‘Of course not.’
‘Do you love him? If you do, I’ll understand. I won’t get in your way. All I want is for you to be happy.’
‘You know I don’t love him. You know I only love you.’ There was doubt in his eyes. Doubt and fear and sadness. He’s as bad at hiding his feelings as I am, she thought. ‘I love him as a friend, a brother, nothing more. Like I love Nikolai. Like you love your Julia. You don’t know what it’s been like in Kiev. Mass transportations to Germany started, just like you warned me. Nobody was safe. But they weren’t taking married men. Not at first.’
‘And that’s why you married him?’
She nodded. ‘To protect him.’
Relief on his face was instant. ‘That sounds just like you. You have a heart of gold. That’s why I love you. That and your beautiful lips.’ He kissed her lips. ‘Your beautiful eyes.’ He kissed her eyes. He kissed her and kissed her, not letting go. ‘When did you get married?’ he asked at last.
‘About six months ago.’
‘Only six months? And the children? They look just like you, especially the girl. Beautiful like you.’
‘No, they look like you. Both of them look just like you,’ she whispered.
She watched him closely. Everything she was hoping to see was in his face. Everything and more. Incomprehension at first, then disbelief, and finally, realisation and wonder. ‘You mean…’
‘Yes.’
‘They are…’
‘Yes.’
‘My God, Natasha,’ he whispered. He was crying and not even trying to hide it.
Natasha kissed his eyes and whispered, ‘They have your eyes.’ Kissed his mouth. ‘And your mouth.’ Kissed his damp cheek. ‘Your cheeks.’ Finally, she tweaked his ear and added, ‘And they are stubborn, just like you.’
‘I can’t believe it. It’s the last thing I expected. I just can’t believe it. What did you call them?’
‘I called the girl Larisa.’
‘After your grandmother. And the boy?’
‘Constantine, after your father.’
‘Just like I wanted,’ he whispered.
‘Just like we wanted.’ She stroked his fingers.
‘So what are we going to do now?’ whispered Mark. Natasha could swear that he held his breath, waiting for her to reply.
‘About what?’
‘You and me. Your husband.’
Did he have to ask? Wasn’t it obvious? She peered into his face. ‘Mark, there hasn’t been a day, not a minute in the last two years when I didn’t miss you. You really think I could be with anyone else?’ She swallowed. ‘You’re still the only man I’ve ever been with.’
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘You don’t trust me?’
‘I just can’t believe how lucky I am. To be loved by someone like you.’
She kissed the palm of his hand and pressed it to her heart. ‘Yuri is a good man. He loves me very much.’
‘I don’t blame him.’
‘But I haven’t been with him, Mark. I couldn’t. There were times when I wished I could. When I wished I didn’t love you so much. It would have made things easier.’
She climbed into his lap just like she had done a lifetime ago. But just as she was about to kiss him, Nikolai burst into the room. In his left hand he held a piece of bread. In his right hand was a book. Natasha slid off Mark’s knee as Nikolai came to an abrupt stop and muttered, ‘Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in here. I was going to read my book.’ He watched them curiously.
‘Mark, remember Nikolai?’ asked Natasha.
Mark nodded and said, ‘I remember. We met once before.’
‘Outside our building on Tarasovskaya,’ said Nikolai.
‘Why aren’t you in the cellar with Dedushka and Yuri?’ asked Natasha.
Nikolai shrugged. ‘It’s too dark to read in the cellar.’ She must have looked concerned because Nikolai added, ‘Don’t worry. Nothing is going to happen to me.’
‘Where did you get that book? What is it?’
Nikolai held it up. It was Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment. ‘Our next-door neighbour has quite a library. He told me I could borrow anything I wanted.’ Nikolai turned to Mark. ‘So are you here to stay?’
Natasha held her breath.
Mark said, ‘I might stay for a little while.’ And smiled. She pressed his hand gently.
‘And Stalingrad, what was it like?’ asked Nikolai. But then he saw the expression on Natasha’s face and muttered, not waiting for Mark’s reply, ‘Well, it’s good to see you. I’ll be in the kitchen.’
And then it was just the two of them in the room once more. Their arms around each other, their eyes closed. She relaxed into his body, breathing faintly. They sat like that for a while, and then he said, ‘I am a little hungry. I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday.’
Instantly she jumped up. ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry. How selfish of me. Here I am, talking about myself, not feeding you.’
Slowly they walked to the kitchen. There was something peculiar in the way he moved, as if every step was a struggle. ‘You are limping,’ said Natasha. ‘Are you hurt?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s not a big deal. Just an old wound. I’ll be good as new soon.’
‘You can hardly walk.’
‘I walked a thousand kilometres to be with you. You think I can’t make it to the kitchen?’ He lifted her then and carried her struggling, giggling, squealing body through the doorway, as if they were a married couple on the night of their wedding.
Chapter 19 – Waiting for a Miracle
October 1943
The days that followed were a happy blur of talking, playing with their children together, Mark’s arms around Natasha when they were alone, his leg touching hers under the kitchen table when they were not. When she begged him to join the men in their hiding place, he refused. ‘I didn’t come all this way to hide in the cellar,’ he said. Soon she stopped asking.
One day Yuri brought home a small kerosene stove. Mother asked her new friends next door for some cutlery and plates. It was the chestnut season and there were apples in their garden. In the cellar they found a supply of carrots and potatoes that Yuri’s mother had prepared for the winter. The vegetables were old but who were they to complain?
Alina and Anatoly had moved on, but every night, strangers appeared in the garden, where they would sleep on the cold grass only to move on the next morning in their elusive search of a safe place to stay. At first, Natasha made an effort to welcome the newcomers to the house, to talk to them, to ask their names. But soon it became hard to keep track of everyone.
Every once in a while she would look up and see Yuri’s cold eyes as he watched her and Mark together. Sometimes her glance would meet his and there would be so much hurt in his face that she would turn quickly away – back to Mark and his adoring smile and his welcoming arms. Fortunately for Natasha, Yuri was hardly ever home, so busy was he with the partisans.
Just like Natasha knew he would, Mark fell utterly and hopelessly under the twins’ spell. He would hold them breathlessly, hugging, tickling, rocking, making up for lost time. When they did something he found amusing, he would shower them with kisses. When they slept, they slept in his arms. When they played, they played by his feet. Natasha would spend hours watching Mark with their children. At times she would pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.
Despite the constant threat of German patrol and nightly bombings, Natasha couldn’t have been happier.
One evening in early October, she was resting against the wall, Mark’s arms around her. The twins were asleep next to them, Mother and Grandfather were by the window and Nikolai was reading. She didn’t know where Yuri was.
‘Nikolai, how long have you been reading that book?’ asked Natasha teasingly.
‘I finished it days ago. Now I’m re-reading it.’
‘Stop reading in the dark. You’ll ruin your eyesight,’ said Mother, not taking her eyes off the fires in the d
istance. Nikolai made a funny face but Mother didn’t notice. There was fear on her face and tears in her eyes.
‘Why don’t you read something new?’ asked Natasha.
‘But what if something new is not as interesting? Then I’d be wasting my time. This way I know it’s going to be good. I can’t lose.’
Outside, orange streaks illuminated the ruins of once-beautiful buildings. ‘What did they do to our city?’ muttered Mother, turning away from the window. ‘Our Kiev.’
‘Don’t worry, Zoya Alexeevna,’ said Mark. ‘There is no way they can win this war now. They stand alone against all of Europe.’
‘That means a lot coming from someone who once fought on Hitler’s side.’
‘Mama!’ exclaimed Natasha, looking at her with reproach.
‘It’s okay,’ said Mark, pressing her hand gently. ‘I did fight on Hitler’s side, Zoya Alexeevna. But not through choice.’
‘Leave the young man alone, Zoya,’ said Grandfather. ‘From what I’ve heard, he gave the Nazis a hard time at Stalingrad.’
‘We learnt our lesson, Zoya Alexeevna,’ said Mark. ‘Learnt it the hard way. Most Hungarians vowed they would risk execution before fighting for Germany again. All we ever wanted was to go home. Bardossy and his supporters are seen as criminals for dragging the nation into this war. Hungarian units mutinied. Many soldiers deserted, especially after Babi Yar. Sometimes I wish I had deserted then, too.’
‘What a waste this war is,’said Mother.
They were interrupted by the sound of planes overhead. Engines rumbling like distant thunder, they flew steadily over the sleeping city, unleashing havoc and destruction. The twins awoke, crying. Mark cradled both of them, one in each arm, and rocked them until they fell quiet again. It was a beautiful night and the stars were bright but the sky rained bombs, which produced a shrill whistling sound that appeared to get closer and closer each time. Natasha couldn’t shake the feeling that the next bomb would find them. The only surviving glass in one of the windows rattled.
‘Time to go to the cellar,’ said Mark, handing the children to Mother and Natasha. He was already up, opening the trap door, helping everyone down the ladder. Natasha paused at the top of the ladder. ‘Are you not coming too?’ she asked him. Knowing he would never allow her to stay above ground during the bombing, she tried to make herself look stern and failed. ‘I’m not going anywhere without you.’
‘Down you go,’ he said. Seeing her face, he added, ‘I’m not afraid of a little shelling. Besides, someone needs to stand guard and make sure the Nazis don’t search the house. Now go.’
He was right and she knew it. Reluctantly she climbed down, sinking to the floor next to her mother, brother and grandfather, straining to hear what was happening upstairs. All was silent but for the muffled rumble of the cannonade and her own stifled sobs. Mother looked at her harshly. ‘Stop that. You’re upsetting the children.’
Natasha wiped her face with the back of her hand. ‘I couldn’t bear if anything happened to him. Not now when I just got him back.’
In the light of a candle, Natasha could see her grandfather’s face. Why was he looking at her like that? What was it in his eyes? It almost looked like disappointment. ‘Dedushka, what’s wrong?’ she whispered.
For a few seconds Grandfather didn’t speak. Natasha braced herself. Her grandfather was the most righteous person she knew. She had a feeling that whatever he was about to say, she wasn’t going to like it. ‘I must be getting old because I don’t understand,’ he muttered finally. ‘Marriage is a sacred institution. Your babushka and I were married for fifty years…’
Ah, thought Natasha. She knew it was coming, and now here it was. There was no escaping it, nowhere to hide in the crowded cellar. ‘I feel awful about Yuri, I really do.’ It was true. She did feel awful. ‘But what you and Babushka had, that was different. I married Yuri to keep him safe. I love him like a brother.’ She rubbed her finger where her grandmother’s ring had once been. The ring she no longer wore but kept in the inside pocket of her jacket. She whispered, ‘I’m sorry, Dedushka.’ The last thing she wanted was to upset her grandfather.
‘I might be old but I’m not blind. I can tell when someone is hurting. And Yuri is hurting. You might have married out of necessity, but he married for love.’
*
The next morning, when Natasha was still groggy and barely awake, the family heard clomping boots march up to their front door. There came a loud hammering and then the boots marched away. When Natasha fearfully looked outside, she found a leaflet nailed to the door.
‘Eviction!’ Mother cried, ‘Not again!’
‘Not eviction,’ said grandfather, reading the leaflet. ‘They want us at the railway station by tomorrow. They want to transport us.’
‘I can’t run anymore,’ said Natasha. Under the table, Mark’s fingers found her thigh, pressing gently. ‘The last time we received an order like that, the Nazis…’ She couldn’t continue.
‘What’s going to happen to us?’ cried Mother. ‘What about the children?’
Mark said, ‘Don’t worry, Zoya Alexeevna. The Germans are too busy to worry about us. They simply don’t have the time, with the Red Army so close.’
‘Before they break through, the Nazis will kill us all.’
Mark said, ‘Rumour has it the Red Army is in Darniza. We need to sit tight until they arrive. If the patrol comes, we can hide in the cellar.’
After a quick breakfast, Nikolai took the children to the cellar and everyone else went outside to look for chestnuts. Mark and Natasha were left alone together.
‘When you were gone, I wished I had a photo of you. Anything to remind me of your face,’ said Natasha.
‘I had this,’ said Mark. He reached into his pocket and a moment later there was a photograph in his hands. Natasha recognised it as one of the pictures Mark had taken of her in Shevchenko Park. She looked so cheerful and carefree, it was as if there were no Germans on the streets of Kiev, no war, no hunger. It was as if there was nothing but the two of them, young and in love.
‘I remember that day. It seems like a lifetime ago. Oh, Mark. What are we going to do? How are we going to keep you safe? If the Germans find out we are hiding you, they’ll kill you.’
‘They won’t find out. Not unless someone tells them,’ said Mark. ‘Don’t worry. The Nazis are too busy saving their own skin. We just have to hold on until the Red Army gets here.’
‘But what do you think will happen once the Bolsheviks are back? They have been shooting anyone suspected of collaborating with the Germans. Innocent people, most of them. What do you think they’ll do to you?’
Mark watched her thoughtfully. At last, he said, ‘Forget about me for a second. What about all of you? What will the Bolsheviks do to you if they find out you are hiding me?’
Natasha took his hand. ‘I know what you’re about to say. Don’t say it. Don’t even think it. You’re not going anywhere. Not without me.’
‘But if I’m putting you all at risk—’
‘No one but our family knows about you. No one will say a word.’ She squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want Mark to see fear in her eyes. She wanted him to believe her even if she didn’t believe herself. After all, the NKVD had a way of unearthing even the most well-hidden secrets. How long would it take them to find out about Mark?
When Natasha opened her eyes, Yuri was watching them through the doorway, and Natasha froze in fear. Hadn’t he once told her that anyone could sell you out for a piece of bread? No one could be trusted, absolutely no one, Yuri had said to her. And here he was, with his broken heart in his eyes, looking at Mark and Natasha as they held each other at the kitchen table. Did he hear their conversation? What if he mentioned Mark to someone? No, Natasha said to herself, he would never do that. Everything she knew about Yuri told her she could trust him. But once, a long time ago, she had thought she could trust Lisa, too. If her own sister could betray her, anyone could.
And the
n she remembered the conversation they had had on their first night in this house. Yuri knew about Mark. He knew Mark was responsible for the murder of the officer at the start of the occupation.
Chapter 20 – The Battle of Kiev
October–November 1943
One evening in the last week of October, Mark and Natasha stayed in the kitchen, talking late into the night about the latest news that had reached them. There was fighting all the way from Chernigov to the outskirts of Kiev, Zaporozhye had been evacuated, the so-called enemy, meaning the Red Army, had crossed to the right bank of the Dnieper. It was after midnight when they heard the front door open. A minute later, Yuri appeared. Closing the door to the kitchen behind him, he said, ‘I need to talk to you both.’
He didn’t sit down next to them, nor did he come any closer. He looked exhausted and thin, skeletal almost. He smiled sadly, then reached into his pocket. ‘I wanted to give you this.’ He took out a small parcel wrapped in newspaper and handed it to Mark. ‘What is it?’ Natasha asked as Mark unwrapped it.
‘It’s a passport,’said Mark, his eyes widening.
‘I wanted you to have it. It’s one of the documents Gregory was hiding in his apartment.’
‘Is that where you’ve been? At Gregory’s? Any news of him?’ asked Natasha.
Yuri shook his head. ‘A group of Germans are staying there. I had to wait two days before I could get in.’
There was a photograph of a smiling young man on the front page. ‘Dmitri Antonov,’ Natasha read the name aloud. Judging by the date of birth, he had just turned twenty-four. ‘Why are you giving us this?’
‘Who does Dmitri remind you of?’
She brought the candle close, peering at the black-and-white picture. ‘If it wasn’t for the long hair, it would look almost like—’ She glanced at Mark.
‘Exactly,’ concluded Yuri.
Suddenly Natasha understood. ‘You mean…’ she whispered.
Yuri turned to Mark. ‘You’ll need a passport when the Red Army comes back.’
‘Thank you,’ said Mark, rising to his feet and shaking Yuri’s hand. ‘It means so much.’
The Story of Us Page 33
