Читать книгу The Story of Us: The sweeping historical debut of 2018 that you will never forget - Lana Kortchik - Страница 12

September 1941

After breakfast the next morning, Natasha read to her grandmother, a little bit from The Three Musketeers and a little bit from The Count of Monte Cristo. And as she read Mark’s favourite books, she imagined his smile. Only two hours to go till she saw him again. Finally, when Grandmother nodded off to sleep, Natasha closed the door to her bedroom, got dressed and brushed her hair.

She wished she had some make-up, some perfume, anything to make her more attractive to him. She peered at her reflection in the mirror. Peered at her light-green eyes, at her pale skin, pale eyelashes, pale everything. She longed for some colour in her face, a shade of red for her lips, some pink for her cheeks. She rummaged in her sister’s drawer and found some lipstick and mascara.

When she was ready, she locked the door behind her and practically ran downstairs. She was afraid that the sound of her beating heart would wake her grandmother and alert her father to the fact that something remarkable was happening on this unremarkable Monday morning.

She was almost at the bottom of the stairs when she bumped into her sister. Lisa sang tonelessly as she walked through the front door of their building. If Natasha wasn’t in such a hurry, she would have recognised Lisa’s voice in time to hide behind a pillar. But as it was, she was moving with such a speed, she almost knocked her sister off her feet.

Lisa stopped singing. ‘Ouch,’ she said. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

‘Sorry, I was just leaving.’

Lisa peered at Natasha suspiciously. ‘Going somewhere special?’

‘Not really. Just to see Olga.’

Natasha made a move to get past her sister, but Lisa grabbed her by the arm, blinking and staring.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Natasha.

Lisa said, ‘Come here for a moment. Under this window.’ After a second or two of incredulous observation, she exclaimed, ‘I knew it.’

‘What?’ Natasha wondered how long it would take to get around Lisa and to the front door, but her sister was clutching her arm so tightly, it was impossible to move. ‘Let go, you’re hurting me.’

‘What is going on?’ demanded Lisa.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Tell me right now where you’re going.’

‘I told you. To see Olga.’ What time was it? Natasha didn’t want Mark to wait for her. What if he thought she didn’t want to see him?

‘And what’s that on your face?’

‘Don’t know what you mean.’

‘Do you wear make-up for Olga now? Natasha, I’ve known you all my life and never, not once, did I see you with mascara on. Just look at your eyelashes!’ Lisa examined Natasha’s face as if she had never seen it before.

‘I wear make-up sometimes. You just never noticed.’

‘Never noticed? You don’t even own make-up. You say mascara makes your eyes water. Hang on a second, is that my make-up you’re wearing? Did you take it out of my drawer without even asking?’ Lisa put her hands on her hips, letting go of Natasha.

Once again Natasha tried to get past Lisa, but her sister was too fast. She blocked the way. ‘So what? Like you didn’t take that scarf without asking? It’s Mama’s favourite,’ said Natasha, pulling at the silky shawl that was skilfully arranged around Lisa’s neck.

Lisa ignored her, sniffing the air around her. ‘And what’s that smell? Is it Mama’s perfume?’

‘Lisa, what do you want?’ Natasha wished she had left a minute earlier. Had she done that, she would have been halfway to Kreshchatyk by now.

A neighbour walked past, glaring at the girls. The sisters fell quiet, waiting for him to pass. When he was gone, Lisa said, ‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on or do I have to follow you?’

‘You’re going to have to follow me,’ said Natasha, shaking with impatience.

‘Fine. Keep your secret. Won’t be the first time,’ said Lisa, moving sideways and letting her sister go.

Natasha breathed out in relief and opened the door. Only when she was outside did she realise that Lisa was close behind her. ‘What are you doing?’ asked Natasha.

‘What does it look like I’m doing? Going to see Olga, of course,’ said Lisa, sniggering.

Natasha watched Lisa for a mute moment and then said, ‘You know what, Lisa? I don’t feel so good. Why don’t you go to Olga without me? Tell her I said hi.’

Not waiting for her sister to reply, Natasha turned on her heels and disappeared through the front door of their building. She ran up one flight of stairs to the window, just in time to see Lisa vanish around the corner.

*

When Natasha thought it was safe, she emerged from her hiding place. Looking around cautiously, half expecting her sister to jump out from behind the next tree, she set off in the direction of Kreshchatyk. Her hands trembled in fear, in excitement. What if he wasn’t there? Or worse – what if he had given up on her and left? Although she didn’t own a watch, she knew she must be quite late.

Natasha almost sprinted down the street, despite the shoes that were half a size too small and pinched her feet mercilessly. And there, on a bench under a golden-brown chestnut tree basking in timid autumn sunlight, was Mark.

Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. And then it struck her: He’s not wearing civilian clothes today, he’s wearing his uniform. What would people think when they saw her strolling hand in hand with a Hungarian soldier? What if someone she knew recognised her? Would they tell her parents? Would they call her names and spread awful rumours? Would they think she was betraying her country, just like the women she’d seen welcoming the Nazis to Kiev? She shuddered.

But he was here, waiting for her, and at that moment in time, it was the only thing that mattered.

He stood up to greet her, and suddenly she didn’t know what to do. Did she hug him? Did she shake his hand? What was the acceptable protocol for a Soviet girl meeting a Hungarian soldier on the streets of occupied Kiev? He was so tall, she couldn’t raise her eyes high enough to see his face. She stared at the buttons of his tunic instead. ‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ she blurted out. ‘My sister… She wouldn’t let me out of her sight. Have you been waiting long?’

‘Not too long. Do you want to walk to Taras Shevchenko Park?’ Natasha happily agreed. She knew there were only a handful of warm days left before winter arrived, bringing with it the icy cold and the gloomy skies. It was a beautiful sunny day and the park was bathed in autumn colours. The ground hid under a thick carpet of leaves, and Natasha enjoyed the soft feeling under her feet.

The trenches stood empty, their mocking mouths agape.

They ambled side by side, not looking at each other. ‘I come here all the time when I’m off duty,’ said Mark. ‘I love the park.’

Natasha wanted to tell him that she loved the park, too, but then she glanced at the spot where three days ago a German officer shot her grandmother. And she didn’t say anything.

‘I’m sorry about your grandmother,’ said Mark, as if he could read her mind. ‘Is she feeling any better?’

‘Not better. Not worse. Just… the same.’

They walked in silence past the trenches, past the chestnuts clad in shades of red and brown, past the gigantic Taras Shevchenko monument, whose bronze eyes seemed to follow them in motionless curiosity. When they were level with the monument, Natasha took Mark’s hand. But then a Soviet couple strolled by, and the woman narrowed her disdainful eyes at Natasha. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself,’ she exclaimed. And Natasha let go of Mark’s hand. To hide how much the confrontation had upset her, she bent down and picked up a leaf of a particularly bright tint of gold.

‘Don’t worry about her,’ said Mark.

‘I’m not worried.’

‘She’s only saying that because she’s scared and upset. And who can blame her?’ When Natasha didn’t reply, he added, ‘Taras Shevchenko is my mother’s favourite poet. “And with my heart I rush forth to a dark tiny orchard – to Ukraine.”’ He recited the famous poem in Ukrainian with his eyes closed, as if in his thoughts he was far from Ukraine, from the occupied Kiev and from Natasha, in a small Hungarian village called Vacratot.

‘I know this one. We learnt it at school.’ Natasha was quiet for a moment, trying to remember. ‘“I think a thought, I ponder it, and it’s as though my heart is resting.”’ When she looked up, she saw he was staring at her with such intensity, she blushed and let go of the leaf she was still holding. In silence she watched as it hovered for a fraction of a second in the breeze, before slowly drifting downwards. ‘Your mother speaks Ukrainian?’ she asked at last.

‘She understands it. When she was a child, she spent every summer in Ukraine with her grandparents.’

‘What is she like, your mother?’

‘She’s very kind. I’ve never heard her raise her voice. We are very close.’

‘I’m close to my mama, too. My papa, not so much. Lisa is his favourite.’

‘My dad and I always fight. He’s authoritative, strict, doesn’t talk much. Except when we’re arguing. Then he seems to have a lot to say.’

‘I know what you mean,’ said Natasha, thinking of her own strict, authoritative father. ‘What do you argue about?’

He frowned. ‘Pretty much everything. The farm. My choice of friends. What I should study at university.’

‘What did you study?’

‘Physics.’

Natasha looked at him with admiration. ‘Physics! You must be a genius. It made absolutely no sense to me at school.’

He laughed. ‘Hardly a genius. Just curious about how things work.’

‘What did your father want you to study?’

‘Agriculture. He wants me to take over the family business. And I can’t imagine anything worse. Hence the arguments.’

‘You know what my grandfather says?’

‘What does your grandfather say?’

He looked like he was making a conscious effort to remain serious. His lips trembled as if he was on the verge of laughter. Was he teasing her? She blushed and for a moment forgot what she was about to say. ‘Oh, yes. My grandfather says arguments are good. It’s when people stop talking that something’s wrong. Not that he’s ever argued with a living soul.’

‘He’s very wise, your grandfather.’

‘Are your grandparents still alive?’

‘No, they died before I was born. They lived in a village not far from here. Would you believe it, we passed it in a truck on the way from Lvov. I always wanted to see where my family came from. Just not like this.’ A cloud passed through his face.

Turning away from him and towards the lush greenery of the park, she said, ‘You should see this place in April. Beautiful red tulips everywhere. We used to come here all the time. My brothers and sister, my friend Olga.’

They ambled full circle around the park and sat on a bench, only a small space between them. He was so close, if she reached out, she could touch him. She didn’t. Her hands remained firmly in her lap. She couldn’t watch his face, so she watched the Germans strolling leisurely past and the Soviets walking in hurried strides.

‘I brought you something,’ said Mark. He opened his rucksack. There were four cans of meat, two cans of pickled tomatoes, a loaf of bread, a dozen apples and a kilo of potatoes. Whole potatoes and not just peels. That’ll make a pleasant change, thought Natasha.

‘Oh, that’s wonderful. Thank you so much.’ She clasped her hands together at the thought of the feast they were going to have later.

‘You’re welcome. They don’t feed us as well as the Germans, but we still get some food.’ Looking straight at her, he smiled. And looking down at the ground, she smiled back.

‘So let me get this straight,’ she said. ‘In Hungary, you have a king and a regent. I find it hard to believe. It’s like something out of a Dumas novel.’

‘I guess it is. I’ve never given it much thought.’

‘It sounds too much like a fairy tale to be true. All we have is Comrade Stalin.’

‘And don’t forget the Bolsheviks.’

‘Well, no. Not anymore,’ she whispered. In the distance, an aircraft roared past. She could just make out the swastika on its fuselage. ‘What do you do now you’re in Ukraine?’

‘Guard strategic objects. Bridges, railway stations. Occasionally do some translating. Speaking Russian helps. But mostly, I’m on city patrol. I walk around, making sure nothing untoward is going on.’

‘Such as what?’

‘Well, last night, for example, I came across an old man who was detained for not handing in his food supplies. Two privates were interrogating him. He hardly had any food left, but they looked like they were ready to shoot him.’

Natasha shook her head. ‘If Germans take our food, how do they expect us to live? So what did you do?’

‘I sent them away and walked him home. He said I looked just like his grandson. Kept shaking my hand. Gave me an onion and a hammer. I gave him some bread and returned the onion. Figured he needed it more than I did.’

Natasha was unable to take her eyes off him. She no longer cared who saw them. She took his hand. ‘So that’s what you do. You help people.’

‘I try my best but there’s only so much I can do. Ever since we entered Ukraine… What can I say… The things we’ve seen here. Not just me but everyone else at the regiment is disgruntled. Men are wondering what we’re doing here. Certainly not protecting Hungary from the Bolsheviks like our government keeps telling us.’

They sat on the bench in silence. He didn’t say anything, and she couldn’t think of anything to say. Finally, she murmured, ‘You ever think of home?’

‘All the time. Hungary is stunning in autumn.’

‘As stunning as here?’ She gazed at the carpet of red leaves.

‘Different.’

‘I love Kiev. I love how green it is. They say you can walk across the whole city without leaving the shade of its trees. It’s beautiful, don’t you think?’

‘It is, very.’

What was that expression on his face? Natasha suspected that he wasn’t thinking about Kiev at all. They moved closer to each other, and she told him about her summers in the village with Olga and their one trip to Lvov. He told her about his parents’ farm and what it had been like growing up in Hungary. Natasha watched his face, watched his lips move. She was transfixed, mesmerised by him. Having been born in Ukraine, she couldn’t imagine a life different from her Soviet reality. She had never met anyone who had visited another country, let alone lived in one.

When he told her it was two in the afternoon and time for him to report to his regiment for duty, she couldn’t believe it. They had walked and sat on the bench and talked for almost three hours. It didn’t feel like three hours. It felt like three breathless minutes. Natasha didn’t want to say goodbye.

‘Can I walk you home?’ asked Mark.

Eagerly she nodded. It was only a five-minute walk, but it meant she could have him all to herself for another five minutes. But then she remembered all her fears about being seen with him. She remembered the woman in the park and her angry words. She tried to come up with an excuse, tell him that she was meeting Olga or catching up with her sister, but her lips were not used to lying. Looking away, she shook her head.

‘It’s okay. I understand,’ he said.

‘You do?’ She brightened. ‘How about I walk you to your barracks instead?’

On the way to Institutskaya Street Natasha put her arm through his. She could feel his fingers gently stroking the palm of her hand. In front of a thick wooden door that led to the barracks, she hugged him goodbye, taking the bag of food. He held her close and for a few seconds didn’t let go. His fingers were touching her hair. ‘I love your hair braided. You look very Russian.’

‘I am Russian,’ she whispered. She could swear her heart stopped for one whole minute. She wondered what it would feel like to feel his lips on hers. He kissed her forehead, opened the door and waved.

If it wasn’t for her mother’s shoes pinching her toes, Natasha would have skipped all the way home.

*

Olga had heard from a neighbour that one of the stores on Proreznaya Street had sugar and butter. She told Natasha, and the two girls, who hadn’t seen butter since June, rushed to the store and joined the line, shivering in the rain. The girls were the only ones talking in the sea of gloomy and mute faces.

Natasha desperately needed to confide in someone. If she didn’t share her feelings with another living soul, she wasn’t going to make it through her day. How could she, when she couldn’t breathe for the burning inside her chest and all she could hear in her head was his name? Never having been in love before, she wanted to climb to the top of the tallest building in Kiev and shout his name for everyone to hear. ‘It’s so good to see you, Olga,’ she said. ‘I have so much to tell you.’

‘That’s lucky because this could take a while.’ Olga pointed at the queue stretching for what seemed like a mile in front of them. ‘What do you want to tell me? Something good?’

‘Something wonderful.’

‘Tell me, quick. I need good news to take my mind off things.’

Natasha peered into her friend’s face. Olga had lost weight and when she moved, it was in slow motion, as if every step drained what little energy she had. ‘Is everything okay? You don’t look so good.’

‘I’m just worried, Natasha. I keep hearing rumours—’

‘Rumours of what?’

‘Just the things the Nazis are doing to the Jewish people in Europe. Haven’t you heard?’

‘I haven’t heard, no,’ said Natasha, instantly feeling guilty for thinking only of herself. And of Mark.

‘Ever since they’ve come here, I haven’t been able to sleep. What are they going to do to me and my mama once they find out we are Jewish?’

Natasha squeezed Olga’s hand, trying to reassure her. ‘There are hundreds of thousands of Jewish people in Kiev. What can they possibly do to all of you?’

‘I’ve heard of ghettos in Poland and… I don’t know if it’s true, but someone told me they’ve shot thousands in Kovno in July.’

‘That’s impossible! It’s just a rumour, Olga, nothing else. Why would they kill so many people? They need someone to work for them, to man their factories, to bake bread and make munitions.’

Olga’s face looked lighter, not as grim. ‘You think so? I hope you’re right.’

‘Of course I am. They want us to see them as liberators. How will they keep up the pretence if they do something so terrible?’

‘Like they care what we think.’ Olga shrugged.

‘We’ll be okay. We’ll get through this.’ More than anything Natasha wanted to believe her own words but how could she, when all she saw around her was misery and despair? And judging by Olga’s face, she didn’t believe her either.

‘Tell me your wonderful news. It will cheer me up.’

Natasha took a deep breath and told Olga everything. She told her what happened in the park and about her secret meeting with Mark. ‘Wait till you see him. You are going to love him. He’s kind and attentive and handsome.’

Olga watched her intently, her own predicament seemingly forgotten. ‘You sound so happy,’ she said, but her face remained dull, as if anyone sounding happy in the face of the Nazi occupation was something to worry about.

‘He does make me happy. When I see him, nothing else matters. Not the Germans in Kiev, not the war, nothing.’

‘You said he’s Hungarian. Natasha, they’re allied with the Nazis.’

‘Don’t you think I know that? But he had no choice. He was forced to enlist and fight for Hitler.’

‘I’m not saying this to upset you. And I am happy for you. I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all. You only have one heart. Don’t give it away too freely. What future could you possibly have together?’

The queue wasn’t moving. There were no arguments and no confrontations to distract Natasha from Olga’s words. The same words that echoed in her head ever since she met Mark. ‘It’s war, Olga. What future do any of us have?’

‘You say Mark is here against his will. But he’s still here. He’s still our enemy.’

‘It’s not like that,’ protested Natasha. ‘He helps people. He saved me and my babushka. He can do more good here than anywhere else.’

‘He’s still on Hitler’s side. He didn’t jump off the truck bound for Ukraine and join a partisan battalion fighting against the Nazis. He didn’t risk his life and his family’s lives to avoid mobilisation.’ Natasha felt tears perilously close. She clasped her fists to stave them off. Olga added, ‘All I’m saying is, people all over the world are risking their lives to fight Hitler. If Mark didn’t want to be here, he wouldn’t be here. How long have you known him? What makes you think you can trust him?’

Telling Olga had been a mistake. Underneath her friendly concern, Natasha could sense something she didn’t like. A current of disapproval and incomprehension. ‘He’s a good person,’ she said. ‘Kind, caring, supportive. He saved my life. He’s good person,’ she repeated softly, as if it wasn’t Olga she was trying to convince but herself.

After they queued for an hour, the store manager came out and said there was no sugar or butter left in the store. Nothing left in the store at all. A hundred hungry and disgruntled Kievans left empty-handed. Olga seemed preoccupied, and Natasha didn’t want to talk about her fears anymore because talking about them made them seem real. The girls walked five blocks to Tarasovskaya Street in silence.

*

When Natasha returned home, she saw two Gestapo officers smoking outside her building. Autumn sun reflected off the silver buttons of their uniforms, and their left sleeves were adorned with swastikas. Natasha couldn’t bear the sight of the frightening symbol. She lowered her gaze. The two of them scared her so much that she forgot all about Mark for the few seconds it took her to cross the yard. She sped up, wishing she had dressed down like Olga.

In the kitchen, she opened Mark’s bag and placed everything on the table. In their hiding place in the garden they still had a few cans of fish and some barley. There was plenty of tea in the cupboard but no more salt or sugar.

‘Natasha! Where did you get all this?’ exclaimed Mother. Startled, Natasha turned around. A look of confused disbelief was on Mother’s face.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be at work?’ asked Natasha. She fidgeted under her mother’s glare.

‘There was no one there, so I came home.’

Natasha wished she had a plausible explanation for what seemed like a feast set out on the kitchen table. She couldn’t think straight, and blurted out the first thing that came to her mind, vaguely aware that it would be all too easy for Mother to check her story. ‘Olga’s mama sent the food. She went to the village this morning.’ She felt her face burn.

‘How odd,’ said Lisa, who had just appeared in the kitchen, trailed by Alexei. ‘We just ran into Oksana Nikolaevna. She didn’t mention anything about the village.’ She fixed her eyes on Natasha. ‘Did she, Alexei?’

‘No, she didn’t,’ confirmed Alexei.

‘Must have forgotten,’ mumbled Natasha.

Mother picked up a can of meat and, adjusting her glasses, turned it this way and that. ‘What strange writing. What language is it?’

Natasha panicked. Because she didn’t know what to say, she nearly opened her mouth and told her mother everything. But Lisa’s mistrustful eyes stopped her. ‘Hungarian,’ she muttered. ‘They have a Hungarian officer living next door.’

‘He shared his food with Oksana? That’s nice of him,’ said Mother, examining a tin of tomatoes.

‘I thought the food came from the village?’ demanded Lisa.

‘The potatoes did,’ mumbled Natasha, suddenly feeling like a wild animal caught in the headlights.

‘I think Natasha’s got a secret admirer and she doesn’t want to tell us,’ said Lisa, tickling her.

Natasha pulled away. Trouble was, in their small kitchen she couldn’t step back far enough to get away from her sister. ‘Don’t be silly, Lisa.’

‘Is that who you were wearing make-up for? Look at her face, Mama. And she’s wearing your shoes.’

‘I can wear what I want.’

‘Don’t get so defensive, I’m only joking.’

‘Why are you wearing my shoes?’ asked Mother distractedly.

‘Couldn’t find mine.’

‘Oh, really?’ Lisa pointed at Natasha’s old boots that were in their usual spot in the corridor. ‘Who are you trying to impress? The Germans?’

Alexei chuckled. Natasha frowned. Mother groaned. ‘Girls, stop bickering and help me make lunch.’

They were busy cutting potatoes – whole potatoes and not just peels, thanks to Mark – when there was a loud knock outside that was immediately followed by another one, even more demanding. The Smirnovs fell quiet, exchanging a worried look. Mother went to answer the door, while the sisters poked their heads around the corner cautiously, ready to disappear back to the safety of their kitchen if the situation called for it.

The two Gestapo officers whom Natasha had seen downstairs pushed their way into the small corridor, followed by a young Ukrainian girl. Natasha guessed she was their interpreter. Lisa glared at the girl and muttered, ‘What a disgrace,’ to which Natasha squeezed her elbow and whispered, ‘Be quiet!’

The taller of the two Nazis barked something in German and the girl translated, ‘Any men here aged sixteen to thirty-five?’

Mother shook her head. ‘No, there aren’t. No men here at all.’ She glanced at Lisa, who turned around to warn Alexei. But it was too late. He had just appeared in the crowded corridor, wondering what all the commotion was about.

Lisa tried to protect Alexei, to shield him from view, to push him back in the direction of the kitchen. But she wasn’t fast enough. The men saw him. ‘Kommen Sie mit,’ said the shorter of the two. His words didn’t require translating because the gesture that accompanied them made it very clear what the officer wanted. When Alexei didn’t move, one of the officers wrestled him away from Lisa’s desperate embrace. As they were exiting the apartment, Lisa threw herself between the Germans and Alexei, but the officers pushed her away and ushered him out the door. Lisa stood as if rooted to the spot, watching Alexei until he disappeared down the stairs. When she could no longer see him, she slid down the wall onto the floor, whimpering. Glancing at her distraught sister, Natasha ran down one flight of stairs, catching up to the Ukrainian girl and pulling her by the sleeve. ‘Where are they taking him?’ she asked quietly.

‘I can’t tell you that,’ cried the girl. ‘They’ll shoot me.’ Her eyes were two dancing pools of silent fear.

‘They won’t shoot you. Listen… What’s your name?’

‘Tanya.’

‘Tanya, did you see my sister? She’s devastated. They’re getting married next month. Just tell us. It won’t do any harm.’

Tanya hesitated.

Natasha continued, ‘You aren’t German. You’re one of us. Help your own people. Please.’ She wanted to squeeze the girl’s hands until she cried out, wanted to shake her scrawny body until the truth came out. She resisted.

Tanya looked around cautiously. ‘It’s to do with the murder of the officer in the park a few days ago. They arrested a hundred people so far. That’s all I know.’

‘They arrested a hundred innocent people? Why?’

‘To make an example out of them? To make sure it doesn’t happen again? How the hell do I know?’ Tanya shrugged as if to say, What is it to me?

‘What do you mean, make an example?’ cried Natasha but Tanya was already running after the officers, her high heels click-clacking sharply on the sandstone of the stairs.

Slowly Natasha walked up the stairs. She didn’t know how to face her sister. If she could, she would have run after Tanya and onto the sunlit street, where she wouldn’t have to endure Lisa’s tears. Lisa was still on the floor, sobbing loudly and wiping her face with her fists. Natasha’s hands shook when she told her sister what she had discovered.

‘What do they want with him?’ wailed Lisa.

Natasha shrugged, her heart heavy, her eyelids heavy, everything of hers heavy, even the palms of her hands that were stroking Lisa’s quivering back.

‘Mama, what do they want with him?’ repeated Lisa, almost hysterical.

‘They’ll probably question him and let him go. He had nothing to do with the officer’s murder. They’ll see he’s innocent.’ Mother put her arms around Lisa. ‘They will, darling, don’t you worry. It will be okay.’ She tried to make her voice steady but failed.

Lisa sat up straight as if struck with a sudden idea. Her moist eyes glistened. She turned to Natasha. ‘You saw who killed the officer in the park, didn’t you?’ When Natasha didn’t reply, Lisa raised her voice. ‘Didn’t you?’ She shook her sister the way Natasha wanted to shake Tanya a few minutes ago. ‘Natasha, you have to tell them.’

‘Tell them? Tell them what?’

‘Tell them who it was.’

For a few seconds Natasha couldn’t speak. The words died under Lisa’s indignant stare.

‘Natasha, did you hear me?’ Lisa shook her one more time.

‘I heard you.’

‘You have to tell them.’

‘I wish I could Lisa. But I didn’t see who it was. It all happened so quickly.’ When she heard the lie slip effortlessly off her tongue, Natasha was horrified at herself. She realised she had told more lies in the past few hours than she had in her entire life. The effort of it all made her lips tremble.

‘I’m your sister,’ said Lisa. ‘Where is your loyalty?’

Natasha extricated herself from Lisa’s grip. ‘Lisa, I can’t tell them something I don’t know. I have no idea who it was. I was in such a shock, I hardly looked at him. I wouldn’t recognise him if I ever saw him again.’ Natasha lowered her eyes.

‘In that case you must go and tell them it wasn’t Alexei.’

Mother said, ‘They mustn’t know Natasha had anything to do with it. Or they’ll arrest her, too.’

‘Mama’s right. They’ll realise Alexei’s innocent and let him go. He’s got nothing to hide. Let’s wait and see what happens.’

‘Wait for what? For Alexei to die?’

‘He won’t die. Trust me. They have no proof. Nothing to link him with the murder.’

Natasha stroked Lisa’s head, trying to convince her sister that everything was going to be alright. Trying to convince herself that everything was going to be alright.

*

Natasha barely slept at all that night. As she listened to her sister sob on her bed hour after heart-wrenching hour, she couldn’t see straight through her guilt and her remorse. Should she have told Lisa the truth? Should she have done more to help Alexei? She thought of meeting him for the first time, over a year ago, thought of Lisa’s smile as she introduced them. Of Alexei playing pranks on them on their family trip to Lvov, when he had placed a live frog under Natasha’s pillow. Lisa had found it hopping around their tent, and her screams could be heard all the way to Kiev. Alexei was like another mischievous younger brother, and Natasha loved him dearly. How could she not help him?

But to betray Mark after he had saved her life? She couldn’t do that, either. Besides, Alexei was innocent, while Mark wasn’t. Why would the Gestapo punish Alexei for something he didn’t do? It didn’t make sense. Mark was an entirely different story, however. Natasha shuddered as she imagined what the Gestapo would do to him if they knew it was him who had shot the officer in the park. As Natasha tossed and turned and wished she was deaf so she wouldn’t hear her sister cry, she whispered like a mantra to herself, ‘He doesn’t need my help. He’ll be fine. He hasn’t done anything wrong.’ If only she kept repeating it long enough, she could make herself believe it.

Early in the morning, the girls thought they heard a soft knock, but when they rushed to the door, there was no one outside. It was still dark outside, but instead of going back to bed, they got dressed and hurried to Alexei’s apartment, even though Natasha suspected he wouldn’t go back there. No one was waiting for him at home.

Lisa had a key to Alexei’s flat, but her hands shook so badly she couldn’t fit it in the lock. Natasha took the key, patted Lisa’s hand, and opened the door.

The apartment was empty.

Lisa went from room to room, searching for him. When she realised he wasn’t there, she slid into a chair and hid her head in her hands. Suddenly she looked spent, like a deflated balloon, without air and without hope. Nothing was left, not even the strength to walk. Helplessly, she cried.

‘Come on, Lisa,’ said Natasha. ‘Let’s go to the gendarmerie. We’ll tell them it wasn’t Alexei.’

‘Will they believe us?’

‘I don’t know. But we have to try. You were with Alexei when Babushka and I… When the officer was killed in the park. We’ll tell them that. Mama can confirm our story. Papa, too. He’s a respectable man, a captain in the militia. If they don’t believe us, surely they’ll believe him?’

Lisa didn’t reply, but her eyes sparkled with hope and determination. No longer crying, she walked so fast, Natasha could barely keep up. It took them three quarters of an hour to reach the corner of Proreznaya and Kreshchatyk. It was still early, and the streets were deserted. The heavy metal door of what until recently had been the Children’s World store was closed and padlocked. The sisters waited.

After about an hour a young woman walked up the stairs, fiddled with the lock, and pulled the door with both hands. Natasha thought the woman looked familiar. ‘Katya, is that you? What are you doing here?’ Katya was the older sister of one of Natasha’s friends.

There was something different about Katya. It wasn’t her face, made up to perfection as always, or the way she wore her hair, straight down her back, or the way she dressed, in strict, understated clothes. No, it was something in her eyes. She said, ‘I work as a receptionist. What are you doing here?’

Lisa emitted a scornful snort. ‘Working for the Germans?’ she demanded and was about to say something else when Natasha pinched her forearm with all the strength she could muster. ‘Ouch,’ muttered Lisa. Natasha looked around. The street was still empty. She leaned closer and in a loud whisper related everything she knew about Alexei. Even before Katya had a chance to reply, Natasha could tell by the way her chubby face contorted that the news wasn’t good.

‘You’re too late,’ said Katya. ‘They hanged them at dawn. Hanged them all.’

Natasha gasped. She felt her sister’s hand go limp in hers. Lisa moaned and sank to the pavement.

‘Their bodies are still in the park for everyone to see.’

Natasha covered her ears. She didn’t want to hear. Her chest was burning as if a sharp object was lodged there.

Katya continued, ‘Go home, girls. There’s nothing you can do.’ Not looking at the sisters’ faces, she quickly disappeared inside, shutting the door behind her.

‘No,’ Lisa howled. ‘No.’

‘I’m sorry, Lisa. I’m so sorry,’ repeated Natasha, clutching Lisa’s shaking body tightly to herself, while inside her head, a voice repeated, It’s all my fault, it’s all my fault.

Lisa sobbed and didn’t reply.

‘Come on, Lisa,’ said Natasha, in vain trying to lift her sister off the pavement. ‘Let’s go home.’

Lisa shook her head, staring into distance.

‘Let’s go, Lisa, get up.’ It’s all my fault, it’s all my fault, like a broken record in her head.

‘Leave me alone,’ whispered Lisa, shivering.

Natasha pulled and shoved but failed to move her sister. She sat next to her, hugging her close. ‘I’m so sorry, Lisa,’ she repeated, almost choking on her tears.

Silently they sat.

‘I wish the person who did this would die,’ said Lisa finally, her voice hollow.

‘They’ll pay for everything they’ve done. You’ll see. They have to.’

‘No, I don’t mean the Nazis. The person who killed the officer in the park. Alexei died because of him.’

‘Lisa, not because of him!’ Natasha inhaled sharply. She found it difficult to speak. Her throat was too dry. ‘It wasn’t his fault. He did it to help us. He saved our lives. Me, Babushka, we wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him.’

‘If he came forward, Alexei would still be alive.’

‘I’m sure he didn’t know about… about this.’ If Mark had known about this, he would have confessed. Wouldn’t he? ‘If you want to blame someone, blame the Germans.’

‘I blame you. It’s your fault.’

‘You don’t mean that. You’re upset. Let me take you home,’ said Natasha, putting her arm around Lisa. Lisa pulled away and got up, slowly walking down Kreshchatyk. Natasha followed her. Lisa didn’t speak when they reached Taras Shevchenko Boulevard. When they were walking past the park, she pulled away from Natasha and towards the gate.

‘Lisa, no. You don’t want to see,’ begged Natasha, horrified. She grabbed Lisa’s hand.

‘Leave me alone,’ screamed Lisa, pulling away so hard that Natasha lost her balance and fell. A number of people, most of them German, turned around and looked at the two girls. There was so much hatred in her sister’s eyes, Natasha almost expected Lisa to hit her. But she didn’t. When she spoke again, looking down at Natasha, her voice was no longer loud. ‘You should’ve told them what happened. For once in your life you should’ve thought of someone other than yourself. But you didn’t, and I’ll never forgive you.’

Lisa stormed off, leaving Natasha frozen in shock in the middle of the street.

*

On the stairs of her building Natasha bumped into the Kuzenkos, who were resting on what looked like a sheet filled with clothes. Timofei muttered something under his breath. Zina slept noiselessly. Natasha shook her awake. ‘What are you doing here, Zina Andreevna? Come and stay with us.’ But Zina only lowered her head and pointed at the Smirnovs’ front door, her eyes wide and staring. Natasha wondered what Zina was trying to say. She didn’t have to wonder long. At home, she found everyone jammed into their small kitchen, even Grandmother, who was lying on the folding bed someone had brought from the bedroom. The table was gone, but still there was no room in the crowded kitchen. Loud voices were coming from the living room.

Loud German voices.

‘They told us we could have the kitchen. They are going to force us from our home soon. Just like they did the Kuzenkos. Filthy animals! They can’t do this to us!’ exclaimed Mother, shaking her fist.

‘They are the conquerors, Zoya. They can do anything they want,’ said Grandfather.

The Nazis in their house! For the last few days, Natasha had felt her heart sink every time she was about to leave her apartment and step onto the streets that were swarming with grey uniforms. But at home, she had almost felt safe. Now this safety, illusionary though it had been, was gone. There was nowhere for her to hide. Nowhere to turn.

Natasha cried as she told her family about Alexei.

‘I’ll go and find Lisa,’ said Mother, tears in her eyes. ‘She needs to come home.’

After she left, Natasha sat with her grandmother, cradling her head in her lap. ‘How are you feeling, Babushka?’ Grandmother groaned. ‘She’s not getting any better,’ Natasha whispered to her grandfather.

‘No, she isn’t.’ Grandfather’s face looked grey, as if all life had been sucked out of it.

Mother returned, dragging a hysterical Lisa with her. Natasha wanted to hug her sister, but something in Lisa’s eyes stopped her. She watched helplessly as Lisa curled up in the corner and didn’t move. She seemed oblivious to the Germans in their home and didn’t participate in conversation, nor did she have any of Mark’s potatoes that Mother fried together with the Hungarian canned meat. Her eyes remained vacant and staring.

What if Lisa meant what she had said in the park? What if she never talked to Natasha again? Could Natasha live with that? Could she live with her closest confidant, the one person she had always counted on, not being there for her? She didn’t think so.

And what if, despite what Natasha had been telling herself, it was all her fault? Was there anything she could have done differently? She wished she had told Lisa the truth and lived with the consequences. And yet, to betray Mark, to condemn him to a certain death, was impossible. But what about Alexei? Had she condemned him to a certain death? Was she condemning her sister to a life of heartbreak? She had never thought of herself as selfish before, but now she wasn’t so sure.

Natasha felt an unfamiliar despair pull at her chest, a bleak hopelessness she had never experienced before. A thousand lies she had spun, the truths she hid, the falsities she left out in the open, the deaths of so many innocent people, her sister’s heartbreak… it was all too much. If Mark was fighting on the German side, wasn’t he a part of the horror that was happening on the streets of Kiev? If she continued seeing him, would a little bit of that gruesome responsibility be hers, too?

She turned towards her family’s distraught faces, towards their grief and anxiety, towards a small plate of potatoes on the table. There was no comfort in the kitchen and no comfort inside Natasha, because at that moment she decided to tell Mark she couldn’t see him anymore. She owed that to Lisa. And to Alexei.

*

After breakfast the next morning, Natasha hurried out in search of Mark. Over and over she rehearsed the words she was going to say to him, but the points that seemed so solid the day before sounded like poor excuses now that she was about to face him.

She imagined his beautiful face, his dark eyes as they lit up with joy at the sight of her. She whispered his name to herself and her heart beat faster. If she told him she didn’t want to see him again, it would be the biggest lie of all. But she had to do it. If she continued seeing him after everything that happened, she would be turning her back on her sister and her family. She would be betraying everything she believed in.

Natasha reached the barracks at eleven and asked a sentry to find Mark. A part of her hoped he wouldn’t be there. But a few minutes later, Mark appeared. When he smiled, she felt her heart melt a little. Before she had a chance to change her mind, she muttered, ‘I need to speak with you.’

‘Let’s go around the corner,’ he said. ‘We can talk there.’

They found a bench and sat next to each other, their arms touching. He gave her a piece of bread and a bar of chocolate. She pushed them away but he insisted. She tasted a little bit of the bread. White on the inside and golden on the outside, it was so delicious; it melted in her mouth, just like the bread of her childhood.

He watched her eat in silence, and when she finished, he asked, ‘What did you want to talk to me about?’

She hesitated. How could she explain all her fears and all her doubts without hurting his feelings? Then again, she was determined to stop seeing him. His feelings were going to get hurt no matter what. Just like hers. ‘I can’t do this anymore. Meeting you like this. We need to stop…’ She couldn’t face him. Turning away from him, she watched half a dozen Nazi officers as they strolled briskly past.

‘You don’t want to see me anymore?’ he repeated as if he couldn’t believe what she was saying. She could hardly believe it herself.

‘What future can we possibly have together?’

‘I don’t know but I want to find out.’ He put his arms around her and turned her towards him, forcing her to look at him. ‘Natasha, I don’t think I could stop seeing you. I’m not that strong.’

He wasn’t making it any easier for her. She stared at him mutely, pleadingly.

‘If you are done with me, I’ll understand,’ he continued. ‘It will break my heart but I’ll respect it. But if you want to stop seeing me because of the circumstances we are in… I don’t know why, but I think it was meant to happen this way.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I was meant to walk through the park at the precise moment you needed help. It wasn’t just a coincidence.’

It was true, she owed him her life. But it didn’t change anything. ‘What about the war? The Germans? Everything is against us.’

‘The war won’t last forever. At this rate there will soon be no men left to fight it.’ He smiled gravely. ‘As long as we have each other, we’ll figure it all out. We’ll make it work.’

A couple of days ago she had believed it, too. But now everything was different. ‘Alexei is dead,’ she whispered. She moved away from him on the bench, wiping her face.

‘Alexei?’

‘My sister’s fiancé. She is heartbroken. They were going to get married…’ She couldn’t continue.

His face fell. ‘What happened?’

‘The Nazis killed two hundred Soviets for the murder of the officer in the park. Alexei was one of them. They died because of us, Mark. It’s all our fault.’

‘They killed two hundred innocent people? Why?’ On his face she saw disbelief, incomprehension and, finally, horror.

‘You tell me. You are one of them.’

‘I am not one of them.’ His shoulders stooped, as if her words were a weight pulling him down. ‘I’m so sorry, Natasha. I had no idea.’

‘What would you do if you knew? Would you come forward and tell them it was you?’

‘To save two hundred innocent lives? Yes, I would.’

‘I don’t believe you.’ She was shivering and couldn’t get warm. He shrugged and turned away from her. She added, ‘What we are doing is wrong and you know it.’

‘What are you talking about? Can’t you see? It’s the only thing that’s right.’

‘I know it’s wrong because I have to keep you a secret from everyone I love. I have to lie to everyone I know. When I walk down the street with you, I pray we don’t run into anyone who could recognise me.’

‘When the war is over, we won’t have to hide. This day will come, we just have to be patient.’

Natasha prayed for the day when she could tell the whole world about her feelings for Mark, when she could bring him home and introduce him to her family. When she imagined this day, she felt the cold despair inside her melt a little. But then she remembered Olga’s words. ‘You are on their side, Mark. On Hitler’s side. You are a part of this horror. Don’t you feel responsible for what is happening?’

‘Every day of my life. But what choice do I have?’

‘There’s always a choice. They sent you here, to the Soviet Union, to fight against us. Yes, it wasn’t what you wanted for yourself. But you made a choice to go along with it. Because it was easier, because it was safer. I understand.’ She looked up into his face and her lips trembled. ‘But everywhere in the world, people risk their lives to defy Hitler. How can I be with someone who chose to support him?’

He staggered away from her as if she had slapped him. So much hurt was in his face, so much shame, she regretted her words instantly. She wanted to hold him close and tell him how sorry she was. But instead, before her resolve weakened, she got up and walked away, her tears blinding her.

*

Despite all their prayers, Grandmother didn’t get better. Natasha ran to fetch the doctor, but all she found was a terrified Olga who hid in the wardrobe and didn’t come out until she heard Natasha’s voice. The German doctor was no longer staying with them. He had disappeared the day before, and no one knew what had become of him.

On the way home, Natasha knocked on Petr Nikolaev’s door, her heart skipping in fear as she recalled the drunken Germans in his apartment. She didn’t expect to find the doctor and wasn’t surprised when there was no answer.

As she cooked lunch, she tried not to think of Mark because thinking of him filled her with agony. She tried not to look at her sister, who hadn’t moved from her corner. Lisa’s eyes were closed and her body rocked to some sad, monotonous melody that only she could hear.

‘Babushka, I made some barley. Please, have some. You need your strength,’ Natasha begged, holding the small plate in her lap with hardly a handful of gluey flakes boiled in water, with no milk, no salt and no butter. ‘If you don’t eat, you won’t get better.’

‘Maybe it’s for the best.’ Grandmother’s voice was faint. It was barely a whisper.

‘Don’t say that, Babushka. You’ll be okay. Once the fever goes, you’ll be good as new.’ Natasha adjusted her pillows.

‘It’s better not to see what’s happening to Kiev. What’s happening to all of us.’