But when she opened the door, it wasn’t Zina standing outside with her granddaughter in her arms. Instead, two German soldiers glared at her through the doorway. Irina recoiled from them with horror, unable to look away from their square faces and the terrifying swastikas that adorned their armbands. The taller of the two watched her suspiciously, while the shorter pushed his way in. ‘Blankets, towels, sheets. We’ll take everything you have,’ he said in broken Russian. Irina nodded uncertainly, backing away, and they followed her to the dining room.
Here was something else that contradicted the propaganda they read in the newspaper every day. If the Nazis were winning, why did so many wounded German soldiers come back from Stalingrad front? Why did they need so many blankets and towels for their hospitals? But as Irina shivered under the Nazi soldiers’ glare, all she could think about was the radio receiver hidden under the clothes. If the Germans found it, the whole household would pay. A week ago, a family of four was arrested for hiding a radio. They were taken away and shot in public, the children first. Then the Nazis returned and burnt their house down. Nothing was left of the place that had once housed four souls with their hopes and joys and fears. Nothing but a pile of black soot.
Dmitry was nowhere to be seen and Irina tried with all her might not to glance in the direction of the radio. ‘We don’t have any spare blankets. Only enough for the family. But plenty of towels.’
‘Wunderbar,’ said the shorter soldier. ‘We need towels. But blankets too. All your blankets.’
‘If we give you our blankets, we will freeze. The nights are cold. I have a baby.’
There was something resembling pity on the shorter soldier’s face. But Irina wasn’t looking at him. The taller of the two made an abrupt movement in the direction of the clothes that concealed the radio. He picked up a sheet and a pair of trousers. Irina froze, unable to speak. The soldier reached for a pillowcase. Underneath the pillowcase she could see the outline of the radio receiver. She felt a chill run through her, a shriek of sheer panic forming at the back of her throat.
‘Here you are,’ said Dmitry, suddenly appearing from the bedroom and handing them half a dozen towels and all their blankets.
The German turned away from the radio and took the towels and the blankets. Nodding, the two soldiers disappeared through the front door.
For the few seconds it took for them to close the door and walk away, their footsteps resounding ominously down the corridor, Dmitry and Irina didn’t speak. ‘That was close,’ said Dmitry finally, clearing his throat. ‘With the number of patrols these days, it’s not safe to keep the radio here. I’ll find somewhere else to hide it.’
Irina leant on the wall and closed her eyes, counting to ten. She couldn’t speak.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Dmitry. ‘Do you want anything? A glass of water?’
‘I’m fine. I just need a moment.’
‘Don’t worry. They won’t be back. They got what they wanted. And I’ll find a blanket for Sonya tonight.’
‘Thank God she wasn’t here.’ At first Irina was annoyed at her mother-in-law for taking her little girl away just as she was returning from work. Now she was grateful. ‘I feel so afraid sometimes, I don’t know what to do with myself.’
‘It’s war. We all feel afraid.’
‘Ever since I had Sonya … I’m just so scared for her, Dima. I’m afraid that the minute I turn my back, she’ll disappear. That when I come home from work, she won’t be here. That someone will take her away or she’ll get sick or I won’t have enough food for her. I can’t stop the what-ifs running through my head, driving me crazy.’
‘I don’t have any children, but I suppose the fear is part of being a parent.’
‘I can’t stop the terrible scenarios in my head. When she was born … they brought her to me, all wrapped up, only her tiny face visible. And what a face it was – bright red, scrunched up, screaming loudly. No one could calm her. But the minute I picked her up and started singing, she stopped crying and looked at me sideways, as if wondering who I was. That was the moment I fell in love with her.’ Irina smiled at the memory. ‘She brings me so much joy. I feel like no human being deserves this much joy. But it could all be taken away at any moment. If anything happens to her, Dima … She’s my life.’
‘Nothing is going to happen to her. We’ll make sure of that. You heard the radio. Our army is gaining ground. The Germans won’t stay here for much longer.’
Her hand on her chest, Irina breathed slower.
‘Dinner is on the stove,’ Dmitry added. ‘Eat before it gets cold.’
‘You made dinner?’
‘A vegetable stew, your favourite.’
‘I thought we didn’t have any vegetables.’
‘Yesterday we didn’t have any vegetables. But today I went to the village and got three potatoes and four carrots. And …’ he paused for dramatic effect ‘… a whole onion.’
‘What would we do without you?’
‘Without me you wouldn’t have an onion for dinner.’ He waved and dashed to the door, the radio wrapped in a towel under his arm.
‘You are not eating? I have some bread.’
‘I have to run. I’m meeting someone.’
‘Is it a date?’ She winked at him, cheerful now that the red mist of fear had cleared.
‘Yes, a date with an old official who seems loyal to us.’
‘Seems loyal? Or is loyal?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to find out.’
‘Be careful,’ she muttered but the door had already closed behind him and he didn’t hear. As she waited for her daughter to return Irina had some stew but didn’t touch the bread Tamara had given her – she was saving it for Sonya. She made herself a weak cup of tea, using yesterday’s tea leaves, and sat at the table, watching it grow cold.
Finally, half an hour later, she heard her little girl’s excited voice. ‘Doggy,’ cried Sonya as the front door opened. ‘Doooggy!’
‘That’s right,’ came Kirill’s voice. Irina’s father-in-law sounded tired. Although he loved looking after his granddaughter, lately Irina was noticing how old and frail he’d been looking. ‘Doggy says woof. And what animal says neigh?’
‘Horsey,’ cried Sonya. ‘Grandpa horsey!’
Irina leapt to the front door and when Sonya saw her, she cried, ‘Mama, Mama!’ She was in Kirill’s arms, her small body pressed into him, her dark eyes – her father’s eyes – sparkling, her dark hair long and curly. Behind them, Irina’s mother-in-law, Zina, was unbuttoning her coat.
‘I’m back, little one, I’m home,’ whispered Irina, picking up Sonya and showering her with kisses. The deaths, the fear, her long day, even the visit from the Nazis that had scared her so much – suddenly it all fell away as she inhaled her daughter’s baby smell. All she could see was her little one.
‘Good thing, too. This old horsey needs a rest. My back is killing me.’ Kirill stretched and groaned. ‘You are back later than usual. Have you eaten?’
Smiling affectionately at her father-in-law, Irina nodded and carried Sonya to the kitchen. When the little girl tried the bread, her eyes lit up. She had never had bread like this before, with a delicious golden crust that melted in your mouth. Even though it was the bread of Irina’s childhood, it was now reserved for the Nazis. ‘More,’ cried Sonya. ‘More, more!’ Irina held her on her lap, happy to give her more. At this rate, the bread wouldn’t last as long as she had hoped but it didn’t matter. It was worth it to see a smile on her daughter’s face.
Later, in their bedroom, while Irina was breastfeeding Sonya to sleep, she thought that despite her fears and the enemy on her doorstep, she was the luckiest person alive because she had her little girl. As she held her close, a feeling of extreme joy rushed through her, unconditional love unlike anything she had experienced before she became a mother.
And soon she would have another baby. She could hardly wait.
The lights were low and the sounds subsided. She was ho
lding her daughter close, her face in her hair, listening to the endearing noises she made with her lips while she fed. At times like this, Irina could almost forget there was a war, could almost pretend death and desolation hadn’t come to the streets of Kiev, if it wasn’t for the harsh German shouts reaching her through the window and the German planes buzzing incessantly in the air. She could tell by the soft breathing that Sonya was falling asleep. The little girl had once slept in her cot but when Maxim left for the partisan battalion, she’d started waking up in the middle of the night, screaming. And Irina started taking her to bed with her. Now Sonya would cry whenever anyone tried to place her in her cot because she knew it meant sleeping on her own, when all she wanted was her mother’s protective arms around her. Irina was happy to have Sonya by her side at night. She too longed for the comfort of her daughter’s warm little body next to her.
She felt herself drifting, a smile on her face, when the door flew open and the room lit up. Reluctantly, Irina opened her eyes and the joy of only moments ago evaporated as if by magic. Her mother-in-law stood in the doorway, holding an old kerosene lamp. Although Zina had a motherly look about her, with her eyes set deep in her round face, her hair grey and her body heavy, it was an illusion, one that evaporated the moment she opened her mouth. Her voice was whiny and shrill, always demanding something or complaining or admonishing. ‘She’s in your bed, again. You need to stop that. It’s not normal.’
‘Please, Zina Andreevna. Not now. You’ll wake Sonya.’ After Irina and Maxim had first been married, Zina had insisted that Irina call her Mama, as it was custom for daughters-in-law to address their mothers-in-law. But try as she might, Irina couldn’t force herself to do it. Her lips refused to form the correct syllables. It felt unnatural, wrong even, as if she was betraying her real mother. And so she addressed her husband’s mother by her first and patronymic names, as if she was her superior, a teacher at school or a supervisor at work. Zina hated it but there was nothing she could do about it.
‘It’s not fair to us. Kirill spent two hours trying to settle her for her afternoon nap today. She was crying and crying, asking for her mother,’ said Zina, her brow furrowed in disapproval.
‘I’m just breastfeeding her,’ Irina said, thinking, Why am I defending myself to this woman? Isn’t it up to me as a mother what I do with my child?
‘That’s another thing. It’s not healthy for a two-year-old to still be breastfed.’
Sonya stirred in her sleep and her face twisted. Irina felt the familiar anger wash over her like a wave. ‘It’s perfectly healthy. It’s the healthiest thing in the world.’
‘At this age? I don’t think so. Why don’t you ask your friends if they’re still breastfeeding their children at two. It’s unheard of.’
‘I don’t care what other people do. I only care what we do.’
‘It’s not normal—’
‘It’s normal for us!’ Irina interrupted, her voice rising.
‘She won’t start sleeping through the night if you continue to breastfeed. I’m tired of being woken up five times a night because the baby is screaming.’
‘So you are thinking of what’s best for you, not what’s best for her?’ Irina pretended to sound surprised, even though she wasn’t.
‘It’s best for everyone. Better for the baby to sleep.’
‘How will she sleep if she’s hungry? Stop breastfeeding and then what? We don’t have any other milk to give her. Hardly have any food to give her at all.’ Irina felt her cheeks burning. It was always like this. Zina provoked her and when she got the response she desired, she twisted the situation to make it look like Irina was the bad person, disrespectful and rude, raising her voice to someone twice her age. Zina was an expert at playing the victim. Firmly, Irina added, ‘I respect your opinion but I am Sonya’s mother, not you. It’s up to me when to stop breastfeeding. It’s not your place to tell me.’
‘While you live under my roof, it is my place to tell you. And if you still want us to babysit while you are out working, I suggest you listen to me.’
‘I’m grateful for all your help but if it’s too much trouble, I’ll ask someone else to babysit.’ Despite her brave words, Irina’s heart sank. Who could she ask? Her friends had problems of their own. Who had the time and energy to look after a toddler all day while she went to work?
Zina sniggered. ‘You’d let a complete stranger look after your daughter when she has loving grandparents at home? What kind of mother would do that?’
‘Just to make your life easier.’ Irina could see her mother-in-law was desperate for a fight. But Irina wasn’t up for it today, like most days. She longed for the serenity of a few minutes ago. ‘Did you want anything?’
‘My reading glasses,’ barked Zina, pointing at the bedside table. ‘I spent an hour reading to Sonya at lunch before Kirill took her for a nap.’
After Zina left, Irina couldn’t get to sleep for a long time. More often than not, Zina would lure her into an argument and leave her frustrated and upset. How she wished she could tell the woman to mind her own business. But she knew she couldn’t, not while she was living in Zina’s house, married to her son, so Irina kept quiet, even when Zina had insisted she wasn’t cut out to be a mother and when on the day of their wedding she had said she wasn’t good enough for her son.
When they had first met, Irina and Maxim dreamt of a little apartment of their own. All they wanted was to have their own nest where they could live and dream and love each other, a place that was just theirs, where no one could tell them what to do. Even if it was just a communal apartment, nothing but a room that belonged to them and nobody else. They had joined a queue for accommodation and waited. And waited, and waited, together with tens of thousands of others who’d been in that queue for many years. Apparently, there was a shortage of housing in Kiev. And now, with the Nazis in the Soviet Union and so many buildings destroyed by fire, with so many homeless wandering the streets with nowhere to go, Irina was lucky to have a roof over her head for her and her daughter. She knew it and, what was worse, Zina knew it too.
And if Irina did decide to leave and stay with her friend Tamara in her tiny apartment, with barely space for one person, let alone two adults and a toddler, what would she tell her husband? How would she explain why she had shunned his parents’ hospitality? His parents whom he revered, who could do no wrong in his eyes.
Maxim had come into Irina’s life three weeks after she lost her grandmother, the only family she had left. The feelings of heartbreak and black despair weren’t new. She had experienced them before, when her father left and her mother took her own life, unable to go on without the man she loved. What was new was the crippling loneliness and having no one in the whole world to turn to. But Maxim changed all that.
When a friend introduced them, Irina thought he was the most handsome young man she’d ever seen. No one expected their relationship to last, least of all her. He could have had any girl he wanted. There were certainly enough of them buzzing around him like bees around honey. But night after intoxicating night that summer, he strummed his guitar for her and read poetry to her and nobody else. He looked at her like she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Like she was the one. She remembered the feeling with longing, of her head spinning with happiness, of floating through time and space as she watched his lips move as he talked, of her heart leaping in her chest. Of falling in love.
If living with her husband’s cruel mother was the price she had to pay to be with him, so be it.
Chapter 3
Lisa dreamt she was onboard a ship, lost in the dark, while all around her the sea and the wind roared in anger. When she woke up, she felt like she was still trapped on that ship – someone was shaking her and not letting go. Opening her eyes a fraction, she saw a white face framed by a red scarf. Groggy and confused, for a moment not knowing where she was, Lisa sat up and rubbed her eyes. When she looked up again, the face was still there, smiling brightly. It belonged to a girl with
waist-length dark braids, long and thin like a crane, with birdlike features. She seemed awfully young to Lisa. Too young to be in a place like this. She wouldn’t look out of place in a brown school uniform with a red Young Pioneers tie around her neck, except for her eyes that, despite the smile, seemed anxious and on edge, as if she knew too much. She had an old person’s eyes on a young face.
When the girl saw that Lisa was awake, she gave her one final shake and cried, ‘Get up right now! What do you think this is, a holiday resort?’ To show she was only joking, she winked at Lisa and pinched her arm.
Lisa blinked and pulled herself up, so the girl’s beaming face wouldn’t be looking down on her. Her feet were numb from the cold and she had a bad cramp in her arm after sleeping on the uncomfortable bed. She rubbed it, hoping to restore the circulation. When that didn’t work, she clenched her fist a few times and when that didn’t work either, she placed her arm on the bag of clothes she’d been using as a pillow.
‘What are you doing?’ asked the girl, staring at Lisa as if she had grown a second head.
Lisa yawned and attempted to hide under her thick winter coat. Maybe if she pretended to go back to sleep, the girl would go away?
But the girl didn’t look like she had any intention of going away. She tried to pull the coat off. Lisa held on and for a few seconds they played tug-of-war, which the girl finally won. ‘Papa told me to make sure you were awake and I’m not leaving here until you are.’
‘Who is your papa?’ asked Lisa, shivering. She wished she could have her coat back, but the girl had thrown it on one of the other beds. Lisa felt damp and unclean. Bits of moist soil had fallen on her during the night and when she touched her face, there was mud on her fingertips. She wished she could see herself in the mirror. With her hair matted and her skin dirty, she suspected she looked like she belonged in the forest.
Daughters of the Resistance Page 4
