Whenever he came to visit, which wasn’t nearly often enough, she asked him to describe his daily routine, so that when she was alone, she could close her eyes and picture what he was doing at any particular moment in time. He’s having breakfast, she would say to herself. He’s back after a long day, having dinner, relaxing and playing his guitar. He’s asleep, safe in his dugout. And she would feel closer to him and a little less lonely.
She tried not to think about what happened in between, after breakfast and before dinner.
Somewhere, a door screeched open and a floorboard creaked. Irina froze, her fingers curled around the cup. She hoped it was Kirill, craving the last cigarette of the day, but feared it was Zina coming in for a glass of milk. For as long as she’d known her, her mother-in-law had been a troubled sleeper. If someone breathed loudly on the other side of the house, she would wake up. A fake smile plastered on her face, Irina turned to the door, praying whoever it was would soon go away, leaving her alone with her tea and her bitter thoughts.
When the door opened, it wasn’t Zina or Kirill she saw in the light of the kerosene lamp. Instead, a tall man stood in the doorway, shaking snow off his coat. Irina squealed in excitement, leapt off her chair, knocking it to the ground, and ran into his arms. Laughing, he caught her and lifted her up in the air, showering her face with kisses.
‘Maxim! What are you doing here? We didn’t expect you till tomorrow.’ She felt giddy and excited. The skin of her cheeks felt raw from his stubble but she didn’t care. Here he was, alive and well and looking at her with such love, it made her heart ache. Thank God!
Carefully he placed her on the ground. He looked thinner than she remembered and his eyes were darker, as if he too had terrible fears keeping him up at night. ‘I couldn’t wait till tomorrow. I had to see you and Sonya.’
‘Are you hungry? Let me make you something to eat.’ Reluctantly she wriggled away from him and made a move towards the stove.
He took her hand and pulled her to him. ‘Later. Let me look at you.’
She relaxed into his arms and inhaled his scent. Forget tea, this was comfort. ‘Why don’t you take your coat off? Look at you, all wet from the snow. Do you want me to wake your parents? They’ll be so happy.’
‘Later,’ he repeated. ‘I want to see Sonya first.’
Without removing his coat or his hat, dropping snow on Zina’s pristine floors, Maxim followed Irina to the bedroom where Sonya was asleep, splayed across her parents’ bed, her mouth slightly open, her arms tucked under her little dark-haired head. He watched her with a tender smile, while Irina couldn’t take her eyes off him.
‘She looks so grown up. I can’t believe it’s only been three weeks.’ He wrapped his arms around Irina and nuzzled her ear. ‘Tell me everything that happened since I saw you last. What have you been doing?’
‘The usual. Work, home, then work again. Now there are no markets in Kiev, we have to go to the village just to get some food. We all take turns. Oh, and I went to see a doctor on Wednesday. The poor man looked like he could do with a visit to the doctor himself. He could barely speak. So many people are starving in Kiev …’
‘Wait, why did you go to the doctor?’
He sounded worried and she couldn’t help but smile. She couldn’t wait to tell him. ‘I haven’t been feeling well.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Let’s see. I’ve been feeling queasy for days. I even threw up a few times. My breasts are tender. I’ve put on weight. And I’m constantly craving pickled tomatoes.’
He looked into her face with wonder. ‘What are you saying? We are going to have another baby?’
‘We are going to have another baby!’
There were tears in his eyes as he held her close and whispered how much he loved her. ‘How far along are you?’
‘Not long. A few weeks. Maybe six.’
‘You have no idea how happy I am. It’s a good sign. Now everything will be all right. God wouldn’t let this happen if He didn’t have a plan for us.’
‘I hope so,’ she whispered, grasping him. ‘I really do.’ She didn’t want to tell him about a pregnant girl she had seen earlier that week, trapped under a collapsed building. A dozen people worked to set her free but when they finally succeeded, she was dead. Nor did she tell him how many young people had died in Kiev this month alone. She didn’t tell him because she didn’t want to upset him and because she, too, wanted to hope for the best and believe that God hadn’t forgotten about them in occupied Ukraine.
But he kissed her so intently, she soon forgot all about her fears as she kissed him back, while he undid the buttons of her cardigan and then her nightgown and pushed them off her shoulders and onto the floor. Soon she was naked in front of him, while he still had his coat on. Ever since he had joined the partisan battalion, she saw him so rarely and their meetings were so brief, she had spent every night in between dreaming of holding him in her arms. And now he was here, with her, only to disappear the following morning as if this was nothing but another wonderful dream. Irina wanted to cry but she gritted her teeth and forced herself not to. She wouldn’t cry now, in front of him. She wouldn’t ruin what little time they had together.
He took his coat off and placed it on the floor, then laid her down gently. They made love quietly, careful not to disturb their daughter or wake his parents. Irina bit her lip to stop herself from crying out. Even after five years together, he still took her breath away.
Afterwards, she snuggled into him and put her head on his chest. She felt drowsy, drifting off then forcing herself to stay awake because this night was all they would have together for a long time.
‘We are drowning in snow,’ he was saying. ‘Can never get dry or warm. Frostbite is a real problem. The other day one of the men lost a finger. Everyone is desperate for winter to end.’
‘Oh, no. Promise you’ll take care of yourself.’ She stroked his fingers affectionately, then brought them to her lips and kissed them one after another. ‘I think about you all the time, out there without us. It’s freezing here too. There’s no heating or electricity. Sometimes I don’t know how to keep Sonya warm, how to keep myself warm. But then I imagine how much harder it must be for you and I just get on with it.’
‘That’s what we do too. We just get on with it. What choice do we have?’
Irina pulled herself on top of him and wrapped herself around him. They were whispering into each other’s mouths, lips millimetres from each other. Irina realised she’d spent her days perpetually in darkness, walking through occupied Kiev, registering the dead, searching for food, worrying about Sonya and trying to placate Zina. But Maxim filled her soul with light. When she was with him she felt alive again.
‘Tell me a memory,’ she whispered, her fingers touching the stubble on his face, the soft skin of his lips, his strong arms.
‘What kind of memory would you like?’ She could tell he was smiling in the dark, a teasing smile she loved so much.
‘The happiest you can think of. When we were young and in love.’
‘You mean we’re no longer young and in love? I can’t choose just one. There are so many happy memories. Let me think. I remember when we first met and you came to see me at my parents’ dacha. I think it was the hottest summer on record. I wanted to have a picnic, to play badminton. But you had other ideas. It was too warm to do anything, you said. Too warm for clothes. I remember you stripping off and running to the river. That’s my happiest memory. You, stark naked, diving into the water.’
‘I remember.’ She sighed with longing for peace, for warmth, for his hungry eyes on her. ‘It was the first time we made love.’
‘And when we finished, we heard my mother, who decided to surprise us with some lemonade. I’ve never seen anyone dress so quickly.’
‘I’m glad she didn’t show up five minutes earlier.’
‘She wouldn’t. I bet they could hear you all the way to Kiev.’
‘That was my first time,’ she s
aid quietly.
‘I’m going to tell you something I never told you back then. My nineteen-year-old pride didn’t allow me to.’
He fell quiet, as if lost in the past. Irina pulled him by the arm. ‘What is it? Tell me already.’
‘It was my first time too. Now, why are you crying?’
‘I love you.’
‘And that’s making you cry?’
‘I’m just so happy. So glad to have you home with us where you belong.’
‘It’s good to be home. And I love you too. Here, put your clothes back on or you will freeze.’ He helped her into her nightgown and old cardigan and wrapped her in a blanket Dmitry was able to find in a village. ‘I hate being away from you and Sonya. I already missed her first step and first word. I don’t want to miss anything else.’
‘We hate being away from you. Why don’t you come home?’ That was all Irina wanted. For her husband to come home.
‘I wish I could. But I need to be with the battalion. I can’t be a half-hearted soldier, a soldier when it suits me. I’m in this with all my heart. You know that.’
‘Then take us with you. We can live in the woods with you. I’ll help out at the battalion. I know it will be hard but we’ll have each other.’ Even as she said it, she knew it was impossible. If it was just her, she wouldn’t care about sleeping in snow and risking her life. All she wanted was to be with Maxim and away from Zina. But it wasn’t just her. She had to think of Sonya and her unborn baby.
As if reading her mind, Maxim said, ‘Partisan life is not for a woman with a small child. Especially now you’re pregnant. It’s not a life for anyone, really.’
‘It’s difficult for me here without you. Your mother … We don’t get along so well. Sometimes she says things that upset me.’
‘Don’t be silly. My parents love you. They are so happy to have you and Sonya around. Just the other day Mama said what a great help you were to her. I know she can be harsh sometimes, but she has a kind heart.’
‘Of course she does,’ Irina said, trying hard to hide the sarcasm in her voice.
‘You are like a daughter to her.’
Of course I am, Irina wanted to say but didn’t.
*
Irina woke early the next morning and watched Maxim for a while, observing his chest rise and fall, and the winter sun playing on his face. She forced herself to memorise every little detail of the face she loved, so that when he wasn’t there, she could close her eyes and see him in her mind. Sonya was curled up next to him and they looked so adorable together, so peaceful and content. Irina longed for her pencils. She longed to draw them like this, sleeping with childish unconcern, as if there was no war, no hunger and no danger in their world.
She wished she had more time to watch him sleep. Once, they had nothing but time. She missed the lazy mornings they had spent together when they were first married. Unlike Maxim, Irina had always been an early riser. Before they had Sonya, on the days when Maxim’s parents were away at their dacha, she would often wake up before dawn and sit in front of her canvas in nothing but her nightie, picking up a brush and losing herself in the imaginary world she was creating. Hours would fly by and then she would turn around and see Maxim standing behind her, watching her. She could still see the expression on his face – his hunger and love for her and a mute fascination as he watched beauty emerge from under her paintbrush. She would smile and turn back to her painting, only to feel a pair of arms embrace her, his lips in her ear, whispering how much he loved her, how irresistible she looked, dressed as she was, absorbed as she was in her work. And he would make love to her right there, in front of her painting, with the windows open and the morning breeze playing on her skin, while the brush was still in her hand, leaving streaks of colour on his naked back.
Later, they would go out and explore Kiev’s hidden gems, the markets, the cobbled alleyways and stunning buildings, as yet untouched by war. And some days they would stay in, enjoying the luxury of being in the house alone and undisturbed. For months afterwards, when the summer was over and his parents were back, she wouldn’t be able to look at her canvas, at the brushes, at the palette without blushing.
It seemed like a lifetime ago, a distant and almost forgotten dream. Now there was no laughter without a fearful glance over her shoulder, no smile that wasn’t tinged with heartbreak. Her parents-in-law no longer went to their dacha and Maxim was hardly ever home. Where there had once been joy was now sadness. Where there had once been hope and love and happiness, now there was a numb feeling of emptiness and dread. Sometimes, when she was desperate, when she didn’t know where the next meal was coming from or whether they would survive the next Nazi patrol, these memories of the two of them together when they were young and carefree were the only thing that kept her going.
She lived every moment with him as if it were her last. Did it make their love more intense, their desire for each other stronger? She didn’t want that. All she wanted was to spend her days cooking his meals, cleaning his house and looking after his children. She longed for the boring and the mundane, for the luxury of taking him for granted.
Reluctantly she got up and, glancing at the two of them one more time – Maxim and Sonya, her little family – got dressed, brushed her long dark hair, threw on a coat and a hat, stuck her feet in a pair of felt boots, the only footwear that kept her feet warm enough in this weather, and walked outside with a bucket, filling it with snow. Then she carried it to the kitchen, boiled their kettle and cooked some oats. Maxim loved his porridge for breakfast. Before the war, Irina would make it with lots of milk and a spoonful of honey. She would add some blueberries if it was the season for them, or chunks of crunchy apple. Today it was nothing but oats and melted snow but she knew he would devour every bite like it was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted.
‘I brought some butter and half a dozen eggs. Check my rucksack.’
She twirled around at the sound of his voice. He was standing in the doorway with Sonya in his arms. Her breath caught at the sight of him. He was the tallest man she’d ever met, the kindest, the smartest and the most handsome. He was the most of everything. And she was the luckiest girl in the world to have him. ‘I haven’t seen butter since before the war. Where did you get it?’
‘Some German soldiers were kind enough to share it with me.’
‘That’s nice of them.’
He laughed as if it was the funniest thing he’d heard all week. ‘To be honest, they didn’t have much choice.’
Sonya wriggled out of his arms and ran to her mother, hugging her leg. Reverently Irina unwrapped the butter and gave a spoonful to her daughter, putting another spoonful in their porridge. Maxim brushed a strand of hair away from her face. ‘You are so beautiful. Look at you, you are glowing.’ He placed his hand on her stomach and drew her and Sonya close. For a moment they remained still. Irina wanted to stay like this forever, just the three of them, a happy family, together and unafraid. She wanted to stop time, freeze it like a photograph.
‘You are up so early,’ murmured Maxim. ‘I was hoping to have you all to myself a little bit longer.’
‘Maxim!’ cried Zina from the doorway, her hand at her mouth. The illusion of togetherness was gone. Irina felt something inside her deflate a little. Maxim pulled away and turned to his mother, who ran to his side, shouting, ‘Kirill, come here this instant! You won’t believe who I found! What a wonderful surprise!’ Zina pushed Irina out of the way and pulled Maxim into a hug, not a mean feat, considering her son was twice as big as her and two heads taller. ‘I can’t believe I’m seeing you. I can’t believe you’re here. For how long?’ Zina dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.
‘I have to go back this morning. Mama, please don’t cry.’
‘How can I not if we haven’t seen you for three weeks? We haven’t heard a word. We didn’t know what to think. And now you are telling me we have moments before you have to leave again.’
‘Hush, woman. He has better things to d
o than sit by your skirts and listen to your moaning.’ Kirill had appeared and took his turn to hug his son, holding him tight for a moment and not letting go.
Suddenly, it felt like there was a wall between Irina and Maxim. He didn’t look at her and didn’t touch her as he talked to his parents. Zina was glued to his side, as if afraid he’d disappear the minute she strayed too far. She was sweet like sugar this morning. Where was the disdainful smile, the narrowed eyes, the shrill voice? All she had for her son was loving smiles and affectionate tears. Just like Irina, she didn’t take her eyes off him. She insisted on serving the food Irina had cooked and then sat by his side, stroking his hand and repeating, ‘Eat, darling, eat.’
Maxim reached for his spoon, smiled at Irina and said, ‘Finally we have something to celebrate. The Red Army is getting closer every day. They are liberating East Ukraine as we speak.’
Kirill glanced at Zina triumphantly, as if to say, I told you so. She didn’t seem to notice. ‘That’s wonderful news, darling.’
Sonya chatted in Maxim’s lap as he ate, while three pairs of eyes watched his every move, and three pairs of ears listened to his every word. He was their only son, beloved husband, the one shining light in their dark universe.
‘Will you join the Red Army with the other partisans?’ asked Kirill.
‘Our orders are to help them from within. Destroy the enemy infrastructure, lower their morale. A couple of days ago we blew up train tracks and disrupted the trains taking people to Germany. Yesterday we blew up a bridge.’
‘You did an incredible thing for our people,’ said Irina, her adoring eyes on him, thinking of the relief on the faces of young Ukrainians in her office as she told them about the temporary reprieve from Germany.
Daughters of the Resistance Page 7
