The Story of Us

by Lana Kortchik

  ‘But you confided in us. In me and Nikolai.’ And in Lisa, she wanted to say but didn’t. She tried not to think about her sister. She hadn’t seen her since the day in January when Mark had disappeared. Mother did a brilliant job of keeping the two of them apart.

  ‘You’re different. You, Natasha, are one in a million.’

  One after another, he placed the documents in a small bag. Soon, there was only one passport left. He opened it and gasped. There was something in his eyes that unnerved Natasha. She reached for the passport and looked at the photo page. A pleasant middle-aged woman looked at her from the photograph. Irina Alexeevna Korovina, Natasha read. Although the picture was black and white, she could almost swear that the woman’s hair was fair and her eyes were green just like Yuri’s, so strong was the family resemblance.

  Outside, the wind was wailing. Inside, there was silence.

  ‘Is that… your mother?’ Natasha stammered.

  Yuri’s head was in his hands. He wasn’t looking at the passport, nor was he looking at Natasha. ‘I thought… I hoped she had evacuated,’ he muttered.

  Natasha heaved herself up and sat next to Yuri, pulling him close. ‘I’m sorry about your mother,’ she whispered. ‘She’s so beautiful.’ She glanced at the date of birth. Yuri’s mother was barely forty-five. She must have had him when she was very young.

  ‘She is… was. I remember the day I left for the front. I’ve never seen her cry so much. But even in the prison camp, even when I saw all my comrades die, I was hoping I would live to see her again.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ What could she say, what could she do to make him feel better?

  ‘She always dreamt of a big family but all she had was me. She wanted grandchildren. She hoped I would have a family of my own soon but then the war had started.’ He raised his hurting eyes to her. ‘Natasha, I think we should get married. The baby needs a father and you know how I feel about you.’

  Natasha’s face went white.

  When she didn’t reply, he said, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spring it on you. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now—’

  She clasped her stomach. ‘It’s not that, it’s…’ She felt a sharp pain in her abdomen.

  ‘What is it? Are you okay?’

  She gripped his hand tighter. A tremor ran through her body. ‘I think the baby’s coming—’

  She let go of his hand and grabbed the table. Holding her breath, she prayed for the contraction to pass.

  ‘What can I get you? What can I do?’ cried Yuri.

  His face was a mask of panic. Natasha would have laughed if she had the strength. All she managed was a grimace and a groan. ‘Get Mama,’ she whispered. ‘She’s at work.’

  Natasha rubbed her stomach, watching Yuri as he ran out the door. She had often imagined this moment and every time she’d thought about it, she’d been afraid. But now, when it was finally time, she didn’t feel scared. Nervous, yes, expectant and confused, yes, but not scared.

  She was about to meet her little one. Mark’s little one.

  Another contraction came and went. Her eyes squeezed tight, Natasha attempted to count from a hundred to zero, to recite world capitals in alphabetical order, anything to keep her mind off what was happening. But the numbers clashed and stumbled upon each other in her head, nor could she recall any cities that started with A, B or C.

  She called for Nikolai. He sat holding her hand until their overexcited mother rushed into the room, her face as red as her daughter’s was white. Yuri was close behind. Mother looked as if she had run all the way from the library where she had been working since her school closed down in June. She brought an agitated old lady with her. At first Natasha didn’t know who this lady was but when she looked closer, she recognised Claudia, their neighbour from the first floor.

  For someone who relied on a walking stick, Claudia moved with surprising speed and agility. ‘The boys have to go,’ she said firmly, pointing at Nikolai and Yuri with a crooked finger. For once, Nikolai didn’t argue. He and Yuri left the room, closing the door behind them. Claudia patted Natasha’s stomach. ‘Don’t worry, dear. I’ve been a midwife for fifty-five years.’ She placed a shrivelled hand on Natasha’s abdomen. ‘Why, aren’t you huge! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as big as you.’

  ‘Are you feeling alright?’ Mother wanted to know.

  ‘Wonderful,’ mumbled Natasha, groaning and bending over as another contraction gripped her.

  In her no-nonsense voice, Claudia interrupted. ‘Come, you must lie down.’ Mother helped her into bed with Claudia trailing one step behind. ‘How long between the contractions?’ she demanded. Natasha told her. Claudia said, ‘Still a long way to go. Might as well relax and have a cup of tea.’

  Natasha widened her eyes in panic, but the old lady was no longer looking at her. Mother rushed to the kitchen and returned with a cup of tea and a German biscuit – a thin slice of beetroot dried in the oven. Through the painful mist of another contraction, Natasha tried to focus on Claudia’s high-pitched voice. ‘For the first time in my life I’m glad I’m old. They won’t send me to Germany. They have no use for me.’ She sighed, made a clucking noise with her lips and pointed a shaking finger at Natasha.

  ‘Aren’t you a bit young to have a baby? What are you, fifteen?’

  Natasha knew that with her hair in braids and her face without a trace of make-up she looked about twelve. ‘Twenty,’ she whispered.

  ‘Mind you, I had my first child when I was barely seventeen. Didn’t do me any harm. You aren’t married though, are you, dear?’

  The old woman’s curious disapproval was the last thing Natasha needed. She shrugged and turned to the wall.

  ‘I helped deliver four babies last month. The first three were stillborn.’

  Natasha’s heart skipped a beat. She tried to remember the last time she had felt her baby kick and couldn’t. Mother glared at Claudia, who continued, oblivious to their discomfort. ‘The last one was alive, though.’

  Natasha breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Barely survived a week. Died from malnutrition. Adults are dying wherever you turn, what do you expect from a newborn baby? It was a little boy. His mother was devastated. Threw herself in the Dnieper. Poor woman, she already lost two sons and a daughter. The baby was all she had in the world, heaven help her.’ The old woman shook her fist, whether at heaven or at the Nazis, Natasha couldn’t tell.

  Natasha wanted the labour to start, a lightning bolt to strike, anything but having to listen to another one of Claudia’s stories. She rubbed her watermelon of a stomach. ‘Not long now,’ she whispered to the baby.

  Another contraction took her by surprise, and this time the pain was so severe, she almost fainted. All went dark and she could no longer hear Claudia. She moaned, desperately waving her hands. The old lady couldn’t have moved any slower if she wanted to. Natasha watched her through half-closed eyes as she put her cup down, rose to her feet, picked up her walking stick and shuffled towards Natasha. She took forever to examine her and then said, ‘That was quick. I didn’t even finish my tea. This baby is desperate to come out.’ She turned to Mother. ‘We’ll need some sheets, some boiled water.’

  Mother left the room, pulling the door behind her, and Natasha heard her shouting for Yuri and Nikolai to help with the kettle.

  Natasha bit her lip until it bled, trying to stop herself from screaming. She didn’t want the men in the other room to hear. It wouldn’t do for her grandfather to worry. But she couldn’t help it, she cried out. She thought she couldn’t take the pain any longer, not for another minute. But it was just beginning. Hour melted into hour, and Natasha lost all track of time. Soon it was dark outside.

  ‘Push,’ demanded Claudia. ‘You’re almost there. I can see the head. Push harder.’

  Natasha wanted to but couldn’t. She clenched her mother’s hand so hard, she heard her gasp.

  Finally, after what seemed like an age, the midwife said, ‘It’s a boy.
’ A boy. Natasha forced her eyes open. Claudia continued, ‘He’s alive. Can’t believe how big he is. And he has dark hair. How wonderful.’

  Just like his father, thought Natasha.

  She strained her broken body, forcing herself to sit up. She desperately wanted to see her son. It was quiet. Why wasn’t he crying? She wanted to ask if he was alright but her lips wouldn’t move. Then suddenly a piercing shriek filled the room, and Natasha burst into tears. She heard Mother’s cooing. Claudia mumbled, ‘New life. How astonishing. But what a bad time you chose to come into this world, what an evil time.’

  Natasha reached for her baby, wanting to hold him, when yet another contraction made her cry out. Claudia handed the boy to Mother and inspected Natasha. ‘Looks like you’re about to have another baby,’ she concluded. Her tone was impassive, as if she was asking Natasha to pass her some salt at the dinner table.

  ‘I’m having twins?’

  ‘I’m afraid you are. You poor girl. Who has twins? Never in my life have I seen anything like this. How will you feed them? Wartime twins, what a misfortune.’

  Through her tears Natasha smiled. She was having two of Mark’s babies instead of one. It wasn’t a misfortune, it was a miracle.

  The second delivery went much quicker than the first. An hour later the old lady placed two tiny bundles in Natasha’s arms. She looked in amazement at the two tiny faces, kissing them one after another, first the little boy and then the girl. One of each, just like Mark had wanted. She bent her head and inhaled their scent. Warmth was emanating from them.

  Natasha closed her eyes and thought of Mark standing in front of her, placing his arms firmly around her hips and lifting her high as if trying to throw her in the air so he could catch her. Afraid that it was exactly what he was about to do, she squealed, ‘Put me down. I’m too heavy.’

  ‘You weigh nothing,’ he said, grinning.

  ‘Put me down right now, you’re making me dizzy.’ He made her beg and then lowered her onto the ground and covered her mouth with kisses.

  When Natasha opened her eyes, Mark’s children were in front of her, their little eyes shut, their little lips moving.

  Mother opened the door. Natasha could hear agitated voices outside. She could see Nikolai’s pale face peering through the doorway. She closed her eyes and slept. When she awoke, Claudia was gone. Only Mother remained in the room. Mother, Natasha and two tiny bundles in her arms. It was too dark and she couldn’t see them. She wanted to see them.

  ‘What’s the date today?’ she whispered.

  ‘The seventh,’ replied Mother.

  7th September. Almost a year since she had met Mark. Almost a year since Grandmother had died.

  ‘What will you name them?’

  ‘Larisa, after our babushka.’ She kissed her daughter’s tiny button of a nose. ‘Mama, why are you crying?’

  ‘I wish Babushka has lived to see this. Her great-grandchildren.’

  ‘And I’ll name the boy Costa. After Mark’s father Constantine.’

  Visitors soon filed into her room. Nikolai first, closely followed by Grandfather. Yuri sat on her bed for a while, holding her hand, and Mikhail came in to congratulate her. But all she wanted was to be alone with her babies. Despite the war, despite the hunger, despite the Germans still in her city, Natasha could swear that at that precise moment there was no one in the whole world who was more blessed than she was. At that precise moment, no one and nothing else existed, except for her and the two tiny new lives she was holding.

  *

  Natasha had spent the first few weeks of her babies’ lives as if in a daze. With no sleep and two needy infants glued to her, she couldn’t have coped if it wasn’t for her family. Mother spoon-fed Natasha while she breastfed around the clock. Nikolai read to her and the babies. Yuri brought a guitar and sang solemn war songs to her and the babies. Grandfather kept her updated with news from the front, although she would have preferred it if he hadn’t. Absorbing herself in her babies, she could pretend, for a moment, that the war wasn’t even happening.

  ‘Why are they feeding so much?’ Natasha said one morning after a night of sitting up with the babies, kissing them, inhaling their infant scent and not sleeping. ‘Is it normal?’

  ‘At this rate they’ll grow into those socks you’ve been making before you even know it,’ said Nikolai.

  ‘Completely normal,’ said Mother. ‘They do it for comfort. They just want to be close to you.’

  ‘Will it ever get easier?’

  ‘Of course it will. When they start school,’ Mother joked.

  But it did get easier. Suddenly, a few weeks later, the babies stopped crying every time she put them down. They started sleeping not just in her arms but in the cots Yuri had built for them. And Natasha could breathe again.

  Even in her most desperate moments, she was besieged by an all-consuming love of such magnitude, it was like a volcano exploded inside her every time she saw her babies’ little faces. She was a mother, and it felt magical. She was utterly, irrevocably under her little ones’ spell. As unfamiliar as this feeling was, she had been prepared for it, like she was prepared for the sleepless nights and the dirty bottoms. After all, everyone always talked about it. What she wasn’t prepared for was the debilitating fear that gripped her when the babies were born. She thought she had known fear before, having lived in occupied Kiev for a year. And yet, that feeling was a seedling in comparison to what raged inside her at the thought of something happening to her children. The what ifs inside her head drove her to distraction. What if there’s not enough food for them? What if I don’t have enough milk? What if they get sick? What if they get taken away from me? What if I will get taken away from them? What if someone tries to hurt them? And worse — What if I lose them? How will I survive losing them? She wouldn’t survive losing them; she knew that for a fact. If she lost them, she’d lose her sanity, just like Masha, whose distorted and mournful face haunted her day and night, while the voices inside her head whispered-whispered-whispered as she clasped the babies to her chest in a protective embrace. Natasha was a lioness trapped in a small cage, ready to pounce and maul anyone who threatened her son and daughter.

  And so she never left her babies’ side, not for a moment. It was as if an invisible umbilical cord still attached her to her son and daughter. She wasn’t the only one. Grandfather hardly had time for his books because all he wanted to do was be near his great-grandchildren. Nikolai’s face would crease in wonder whenever he saw his niece or nephew. Yuri would play the guitar to Natasha and the babies, thoughtfully, mutely, with a sad smile on his face. Mother rushed to Natasha’s bed as soon as she walked through the door, her shoes on, her coat on, and didn’t put the twins down until it was time to make dinner. She would cry whenever she saw her grandchildren.

  ‘Mama, why are you crying? Shouldn’t you be happy?’

  ‘I am happy.’

  Larisa and Constantine were continuously held, rocked, cuddled, kissed. It’s lucky we have two, thought Natasha. One baby wouldn’t be enough for this family.

  *

  It was a quiet October afternoon, and Mother had just returned from the library. The little boy was cradled in her arms. Natasha reached for her son. ‘Mama, go and get changed. You still have your coat on. Give me Costa.’

  Mother was swaying the boy, rocking him, kissing him, her eyes swimming in happy tears.

  Natasha said, ‘He needs food. He’s a growing boy.’ The desire to hold her baby was like a physical pain and she twitched impatiently. ‘He’s hungry.’ As if on cue, Costa broke out crying. His shrieks woke Larisa, whose voice joined his.

  ‘What’s all this commotion?’ Nikolai wanted to know. As soon as he saw two wriggling infants, he chuckled. ‘Can I hold them?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Natasha.

  ‘When can I hold them? You’ve been saying not yet for the last month. They were born a month ago and I barely know what they look like.’ He was trying hard to look upset and failing.
The smile was wide on his face.

  ‘They like me, that’s all. Come on, don’t be jealous.’ He pinched her lightly and she reached out to pinch him back but in one stride he was behind the bed, too fast for her. She would have pursued him if a screaming child wasn’t balanced on her hip.

  ‘Alright, hold them but be careful.’

  ‘Not both at the same time,’ said Mother.

  Nikolai took his nephew in his arms, swinging him back and forth, up and down in a rapid motion. ‘You’re doing it too fast,’ said Natasha. ‘It will just make him cry more.’

  ‘Support his head,’ said Mother.

  ‘Don’t turn him upside down,’ demanded Natasha. ‘No, not like that.’

  As if by a miracle, Costa stopped screaming.

  ‘You were saying?’ Nikolai laughed. Mother, Natasha and Grandfather watched him in wonder. ‘Hello,’ Nikolai chanted to the baby. ‘Do you like football?’ Two tiny round eyes were staring up at him and a tiny mouth was open as if in a question mark. Nikolai looked close to crying, just like Mother. What is it with my family? thought Natasha. They always have tears in their eyes. ‘That’s right, you don’t know what football is. But in a year or two you will. I’ll teach you and Larisa,’ he murmured.

  ‘In a year or two?’ Natasha laughed. ‘Can I have my son back? He needs food, not soccer.’

  Nikolai leaned close to the boy, inhaled, kissed him goodbye, crooned. ‘You are a sweet boy, a beautiful boy. Look at these tiny feet, these tiny hands, this tiny nose.’

  Mother said, sniffling, ‘Tiny everything but so perfect.’

  As soon as Costa left Nikolai’s arms, he emitted a low wail.

  Nikolai picked up Larisa and she fell quiet, watching him curiously. ‘How about you? Do you like football?’

  ‘Girls don’t play football,’ said Mother. ‘She’ll be knitting and cooking with her grandmother.’

  ‘Well, that’s just not fair, is it?’ Nikolai made a funny face and tickled Larisa. ‘No, it’s not. It’s much more fun to play football with your brother and uncle.’