Mothers
Mothers

Summary/Abstract: The trees that grew deeper in the forest were much coarser and tougher. It was an unimaginable ordeal, chopping a mighty hornbeam. The axe leapt off it like sparks from a flame. By now my belly was sticking out quite a bit and I lived in the constant fear that I myself would injure the fruit that was growing inside me. A couple of times it happened that the axeblade ended up striking my knees. Even in excruciating pain, I gave thanks that this tool of ours was so blunt. It was also unpleasant if shavings or a fragment of bark flew into my eye. The convict woman I was chopping with would have to take it out. But only at a moment when the guard wasn't looking, because it was strictly forbidden to stop work of one's own accord: there was an immediate threat of reduced rations. Once I cut my thigh with the axe.

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