From the files of Bay State Correctional Center, Norfolk, Massachusetts, Personal Statement of Bernice Chaplik, October 30, 1987:
I did not like
America. I
still do not like America. It is a loud,
rude country, with children who are
willful and
impolite. Not like my sweet Edvard. But it became necessary to make the move.
Lithuania is a beautiful country, but questions were being asked. You would think that no one would begrudge an old woman a few simple
joys, but no. That is the problem with this
modern world. There is no respect for the
old anymore. No respect for
professional skill and
strength.
It was hard enough in
Vilnius. The people are simple and good, but they are
old-fashioned. They think their
meat must only be cut by a
man. "A woman does not have the strength to cut meat. Women are too
weak, and it is a job only for the
strong." Pfah. For years, my grandmother and even my
mother killed the
chickens at our home. What is it that requires more strength to kill a
pig or a
goat or a
cow than to kill a chicken? There is nothing. You stop the animal from moving, and you put a
knife in. Anyone could do it, even the weak.
But I was never weak. I was always strong. My mother and father taught me about strength.
Father always taught me to be strong and not to
cry out, no matter what. But Mother taught me another kind of strength. She taught me that sometimes you cannot be the strongest in
body, but you can be strong of
mind and use that strong mind to catch your oppressor at his weakest. So you can make yourself stronger. "Your father was stronger than both of us, Bernice," she would tell me. "But now he is
in the ground. So who is stronger now?" And she would
laugh so.
But they have both been in the ground for many years. And I am still alive.
It came time to make my way, so I decided I would be a
butcher. I had learned so much about the craft from Father and Mother both, and I had not learned what many of the girls my age had, in finding and winning a man to care for them. What did I care? These girls were weak, with their
primping and
sewing. So I took my money from the
farm and opened my own shop in the town. Oh, how they complained. "I will not trade there. Dragunos is a proper butcher, and he is a man, after all." But they changed their tune when the banker's
daughter was found hanging from one of Dragunos'
hooks, I can tell you that.
Things were comfortable for me after that, but it was not the end of my troubles in Vilnius. The
war caused great difficulties for all of us. Meat became scarce, and always were
soldiers in the town making demands. One of these soldiers came to me once and made demands. It had been many years since I'd had the attentions of a man, but he was stronger than me. His mind was weak, however, and he thought I would just
weep like a girl after he'd been with me.
Killing a man is not much different than killing a pig. And I knew much about killing pigs.
But you know how it is during
war, yes? Many people die, certainly, but many just
disappear, especially soldiers. Fighting a war is hard work, and many soldiers will slip away from their comrades and try to make it home. Or they will be captured by the
enemy and never seen again.
Families in Vilnius wanted meat with their meals, and in time, I was able to provide for them again.
In time, the war ended, and as if it were a gift from
God Himself, I had my little Edvard. They would call him a
special child now, and he
was a special child, always I knew this. Oh, he was willful sometimes, as all children can be, but a mother knows how to
discipline. At first, he did not like the
cage, but I told him I was doing it because I loved him, and I think he accepted it. In time, I think he learned to prefer the cage to a bed, so I put him there every night, where I knew he would be
safe and where he would not get into any
mischief.
But others did not love my Edvard as much. The children were
cruel to him, and some even said he was
cursed by God because his mother was a butcher and did not have a husband. Even the adults said this, and they said it proved that I was
unfit and weak. Vilnius was still a
chaotic and
dangerous place after the war, and many people, especially many children, were kidnapped by
bandits and
Russians and were never seen again.
You have had
veal before, yes? I discovered a taste for veal after the war.
Oh, but I always kept Edvard safe and
happy. He was a special child, and his mind was not as strong as many others, but he had a gift for growing things in his
garden. We didn't have enough land for a farm, but Edvard kept a beautiful garden for me. He grew
potatoes and
rosebushes for me, but when he discovered how large he could grow a
pumpkin -- well, never had I seen him so happy and excited. Within only a few seasons, he was growing the largest pumpkins Vilnius had ever seen. It was a good time for us. Edvard was happy, and I was happy, and we had much meat on our table.
But the
good times never last forever. I grew too old to be a butcher, but we still needed food for our table, and people started asking
questions. They said Edvard and I should leave town or there would be
trouble. So we went. We moved to America, where they say it is the
land of the free. It is the land of the
noisy and the
expensive, I will tell you that, and there is certainly nothing free about it. We had to settle for an old house that was falling to pieces, but it was large, and it had a good
basement where I could work. Thank God above for that much.
I had thought maybe we should live
quietly and simply, and we did for a while. No one seemed to pay attention to us, but then Edvard planted a new crop of pumpkins, and the
neighborhood children all began to
loiter around the house, as if they were just
flaunting themselves. And they were all
frail, weak, and
spoiled, not at all like people back home, like they had never worked hard in their life, and I hadn't had a good plate of veal or
blood sausage in
years.
The first one, the girl, was easy. I invited her inside for some of my
chocolate chip cookies, then offered to show her my
playroom in the basement. And she didn't even
complain until after I had her in one of the cages. She barely even raised her voice when I cut her -- just a
sigh, and she was gone. It took me two days to
clean and dress her properly. Hard work, yes? But a bit of good
seasoning... Finest
pork stew I'd made in ages, and you may be assured that I have made some of the best pork stews anywhere.
The first boy took a little work, but
weak-minded children can be brought
off-guard with a few quiet little tricks. They think they can help an old woman when she is calling, "Oh, little boy, can you help me, can you help me? I've hurt my leg so. Oh, I can't move it. Here, little one, hold me upright." Then a quick knock in the head. A bit too hard, though, and I had to work fast to get him cut up and canned before the meat went bad.
And then came the blonde girl. Always running around and jumping and acting loud. Pretending she was strong when she was just a
child, weaker than any adult. She was bothering my Edvard when I came up behind her. Edvard actually tried to help her
escape. What is this world coming to when a son will turn against his own mother? He fell and struck his head, and I considered letting that be his only
punishment, but an
unruly child must be disciplined, and I made him sleep in his cage without
supper that night. As for the girl, well, she was a
crude one. She made that rude gesture at me, and I thought, well, I'll teach this one a lesson, and I cut that
finger off for her! Let's see her make that little sign again, yes?
After that, the
heartless swine took my baby away from me, carted him off to the jail like a dog. I hated it, but it had to be done. He'd been getting weaker, and I had been worrying that I might have to discipline him a great deal more strongly. A mother hates having to think of doing that to her only child, and I decided that the
police were a more
merciful alternative. Still, I was half mad from
grief, and I think that was why my own thinking weakened enough to invite the other boy inside. Or perhaps I thought another
disappearance would make them set Edvard free. Who can say, I'm so old, I'd forget my head if it had not been sewn on by God. But letting the boy inside was a
mistake -- he was the most
horrible of them all! Did you know he struck me in the head with a
jar? Struck me in the head! Children in the country just do not respect their
elders the way they should. Their parents let them watch too much
TV, yes? It makes them all mad.
You have the rest in your files, yes? Why they would put an
old woman in a place like this for so many years, I cannot say. But you know, after all of it is said and done, what I
regret the most is this: I'll die in this American prison, never getting to eat a good
meal again. That is what I regret the most.
Bernice Chaplik died on January 7, 1988, and was buried by the State of Massachusetts on the grounds of the Bay State Correctional Center.