I looked hard at that man and felt satisfied he was not one of the Ekaterinburg guards, nor was he anyone I had ever seen before. In his shabby English clothes I could not be sure what he was. He carried himself erect like a soldier, his hair was well-groomed and he had an easy manner. He looked at me squarely without self-consciousness and delivered his orders without hesitation.
The woman usually carried my food on a rough, wooden tray. Gradually, she brought me more solid food. Occasionally I had some potato; fresh fish was on my regular diet. When eating solid food I had to be very careful as I was afraid that I might swallow some of the teeth that were broken at the roots.
I found one disfigurement after another. I could chew only on the right side of my mouth. Feeling around my head, I realized I was covered with welts, one more painful than the other. I also discovered two long grooves, one on the right side of my head, back of the ear, about an inch long, which still remained very painful. I wondered if this pain was the result of the accident or was inherited from my Mother who had a sensitive spot on her head. Her hairdresser had to be very careful when arranging her hair. Mine might have been caused by the bullet that had grazed my head. The pain indicated that my nose, too, was broken.
A deformed, partly toothless girl at seventeen, alone in a world that did not care. My only consolation was that in spite of everything the Lord continued to be beside me.
Beneath the bandage of my stomach, no part was shot away. I could not find a bullet hole; instead, my skin was covered with traceries as though cut by myriads of flying glass. The woman seemed pleased that I was well enough to take an interest in my wounds. She actually volunteered the information that she had pulled out small pieces of blue glass from my flesh. She spread honey over my abdomen and finally the honey drew the glass slivers out.
She asked, “Do you remember carrying any glass container with you?”
Mother often carried a small blue bottle of smelling salts. It was possible she had this in her hand at the time.
The woman showed me the wounds on my left leg, an oval gash, very deep; and a small one in the back; a round, corresponding hole in the front. She said nothing more as though to give no loophole, but worked rapidly and then hurried up the ladder.
The man became a more frequent visitor in my dugout. He was always friendly, more so than the woman. He always had something pleasant to say about the weather, perhaps a cheerful “Good evening.” After a while he brought along another man who seemed to be of an entirely different type—dressed in peasant clothes, and obviously a peasant. Both were impatient for me to get well. They were inquiring about my progress, asking the woman how soon I might be up and around. From their nervousness I could see they were in constant terror of discovery. During one of the visits, I saw a newspaper folded in the pocket of the first man. When he turned around I recognized only the Latin characters. I could not tell what the language was.
Whenever the men came I was frightened and excited, hoping that one of them would drop a hint that another member of my family was saved. It was hard for me to believe that all were gone. With these thoughts and uncertainties surrounding me, I was terrified. I knew nothing of an outside world—my home in Tsarskoe Selo was the only world I knew. Perhaps all this was a retribution, because I had often envied girls who were free to go where they wished. As a young girl I had never taken anything seriously. I had always been shielded, often looked on with amusement, until the war broke out when suddenly I discovered how serious life was to be. Now no one was left to stand between me and reality. These dirt walls were reality. Yet even here someone protected me. Beyond these walls there seemed to be some sinister power, yet I could not comprehend it all. Days and days passed, perhaps weeks and months.