Natasha had to pretend Lisa’s revelation was news to her, otherwise she would never be able to look at her sister without blushing again. At the memory of the night before, of Lisa’s tears and Alexei’s heartbreak as he told her he was leaving, Natasha felt an emptiness inside her that even her sister’s smile couldn’t fill. But for Lisa’s sake, she faked enthusiasm and said, ‘Wait a second. I didn’t hear anything last night. Where did you and Alexei…’
‘You were probably out like a light as always. We could have done it in your bed next to you and you wouldn’t even have blinked.’
‘You didn’t, did you?’
‘Of course not. Alexei snuck into my room at night.’
Natasha laughed. ‘You’re crazy, you know that? Anyone could’ve heard you.’
‘Well, it didn’t last very long. He was back in his bed in no time.’ There was a dreamy expression on Lisa’s face. ‘This is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me.’
‘I’m so excited for you,’ said Natasha, tickling Lisa. ‘Can I tell Olga?’
‘Argh, no tickling!’ cried Lisa, shoving Natasha’s hands away. ‘What did I just say? No one, not even Olga.’
‘Oh, come on. She’s my best friend. I can’t keep this from her.’
‘Okay. You can tell Olga and no one else. Promise.’ When Natasha half shrugged, half nodded, her sister continued, ‘I’m so in love, Natasha. I just can’t believe it. I think this is it, you know. I feel it.’
‘I should hope so. You are getting married, after all.’
‘Don’t worry. One day you’ll meet someone, too. Then you’ll know what I mean.’
Nikolai reappeared in the doorway. There was a mischievous grin on his face. ‘So how was it? Your first time? Did you enjoy it?’ Lisa roared and hit out at her brother, while he ran in the direction of the kitchen, shouting for help. Laughing, Natasha followed her siblings.
The whole family huddled around the kitchen table, talking, eating, drinking, and pretending their lives hadn’t come to a halt when Hitler’s Army Group South entered Kiev.
Natasha’s grandparents – her mother’s parents – were sitting pensively with their elbows on the table, meatballs and soup untouched in front of them. Only a year and a half ago, they had moved to Lvov, a beautiful old town west of Kiev, on the outskirts of Ukraine, just seventy kilometres from the Polish border. To Natasha, who had never been overseas, Lvov seemed exotic and almost European. On the first day of war, it had been bombed just like Kiev, but it was much closer to the front line and no longer safe. To Natasha’s delight, her grandparents had returned shortly after and were staying with them once more.
In July, to the disbelief of the Smirnovs, Lvov had fallen. And now, despite Stalin’s assurances to hold the Ukrainian capital at all costs, Kiev had followed suit.
*
Father was hidden behind a newspaper, but Natasha knew he wasn’t reading. He’d been staring at the same page for what seemed like forever. Finally, he folded the paper, took his glasses off and wiped them, as if doing so would enable him to see more clearly. ‘Who would have thought?’ he said. ‘Such a shock. Such an absolute shock.’
‘It was to be expected.’ Grandfather shrugged, downing his vodka and spooning mashed potatoes onto his and grandmother’s plates. ‘Hitler’s actions were predictable. I only wish Stalin saw that before it was too late.’ Before he retired, grandfather was a history professor at Taras Shevchenko University. He still approached every problem in life with the logic and precision that his profession required. It was thanks to his respected position at the university that the family had their large apartment on Tarasovskaya Street in central Kiev.
‘Deda, why were the Germans able to advance so quickly?’ asked Nikolai, his gaze not leaving his beloved grandfather’s face.
‘We believed in the non-aggression pact with Germany so much that we ignored countless warnings. As a result, we were completely unprepared for the attack.’
‘But the Red Army will come back. Comrade Stalin won’t let the enemy deep into the country,’ said Mother.
Grandfather shrugged. ‘After all the Soviet atrocities in Ukraine, no one wants to fight this war for the Bolsheviks. The rate of desertion is almost unheard of. Men are mutilating themselves to avoid mobilisation.’
Natasha nodded. She saw them on the streets of Kiev every day. Men with fake beards that made them look older. Limping men, men with broken arms. ‘Olga told me their neighbour tried to shoot himself in the foot. He missed and ended up killing himself.’
‘Germans in one of Russia’s most ancient cities! The idea is preposterous. No wonder Stalin’s been telling us until the end that Kiev will remain in Soviet hands,’ said Natasha’s grandmother, an older, miniature version of Natasha’s mother. She sighed and crossed herself, her face white with fear. Grandmother was deeply religious, something that even two and a half decades of Communist regime couldn’t change. During the Great War she had been a nurse, and sincerely believed God had protected her from the horrors she had witnessed on the front line. After the war she had worked in hospitals, first at Central Military in Kiev and then at the Children’s Hospital on Tereshchenkovskaya Street. When Natasha was a little girl, Grandmother often told her about the war and the horror it brought in its wake. The little Natasha had listened to the stories as if they were fairy tales that had no place in reality. Never had she imagined she would experience the horror first-hand.
‘They are here now. Stalin will have to accept it. There’s nothing he can do,’ said Grandfather.
‘Do we have to accept it?’ demanded Mother.
‘There’s nothing we can do,’ repeated Grandfather.
‘Stalin should have protected us better,’ whispered Natasha.
‘All these fires in Kiev,’ said Mother. ‘A friend of mine lives in a village nearby. She told me the Soviets confiscated all her crops, and then one day the tractors came to destroy the fields. Her neighbour threw herself in front of a tractor and was arrested by the NKVD. No one’s heard from her since.’
‘Scorched earth policy,’ said Grandfather. ‘Just like at the time of Napoleon’s invasion, the Soviet government destroyed everything that could be used by the enemy. Train stations, bridges, factories, power stations.’ Softly, as if hoping no one would hear, he added, ‘Food.’
‘But, Deda, we are still here. We need food.’ Natasha’s hands shook as she scooped potatoes with her spoon.
‘Speaking of food,’ said Grandmother, ‘I went to the water pump this morning and saw a notice glued to the wall of our building. The Nazis want us to hand in our food supplies. And our radio.’
Putting her spoon down, Mother said, ‘We can’t give our food away. It’s a death sentence. We need to hide it.’
Father looked up from his plate. ‘Hide what?’
‘The food.’ Mother looked around, as if making sure there were no German officers around to overhear. ‘Not inside the apartment. In the garden maybe.’ Breathing heavily as if fighting back tears, she turned to her husband. ‘Where’s your shovel, Vasili?’
‘It’s in the corridor, Mama,’ said Nikolai. ‘I just saw it behind—’
But Father interrupted. ‘Are you serious? You want to hide the food?’
Mother fidgeted under his glare but nodded.
Father snapped, ‘Hide it from the Nazis? Are you out of your mind?’
Natasha winced. Father’s voice was too loud for the crowded kitchen. She looked at her brother just in time to see a piece of chocolate disappear into his mouth. ‘Hey,’ she hissed. ‘Where did you get that? It’s mine.’
‘It’s mine now. Finders, keepers.’
‘Not fair. You ate your share yesterday.’ But Nikolai only smiled and swallowed the remainder of the chocolate.
Mother mumbled, ‘I just thought—’
‘Well, think again. They will shoot you for hiding food.’ The cup Father was holding in his hand quivered and some of his tea spilled on his shirt.
> ‘Yes, and if we don’t hide it, we’ll starve. What do you prefer?’
‘You’re seriously asking me if I would prefer…’ Father waved his hands dismissively.
Grandmother glared at Father and said, ‘You’re right, daughter. We need to hide the food.’
Father shoved his chair back and stormed out of the kitchen. For the rest of the morning, he remained on the couch, searching through his newspaper for news from the front.
*
After breakfast, Nikolai and Alexei joined the sisters in their room.
‘Germans in Kiev,’ said Alexei. ‘Can you believe it?’
‘I can’t believe it,’ said Natasha, looking up from her book. ‘What’s it going to be like?’
‘Not much fun, I guess,’ said Nikolai.
‘I guess,’ whispered Natasha.
‘Soviet Union should have attacked first. Then we would have had a strategic advantage,’ said Nikolai, as if he knew about such things. ‘Have you heard what they’ve been doing in Poland? Burning, looting, killing, and…’ He glanced at the girls and, to Natasha’s relief, didn’t finish his sentence.
Lisa, who was rummaging through her drawers, looked up and asked, ‘Has anyone seen my blue notepad?’
‘You mean your diary?’ There was a teasing note in Nikolai’s voice that he attempted to hide.
‘Yes. My diary. I’ve been looking everywhere for it.’
‘Haven’t seen it,’ said Natasha.
Lisa proceeded to search the bookshelves, peering behind every book.
Natasha turned to Alexei. ‘Are you staying here with us?’
Alexei nodded. ‘Your mama said I could stay for a bit.’
Lisa said, ‘I’m so happy to have you here. It’s like we’re already married.’
Alexei laughed. ‘Don’t let your papa hear you say that.’
Coming close to Lisa, he attempted to draw her into a hug but Lisa pushed his hands away, muttering, ‘I don’t understand. I had it yesterday. What did I do with it?’
Watching the sly expression on Nikolai’s face, Natasha whispered, ‘Have you seen it?’
Nikolai whispered back, ‘I hid it.’
‘You hid it?’ Natasha suppressed a giggle. ‘Where?’
Nikolai reached under the mattress and extracted a blue notepad, opening it on a random page. ‘I love him, I love him, I love him,’ he read in a high-pitched voice. ‘Yesterday we talked about—’ A book expertly thrown by Lisa hit him, making him jump.
‘Ouch,’ complained Nikolai, rubbing his shoulder. ‘You think violence is the answer to everything?’
‘What’s the matter with you two?’ exclaimed Lisa, ripping the diary from her brother’s hands. She left the room, dragging Alexei behind her and slamming the door.
‘You’ve done it now,’ said Natasha. ‘You’ve really upset her.’
‘You think she’ll tell Mama?’ For a moment Nikolai looked worried.
Seconds later, Mother entered.
‘I guess yes is the answer to your question,’ whispered Natasha.
Mother’s hair was hidden under a kerchief. Dark circles under her eyes were clearly visible despite a thick layer of make-up. Her face was thunder. ‘You two! Stop behaving like children. You heard your father. This is not the time for jokes.’
‘But we are children, Mama,’ muttered Natasha.
‘And it’s always time for jokes,’ added Nikolai.
‘I don’t have the patience for this. You will both apologise to Lisa. Nikolai, you can clean the kitchen and help your grandfather hide the food in the garden.’
‘Mama, Lisa torments us all the time,’ said Nikolai. ‘Just because we never tell doesn’t mean—’
‘Go to the kitchen.’
‘But, Mama, we didn’t mean any—’
‘Now.’ There was no arguing with Mother’s no-nonsense voice.
‘Don’t send him to the kitchen, Mama. He’ll only eat all the food,’ said Natasha.
Nikolai left the room. Mother watched him until he disappeared around the corner. There was no anger in her eyes, only fear.
‘Natasha, go with your grandmother.’
‘Where is Babushka going?’
‘She’s taking our radio to the gendarmerie.’
The thought of seeing the Nazis up close didn’t appeal to Natasha one bit. ‘Can I help Nikolai in the kitchen instead? Someone has to make sure he doesn’t eat everything.’
Mother glared at Natasha but didn’t say anything.
‘Why can’t Papa go with Babushka?’ demanded Natasha.
‘Suggest it to your father if you feel like it.’
Natasha didn’t feel like it.
*
It was after midday when Natasha and her grandmother set out in the direction of the gendarmerie that had just been established on the corner of Proreznaya and Kreshchatyk. Natasha moved slowly, reluctantly. She didn’t want to leave the house because the streets, just like the people, had become alien and unfamiliar. In a small bag over her shoulder, she carried their radio receiver wrapped in an old newspaper. The day was too beautiful, the sun too bright, and the autumn leaves had just started to turn a dark shade of brown. Grandmother said, ‘What a wonderful fall it could’ve been.’
On Pushkinskaya Street they ran into one of their neighbours. Bird-like, yellow-haired, bordering on skeletal, Zina Kuzenko looked extremely pleased with herself.
‘Are you going to the gendarmerie, Zina Andreevna?’ asked Natasha.
‘Oh, no,’ answered Zina. ‘I’m Ukrainian, remember?’
‘So?’
‘So, I can keep my radio. And my food.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Grandmother. ‘Why are you allowed to keep them?’
‘Germans treat us as a privileged nationality. After all, they are here to liberate us from the Bolsheviks.’ She rubbed her hands, looked around, lowered her voice and added, ‘As far as I’m concerned, they’re welcome here. We’ve had enough of the Soviet oppression.’
‘How can you say that, Comrade Kuzenko?’ Grandmother looked horrified.
‘I am telling you, this might be a blessing in disguise. Germans are a civilised nation. They will bring the order and prosperity that the Bolsheviks never have. They will restore electricity and running water. There will be more food and we’ll be able to buy European clothes. We won’t have to queue for hours to get a loaf of bread.’
Grandmother said, ‘Hitler will destroy us like he’s been destroying the Poles, like he’s been destroying the Czechs.’
‘Honestly, Larisa Antonovna.’ Zina always addressed Natasha’s grandparents by their first and patronymic names, even though they had been friends for many years. Natasha suspected she was a little intimidated by them, especially since Grandfather had taught all of her children. ‘Hitler could never be as bad as Stalin.’
Natasha had heard hushed rumours that Zina’s brother had been shot by the NKVD, Stalin’s secret police, and that her parents-in-law had died from hunger during the famine of 1932. There were whispers about Ukrainian farmers surviving on bark and roots, while their fields produced abundant harvests that were promptly seized by Stalin’s henchmen, harvests that the farmers were forbidden to touch at the risk of a firing squad. But just like Hitler’s army on the streets of Kiev, Stalin’s atrocities were hard for Natasha to fathom. It was like something out of her grandfather’s history books, gruesome events that belonged in the Reign of Terror of the French Revolution, and not in their quiet and familiar Ukrainian reality. It was definitely never mentioned on the Soviet radio.
‘The Bolsheviks starved us and shot us, and now they want us to die for them in their war,’ said Zina. ‘I personally see nothing worth risking my life for.’
‘What a tragedy,’ said Grandmother. ‘What a tragedy for a citizen to wish for the defeat in war of her own country.’
‘Blame the Bolsheviks. We would rather live under Hitler than under Stalin. How much longer can we live in constant fear?’ said Zina
. ‘You are a member of the Communist Party. How can you justify Stalin’s actions?’
‘The end justifies the means, Comrade. The state clothes us, feeds us, protects us from the enemy. All it asks for in return is loyalty and commitment. Is it too much of a sacrifice for you to make?’
‘No, Larisa Antonovna. The state demands our lives and in return drags us down to slavery. It’s serfdom, that’s what it is.’
‘You shouldn’t talk like that, Zina. God forbid anybody hears you,’ said Grandmother, shuddering.
‘Things have changed. The Bolsheviks are gone. We have nothing to fear now.’
Natasha wished she could cover her ears and not hear their conversation. How could Zina, whom Natasha had known since she was a child, welcome the enemy to Ukraine as if they were the long-awaited liberators? How could she rejoice, when the rest of the country was mourning? Natasha hoped Zina was the only one who felt this way, but then she saw a woman across the road welcoming German officers with flowers and a loaf of bread. Natasha wanted to run to the woman and tell her she should be ashamed of herself, but she didn’t. What difference would it make?
Natasha closed her eyes and tried to remember what her life had been like before 22nd June. She longed for the time when all she had to worry about was an argument with her sister and her university entrance exams. How trivial it all seemed now. Although it was only a few short months ago, it felt like a distant dream.
Shaking her head, Grandmother walked off. With an awkward wave to their neighbour, Natasha followed.
All the Soviet posters – in particular those depicting Hitler as a comical swastika-shaped figure – had evaporated as if by magic, replaced with placards that proclaimed, ‘Hitler is a hero and a saviour!’ Above the red university building, there was a white flag with a black swastika. When Natasha saw it swaying in the wind, she stopped dead in her tracks, her heart pounding. The flag screamed to Natasha that Kiev no longer belonged to her.
No glass was left in the university windows. It was nothing more than a ghost building, and Kiev was nothing more than a ghost town. Hardly any Kievans ventured out, but those who did looked uncertain and afraid. Nor, it seemed, did the invaders know what to do when faced with the local population. The Soviets and the Germans simply watched each other cautiously without saying a word.
The Story of Us Page 3
