‘I’m not complaining. I gave the Nazis a hard time before I was captured. And now thanks to you I can fight them again. What more can I wish for?’
Soon Natasha stopped asking about the prisoner camp. She didn’t want to think of her father living a nightmare day after day, night after night.
Now, Natasha followed her brother to the living room, where Yuri was teaching an indifferent Lisa how to play the Russian Fool. Lisa had just lost a game and was shuffling the cards, muttering unhappily.
‘Natasha, Nikolai, come and join us,’ said Yuri.
Smiling shyly, Natasha shook her head. ‘I don’t know how to play.’
‘I’ve never met anyone who didn’t know how to play the Russian Fool.’
‘Natasha doesn’t need to play the Russian Fool. She is the Russian Fool,’ said Nikolai, reaching out and pinching her. ‘You’ll just have to teach her.’
‘What do you say, Natasha? Would you like to learn?’ asked Yuri.
Nikolai giggled. ‘Natasha’s a chess player, not a card player. She’s far too serious. I’ll play, though.’
‘I’ll play, too.’ Natasha sat next to Nikolai. ‘If you show me how.’
Yuri explained the rules and they began. Lisa was no longer losing because Natasha was. ‘What do I do now? Take another card?’ she demanded, wondering why she had agreed to play in the first place.
‘I don’t think so. You already have a handful.’
‘That’s not a good thing, is it?’
‘Well, no. In a game where the goal is to get rid of the cards, that’s not a good thing.’ Yuri grinned at Natasha.
‘Is it my go?’ she asked, dropping her cards, picking them up again, arranging them in ascending order.
‘It’s my go,’ said Lisa, who seemed to be enjoying the game a lot more now.
She chose a card from her neat six-card hand and put it down on the table. ‘Yuri, tell her.’
‘It is her go. You miss a turn. And don’t show us your cards. You’re supposed to hide them.’
Natasha hid her cards. ‘Why is it never my go?’
‘Because you lose every hand.’ Yuri chuckled. ‘You have to win a hand to have a go.’
‘It’s too complicated.’
‘Surely not as complicated as chess?’
Natasha blushed, thinking about the last game of chess she’d played with Mark.
‘Let’s play the next game open-handed. Then I can help,’ said Yuri.
Natasha wasn’t sure she wanted to play another game. ‘Maybe tomorrow.’
‘Dinner’s ready,’ called Mother from the kitchen. Natasha was relieved. Getting up, she threw her cards on the table.
In the doorway Nikolai pushed past her, whispering loudly, ‘Loser!’
Yuri winked and said, ‘You know what they say. Unlucky in cards, lucky in love.’
Nikolai chortled. Natasha blushed.
On the way to the kitchen, Lisa pulled Natasha into their bedroom. Closing the door behind them, she whispered conspiratorially, ‘I think Yuri likes you!’ She sounded surprised, as if Yuri liking her sister was the last thing she expected.
‘Don’t be silly, Lisa. Of course, he doesn’t like me.’
‘He does. He’s been asking about you.’ Lisa gave her a knowing look. It occurred to Natasha she hadn’t seen Lisa smile mischievously like this in a very long time. It was as if the old Lisa was back, leaving the new sour-faced and apathetic Lisa behind.
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really. He asked about your job at the cafeteria.’
‘That doesn’t mean he likes me.’
‘But then he asked whether you had a sweetheart.’
‘I don’t believe you.’ Natasha knew her sister well. Lisa was prone to exaggeration.
‘If you don’t believe me, ask him.’
‘I’m not asking him,’ exclaimed Natasha, horrified.
‘Why not? I dare you to.’
‘Don’t be silly, Lisa.’
‘Don’t you like him?’
‘Sure I like him, but only as a friend.’
‘He’s very handsome.’
‘Well, if you think he’s handsome, why don’t you ask him to take you out?’
Lisa’s friendly smile vanished. She stared at Natasha with heartbreak in her eyes, as if her sister had physically assaulted her. ‘Alexei has only been gone two months. How can you say that?’ Before Natasha could apologise, Lisa added, ‘I thought you’d be pleased. It’s not like you are seeing anyone. Or are you?’
‘Of course not,’ mumbled Natasha, but Lisa continued to watch her in silence, as if waiting for something. What was that expression on her face? She looked like she was challenging Natasha, who wasn’t up to a challenge, not even a small one.
*
The cafeteria was serving borscht. As Natasha meandered through the cafeteria hall with her eyes half open, she thought of long summer afternoons from her childhood, of Grandmother’s borscht of a lifetime ago, meaty and thick with vegetables, generously laden with sour cream and olive oil. The soup Natasha saw in front of her today, however, was different. There was no sour cream, no potatoes, and hardly any meat. It was nothing but hot water, coloured pink by a few thin slices of beetroot.
And yet, Natasha spent all morning eyeing it and at lunch she devoured every spoonful. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had borscht. When she finished her lunch, she was still hungry. She had barely enough energy to put one foot in front of the other as she went about her daily tasks. As November turned into December, it had become harder and harder to get out of bed in the morning, to stay awake, to stay warm, to sustain an illusion of a meaningful existence.
It had become harder and harder to survive.
Natasha mopped and cleaned, when in the far corner of the cafeteria she noticed a man. She wasn’t sure what attracted her attention. Was it the way he leaned to one side, his body stiff and lopsided, a half-empty plate in front of him, his hat covering his eyes? Or was it simply the fact that he had been sitting there for too long, not moving and not lifting his spoon? Natasha put her mop down and approached him.
She touched his shoulder. He didn’t budge. She addressed him. He didn’t reply.
She couldn’t see his eyes under the hat. Her hand trembling, she moved the hat to one side. The man stared at her and through her, sorrow frozen on his face forever, his lips constricted in a terrible grimace of a smile. Natasha cried out, letting the hat fall to the floor. Then she crossed herself and called for help.
*
That evening, Mark said, ‘I’m so glad I can see you in the evenings. This cafeteria job has been a godsend for us.’
Natasha couldn’t bear the look on his affectionate face. She couldn’t bear his joy. She turned away. She didn’t want to say anything, but the man’s chilling stare haunted her. She blinked. ‘I saw a dead man today. He died right here at the cafeteria as he was eating his soup. No one noticed until I found him. It’s like I’m used to it now. It’s all become so normal.’
They sat next to each other on the floor. His arms were around her. ‘War,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing normal about it.’
‘I remember when having a fight with my mama seemed like the end of the world. I miss those days.’
‘I wish I could protect you from all of it. From the war, from the Germans, from the hunger. I wish I could take you away from all of this. One day this war will be over. And you’ll be able to go outside and not be afraid. You’ll be safe and I won’t have to worry about you.’
For a few seconds she watched his face in silence. ‘Do you worry about me?’
‘Every day.’
‘Don’t. Nothing’s going to happen to me.’ She worried about him, too, but didn’t want to tell him that.
Outside, the tram rolled past and someone shouted in German. Inside, there was nothing but the tick-tock sound of the clock on the wall. How strange, thought Natasha. The clock that was so slow in the mornings sped up in the evenings like a
runaway train. The hours rushed by in a matter of minutes.
Mark said, ‘I made some enquiries. It looks like most of the prisoners from Brovary were taken to Belaya Zerkov.’
Natasha had heard about the prisoner camp in Belaya Zerkov. Men didn’t last long there at all. How could they, with the guards’ bullets, the cold and the hunger, the typhus and dysentery to contend with? Every morning, the Germans removed truckloads of dead bodies, disposing of them in the nearby ravines. ‘I don’t think we’ll ever see our father again,’ she whispered. Hiding her face in his tunic, hiding her heartbreak and her fear, she wept.
‘You’ve got to have faith.’
‘Faith? To stop the Germans, what we need is a miracle.’
‘Miracles can happen. At least now the Red Army soldiers know what’s in store for them in the Nazi prisoner camps.’
‘That’s a good thing?’
‘Definitely. Before, hundreds of thousands surrendered to the Germans. Now, they grit their teeth and fight.’
‘They have no choice.’
‘Exactly. Germany might still lose this war.’
‘Will they, really? They seem undefeatable.’ Natasha didn’t want to talk about the war anymore. She was on the floor next to Mark, her hands in his, her head on his chest. It wasn’t close enough. She climbed into his lap. ‘Today is Stanislav’s birthday. He’s twenty-seven today. Mama will be so sad. We haven’t heard from him in months.’
‘Stanislav is fine. Better than fine. He’s fed, he’s fighting. He’s better off than you are.’
‘I hope so. All Mama does is cry. Sometimes I dread going home.’
‘Then don’t. Stay with me.’ Mark removed a loose strand of dark hair from her face and kissed her. She kissed him back, closing her eyes. She didn’t want the kiss to end.
‘I couldn’t. I wouldn’t want Mama to worry. She worries too much already. Besides, don’t you have to get back to the barracks?’
‘I do.’ He whispered in her ear, ‘I wish we didn’t have to say goodbye.’
‘I know. Sometimes I dream of running away together. Just you and me. Can you imagine?’
‘I can imagine. Somewhere like Australia?’
Natasha watched him. His face was impassive. Only his eyes twinkled. She giggled and shoved him. ‘Stop teasing me. I can never tell when you’re serious and when you’re joking.’
‘If not Australia, then where?’
‘It doesn’t matter. Anywhere where there isn’t a war on,’ she said.
She nestled into his neck. She loved it when he was unshaven. His cheeks felt like sandpaper.
He tickled her through her blouse, and when she didn’t react, he put his hands under the thin material and traced her skin with his fingers. Suddenly, she no longer wanted to cry.
*
Though it had been weeks since Mother had been to work, her colleague Ivan stopped by one morning with half a kilo of bread the school had received for the teachers. Natasha divided it into eight parts, thankful for Ivan’s kindness. He looked like he could do with some extra bread himself.
In the kitchen, Yuri was slicing and stirring, whistling a war tune under his breath. Mother’s apron fastened around his hips, he twirled around their portable gas cooker as if he belonged there. Natasha had never seen a man prepare food before. Her father only ever entered the kitchen to eat, smoke or read his paper, and her brothers didn’t even know how the stove worked.
‘Where did you learn how to cook?’ asked Natasha.
Yuri looked up and winked. ‘They teach us everything in the army.’
‘Everything?’ teased Nikolai, who was pretending to read a book but in reality was watching Yuri’s every move.
‘What are you making?’ asked Natasha. ‘Smells amazing.’
And it did. So much so that Lisa poked her head through the kitchen door, her hair messy, as if she had just woken up.
‘Fried beetroot,’ said Yuri. ‘Courtesy of my mama. And guess what I got at the market today? A whole spoonful of butter.’
‘I didn’t know you had family here.’ Natasha was instantly curious. Yuri rarely spoke about himself.
‘Not anymore. I looked for Mama but… the house was empty. No one’s been living there in months. I found a sack of old beetroot in the kitchen.’
‘A whole sack of beetroot! That will last us a while,’ exclaimed Lisa.
‘You think your mama evacuated?’ asked Natasha.
‘I hope so. We have family in Kharkov but as you know…’ He fell quiet.
‘Kharkov is now in German hands, just like Kiev,’ finished Natasha. Yuri nodded, turning to the stove.
‘You can stay with us as long as you want,’ said Nikolai.
‘You will, won’t you?’ demanded Lisa.
Yuri smiled. He had a good smile, open and kind. ‘If you’ll have me,’ he said.
Nikolai danced on the spot. ‘Of course we’ll have you. Natasha here has the biggest crush on you. Have you noticed the way she looks at you?’
‘Nikolai, what’s wrong with you?’ Natasha’s cheeks were burning. She knew her face must have gone bright red. To hide her embarrassment, she pinched her brother’s arm.
‘Ouch,’ yelped Nikolai, pulling a face at Natasha.
‘Will you grow up?’ she said. ‘What are you, five?’
‘Better five than nineteen going on fifty. Look at your face. When was the last time you did anything fun?’ When Natasha pinched him again, he squealed, poking his tongue out. ‘Yuri, tell her.’
‘I’m too old for Natasha. She can do a lot better. She probably has young men following her by the dozen.’
Lisa chuckled. Natasha blushed deeper. She desperately needed to change the subject. Pointing at a piece of paper on the kitchen table, she said, ‘What’s that?’ It looked like a page from one of her school notebooks.
‘Read it,’ said Yuri.
Natasha struggled to decipher the hurried scribble. ‘Soviet citizens! The Germans are deceiving you. Moscow was, is, and will be ours! When Hitler tells you that the war is over, he is lying! Soon the Red Army will be back. Ukraine will be Soviet once more. Until then, continue to resist and kill the occupants! Don’t believe the German propaganda. It’s better to die fighting than to live in slavery! Death to the Nazi pigs.’
Natasha blinked and read it again. ‘You wrote this?’
Yuri nodded. ‘I’m going to make copies and distribute them in crowded places.’
Glancing at Yuri’s barely readable scrawl, Natasha said, ‘You might need some help with that.’
Yuri laughed, ‘I think you might be right.’
Nikolai performed a few excited pirouettes around the kitchen, the leaflet bopping up and down in his hand. ‘Can we distribute them, too?’
‘That is too dangerous,’ said Yuri. ‘Your mama would never forgive me.’
‘The more dangerous, the better!’ exclaimed Nikolai. ‘We want to do our bit to help the Motherland.’
Natasha almost choked with laughter, and Yuri said, ‘That’s the spirit.’
Natasha took the piece of paper from Nikolai. ‘Are you sure about this? I mean, what difference can it make?’
‘It’s a start. It will raise people’s spirits, inspire them to resist. Besides, it’s only a small part of what we do.’
‘What else do you do?’ Nikolai stopped dancing and stared at Yuri. He lowered his voice. ‘How can we help?’
‘First of all, remember Gregory?’
‘The man with a moustache who came to see you yesterday?’
Yuri nodded. ‘He’s an interpreter, working for the Germans.’
‘Are you serious?’ cried Nikolai.
‘And you brought him here?’ gasped Natasha.
Yuri smiled. ‘Not everything is what it seems. Appearances can be deceiving. Gregory is a partisan. He feeds false information to the Germans. Not every time but occasionally, when it’s beneficial to us, he changes documents or misleads them in other ways. Thanks to his efforts, tw
enty Ukrainian administrators who were extremely loyal to the Nazis were shot this month alone.’
‘Shouldn’t you be fighting the Germans and not the Ukrainians?’ asked Lisa.
‘We fight the idea, Lisa, not the nationality. That’s what this war is all about. Ideas. Anyone sympathetic to the Nazis is our enemy. Our aim is to create intolerable conditions for the Germans and destroy them by whatever means possible. Sabotage, misinformation, discrediting their propaganda, even killing them on the street when possible.’ As three pairs of eyes watched him with fascination, Yuri turned off the gas and said, ‘Dinner’s ready.’
They had fried beetroot and a small piece of bread each for dinner. For once there was plenty for everyone, and it felt like they were having a feast. After dinner, the four of them copied the leaflets under the light of Mark’s kerosene lamp. At midnight, when they ran out of paper, they went to bed, but Natasha was too excited to sleep. It was reassuring to know that there were people in Kiev who were still resisting. People like Yuri and Gregory.
*
Natasha watched Mark’s face across the chessboard. He looked so sweet when he tried to concentrate. She couldn’t resist, she reached out and stroked his cheek. ‘Your move,’ she said.
‘Wait. I’m thinking.’ She tickled him. He smiled. ‘Don’t distract me. I can do this. I know I can.’ He looked at the board and frowned.
‘I don’t think you can. I think you’re all out of options.’ She rubbed her hands, anticipating her victory.
‘If I do this…’ He reached for his knight.
‘If you do that, you lose. And if you move your rook, you lose.’
‘You might be right. I am out of options. Come here!’ He held her. ‘Why do you always win?’ Her hair was up in a ponytail. He undid it and kissed the tip of her nose.
She laughed. ‘Why do you always lose?’
‘You don’t give me much choice, do you?’
‘Another game?’
‘Maybe later.’ By the look on his face, Natasha knew he was no longer thinking of chess. ‘I love your dress,’ he whispered. ‘Are you allowed to dress like that for work?’
‘I’m allowed to wear a dress to work. Next week we might get real uniforms.’ She let go of his hand and reached for the chess pieces, placing them inside the chessboard. ‘I’m glad I taught you how to play. This is fun.’
The Story of Us Page 18
