The Easter of 1943. By that time, our small diet had been salt free for a long time. Living on the loose one can nibble bark, eat dirt or grass... The complete lack of salt results in isotonia of blood and lymph which is quite painful. And now Balandin, after exchanging a triple kiss with me, [said],
«Well Frosya! Look what I brought! So we will break fast...»
And he carefully unfolded a small piece of cloth on the furnace fringe; it was salt!
A whole tea-spoon of salt! Not everyone is capable to understand it. And only one knowing what it means to share a pinch of salt is capable to appraise it!
We nipped tiny bits of our food rations, carefully sopped them into the salt and ate reverently. Could anything be tastier?! But how sad...
[In a few days I learned that Balandin went mad; stripping to the buff he ran around the camp yowling and attacking the walls and it was horrible to hear his shrieks. Pellagra had taken its toll...]