True friends are known in poverty.

I've had and still have many problems: there's no money for flour or bread, or my parents have argued again. I live in the countryside, in a small shack with a thatched roof. My parents run a farm. We raise cows, pigs, and goats. Our difficult financial situation has been ongoing for generations. I've never had any female friends; Drozdowska has always been a complete loner. While the girls were out playing with the boys, I was herding sheep and milking cows. Even in my free time, I had no time for fun; my father found me a job, or I took care of my siblings. I fed, changed diapers, and watched over them. Janek, Krzysiek, Sławek, Mieszko, Mirek, and Zbyszek grew up in my wicker stroller.

My name is Tosia, Tosia Drozdowska. Red hair, freckles, and a very emaciated figure—they made me look unattractive. I've never had a boyfriend or a friend.

In our home, words like "television" and "radio" don't exist. In the mud hut, we had two modest rooms, a basement, and an attic. All the children lived in one room. A wardrobe, two beds, and a table were all there was. The kitchen and my father and mother's bedroom were connected. I often spent my free time in the attic. I spent my time there, lost in my own thoughts. I slept on the floor, and there was also a tiny table made of cardboard and an oven. I used to bake bread in the oven with my mother, but now my father had built a new one in the kitchen. The large dance floor, where I sang and danced, served as my stage.

At my school, no one ever tolerated me, and it's sad, but I was just trash there. I walked to school, to a nearby town, six kilometers away. Most of the kids in my class live in small towns. They laugh at me, call me names, and slander me. I'm different because I'm poor. I rarely had a slice of bread; I was hungry, exhausted from work. They didn't know this, didn't understand it, didn't know. I cried often. None of the girls comforted me, only she, Ela. She lent me a slice of bread even though she knew I wouldn't return it. My whole family was fed; I shared everything with my siblings. After all, they were hungry too. Her parents worked in a dairy and ran their own. Every day, when she visited me, she brought me a loaf of bread and a jar of milk. She took pity on me and comforted me, saying, "Don't worry, Tosia, it could always be worse." I remember her words to this day. It was thanks to Elka that I didn't go hungry, didn't worry. In her free time, she helped me with light chores: we tended the goats, sometimes the pigs. We would sit on a huge stone in the meadow, which we called the "Friendship Stone." We would talk. It was there that we most often confided in her about our difficult problems. I would tell her about my father and mother's new quarrels. Elka would stroke my long orange hair, saying, "This will pass, you'll see. We don't understand the adult world yet." I remember her black, fluffy hair, tied up in a ponytail. Her wonderful dark complexion, her radiant smile. She was a gypsy. Rejected by her school friends, she was my friend. She had always been strong, tough, powerful, and courageous, but she couldn't cope with this, she couldn't overcome it. Back then, there were no cures for serious illnesses. She died, jaundice had finished her off. She died on October 23, 1963.

I'm picking flowers in the meadow. I'm going to visit. She was buried near my house. We all felt her death. There was no bread, no flour. We were hungry again. She didn't tell me she was sick; she was strong; I didn't suspect it; it was summer, after all, and I wore a scarf too. I remember her death. I was grooming her. Her mother came running, in tears, and told me to run to Ela as quickly as possible. She ordered her mother to pack all her clothes, shoes, and schoolbag for me. She knew I didn't have any. I was poor, very poor, I had nothing. I asked Ela why? She hadn't told me to say anything; now she wanted to say goodbye to me herself. She plucked a green stone from her hand, containing a piece of amber. "My talisman will take care of you; keep it with you at all times. Do you understand? Promise me this! Never give up, never. Remember, I will always be watching over you. I will help you!" I didn't know what she meant, I was stupid. She continued: "Tosia, you have such beautiful red hair, promise you'll never cut it!" She was in so much pain. I held her hand and squeezed it tightly. "I promise," I replied. "I didn't want to tell you because..." I didn't let her finish. Now I knew. It was not without reason that she went to the doctor every month. "You know, I... I'm dying. I wanted you to be with me. This has been tormenting me for two years." "I'm with you, Ela, I am!" "Take all my clothes. Promise!" "I promise"—she knew she shouldn't refuse me at a time like this. There was no need." "Tosia, I know you don't have any. Please take them. Remember, take care of Sofia, and never give up, fight to the end. Tosia, what beautiful red hair you have..." Those were her last words. The doctor came in and said it was too late. I ran out of the house in tears. I ran to the river. I held her talisman in my hand. Sofia was our favorite goat, the one we took care of. Now I only thought of her, of Elka. I thought of the times we spent together; we knew each other for nine years. Far removed from reality, we had our own world.

Now, two years later, I relive her death as if it were yesterday. I closed myself off, I don't talk to anyone. I developed anemia. I took care of Sofia. I didn't let her sell it. I promised. I put on her favorite sweater and don't part with it for a moment. I visit her every day, we talk. Sometimes she answers me and still repeats the same words.