police court, and sought out the prosecutor to learn something of the charges and the court date. I found that my friend had been slandered by some UNRA worker: a Jew, the same man that Oskars had earlier complained of as a communist, or a communist supporter, and an enemy of the Latvian DP's. Oskars had shown me a magazine in which this fellow was photographed with a raised fist under a red flag, together with the reds.

Fortunately I had met the prosecutor, who held no sympathy for the Russians and communists, so that he gladly heard me out, accepted my evidence, and promised to investigate the matter quickly -and free Oskars. Naturally, I conveyed this news to the prisoner, and taking leave of his wife and son as well, I returned to Augsburg. I would have to go on at length to fully describe the difficulties involved in traveling at that time.

Thus I saw my childhood playmate for the last time behind bars!


		In page 2 of the original, my grandfather describes his earliest memories from the 1890s and jumps forward to an episode the 1940s, when he was a refugee in Germany.



		Opaps p2 Earliest Memories The earliest thing in my memory is going to the Kikuri tavern. It was a dark evening, the path was muddy, and my mother carried me on her back, like a backpack [kunkulprece]. I remember that we went up to the tavern window, hoping to see my father among the drinkers. After a little while we went home, only two, just as we had come; I am sure that I did not walk at all, but slept on my mother's back. Only that walk has clearly remained in my memory, from when I could have been less than a year old. In later years I still remember it, because at the time I deeply felt my mother's sorrow about the money spent on drink, which was so much needed for sustenance. The second event I remember was a bit later, when I was called to the nearby Muizaraji house to say goodbye to my playmate, Malite. I was carried to the barn, and shown Malite lying in a coffin, completely pale and somehow unusually dressed. Not understanding, I went away, and returned home without understanding any of the talk and explanations I heard. I did realize, though, that something incomprehensible had happened to Malite which ended our playing permanently. The third moment which stayed somewhere deep in my collection of memories, is the walk I took to the Silis house to play with my compatriot (latv. 'versu puiseli'), Oskars. I would go there filled with fear, not so much of the dogs, which frightened me greatly then, as of Oskars's brother, for Becis was older than both of us, and a bully. We both suffered violence at his hands, but I was beaten more often. I had to go through a great struggle between my fear and the enjoyment of play, which made the three-hundred-paces-long swine-herding path twice as long and difficult. If I am now speaking of the Silis's , then I shall have to relate everything about them, though the events stretch fifty years ahead in time. Old Silis was a teacher, but when the policy of Russification was imposed, he could no longer carry out his tasks as a teacher, since he did not know the Russian language, which was to be driven into the children's little heads from primary school on. Up to that time the second language was German, the tongue of the barons and lords. Thus old Silis remained only as sexton for the St. Peter's congregation in the Klostere parish. For that he received for his use the sexton's parcel of land, about three acres with a garden and buildings, next to the school. I later met old Silis in Liepaja after I had returned from my emigration. I also met his sons, Aleksandrs, the former school inspector, and Oskars, my former playmate, by then a Social Department director; but we did not get to talk about our childhood days. In Germany, during the refugee camp days, I would have to drive to the camp (probably in Wiesbaden) where Oskars was a camp director, and was being pursued by the U.S. Militaryl government as an alleged Nazi party member. We discussed the basis of the accusations and the persons involved in the case, and agreed that I would come to defend him. Not long afterward I received a despair- filled letter asking me to hurry to his aid, since he had been imprisoned without a trial. I drove to the prison and found him so depressed and desperate that embracing me, he pressed himself to my shoulder and cried, saying that he wouldn't survive his imprisonment. I went to the Military Police court, and sought out the prosecutor to learn something of the charges and the court date. I found that my friend had been slandered by some UNRA worker: a Jew, the same man that Oskars had earlier complained of as a communist, or a communist supporter, and an enemy of the Latvian DP's. Oskars had shown me a magazine in which this fellow was photographed with a raised fist under a red flag, together with the reds. Fortunately I had met the prosecutor, who held no sympathy for the Russians and communists, so that he gladly heard me out, accepted my evidence, and promised to investigate the matter quickly -and free Oskars. Naturally, I conveyed this news to the prisoner, and taking leave of his wife and son as well, I returned to Augsburg. I would have to go on at length to fully describe the difficulties involved in traveling at that time. Thus I saw my childhood playmate for the last time behind bars!



		This section, "Visagras Atminas", continues in the following pages. Feedback, submissions, ideas? Email pkalnin@hotmail.com.



NOTE: Already there are elements of the memoir which I want to remark on at length in a separate section, particularly expressions of anti-Semitism. However, I don't want my voice to be mixed into the translation itself except in translating issues. Peter Kalnin


				*The Memoirs of Jacob Kalnin, 1889-1986* *p2: Earliest Memories*



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