‘Why don’t you have some sausage? You look like you need it.’ She handed it to him but he pushed it away.
‘No, I don’t. I’m not the one eating for two. We don’t have much time. Tell me everything. How have you been?’
She told him about her work and all the funny things Sonya was saying. How she ran to her every evening. How she couldn’t stop asking about her papa. She told him about Dmitry and Tamara getting married.
‘Dmitry and Tamara together!’ he exclaimed, visibly surprised, amused, delighted. ‘Those two are like chalk and cheese. The complete opposite. My cousin is a bookworm. If he could spend his life locked in a library, he’d be happy. And your friend is a social butterfly.’
‘Opposites attract. Just look at us.’
‘What do you mean? We are as similar as two people can be.’
‘I like painting and all the finer things in life. You like guns.’
A shadow passed over Maxim’s face. ‘I don’t like guns. After this war is over, I hope never to see a gun again. Anyway, maybe it’s exactly what Dmitry needs. Maybe she’ll be good for him.’
‘I’ve never seen the two of them so happy.’
She asked him how he spent his days away from them, even though she was afraid of what his answer might be. She didn’t want to know about the danger. What she wanted was to hold him tight and never let him go again.
‘We are counting the days till summer. None of us can remember what it’s like to be dry and warm. Oh, and we have some new recruits. Two girls.’
‘Girls? Are they pretty?’ Irina smiled to show she was only joking.
‘I don’t know, I haven’t noticed. They are awfully young. Too young to be in the woods.’
‘How are they coping?’
‘Not too bad. One of them is a nurse. The other one … I don’t think she has anywhere to go. She’s eager to help, to learn how to shoot, so I’ve been teaching her. She looks so sad sometimes, I wonder if she’s all right.’
Irina wanted to say that maybe she and Sonya could come and stay with him too. If two young girls could do it, why not them? But she didn’t say it. There was little point, especially now she was pregnant. Maxim would never agree to it. ‘I’m so scared, Maxim. For you, for Sonya, for the baby.’
‘Don’t be scared. I’m not going anywhere. And I will look after you. When the war is over, we will get a little house of our own. In one of the villages by the river, perhaps. I know how much you love the water. I’ll get a job as an engineer. You will teach at a village school. We will be together.’
‘A house by the river sounds wonderful. Just you and me and our little ones. After the war is over, I don’t think I want to stay in Kiev anymore. Maybe we could leave. Go someplace else. Somewhere by the Black Sea. I’ve never seen the sea, have you?’
‘I have seen it once, in Crimea as a child.’
‘What was it like?’
‘It was cold and green and endless. But I was small. Everything seemed big to me. I remember seeing a jellyfish and a big crab.’
‘I heard that it almost never snows in Yalta. And when it does, the snow melts before it hits the ground. Wouldn’t it be wonderful, to live between the mountains and the sea and to never see snow again?’
He smiled, but then said, ‘I don’t think I could ever leave Kiev. My life is here. My parents are here.’
She didn’t reply. What was she thinking? Of course he would never leave his parents, even if it was to start a new life with her.
When Maxim walked Irina to her office on Priorskaya Street, she refused to say goodbye to him. ‘Maybe if I don’t say it, you won’t have to go.’ He held her close and showered her with kisses, finally letting go of her at the bottom of the steps leading to the front door of the building that housed the registry office. She ran up the steps in a few big strides and turned around. He was still there, looking up with a smile on his face. ‘Don’t run,’ he shouted. ‘The stairs are slippery.’ Then he kissed his gloved hand and waved. Raising her own hand, she waved back, her heart hurting.
Once she was inside, she rushed up the first flight of stairs and peered out the window. Maxim was gone. The street below was empty.
*
At home, Irina found Zina with Dmitry in the kitchen, while Sonya was in her chair chewing a corner of her book. As a picture of farm animals disappeared in her mouth, the little girl looked cheekily at her mother and cried, ‘Mama!’ Irina took the book from Sonya, extracted the half-chewed page from her mouth and kissed her silky dark head, glaring at her mother-in-law for allowing the child to munch on paper. But Zina wasn’t looking at her. ‘Here, have a piece of bread,’ she was saying to her nephew. ‘I wish I had more to give you.’
‘What is in this bread? It tastes like sawdust.’ Dmitry poked the bread with his finger and wrinkled his nose.
‘It’s made from millet hulls,’ said Irina. At the bread factory, two types of bread were being produced. Golden-crusted and delicious, for the Germans. Grey, heavy and impossible to eat, for the Soviets. Each of them received two hundred grams of the awful bread a week. As a worker, Irina received slightly more. ‘They don’t want to waste their precious wheat on us.’
At the sound of Irina’s voice, Zina pursed her lips and turned sharply away. Irina wanted to tell her she had met Maxim. But seeing the expression on Zina’s face, she couldn’t bring herself to say anything. She would tell Kirill later.
The wall of silence in the house weighed heavily on her. Once Zina had realised her daughter-in-law wasn’t talking to her, she had stopped talking to Irina also. At the sight of the women so openly at war, Kirill became sadder and quieter every day, until he too barely said a word. Only Sonya’s laughter could still be heard in the house, as she chased the cat around the living room or played dollies with the clothes pegs Irina brought in from the garden.
‘Don’t worry, Zina Andreevna. I’m not hungry,’ said Dmitry, pushing his plate away. ‘Tomorrow I will get some food from the village. What would you like?’
‘How about some milk and butter, and some flour, so I can make blinis?’ Zina laughed at her own joke.
‘I can’t promise you that, but I might be able to get some potato peel and maybe even a few whole potatoes.’
After Zina left to see a friend, Irina sat down at the table wearily, cradling Sonya in her lap and ruffling her hair. Her heart soared at the thought of Maxim and the time they had spent alone together at the little church.
‘Did something happen between you and Zina? All week you’ve barely said a word to each other,’ said Dmitry.
‘I’m just tired, that’s all. My days are too long.’ Irina stretched her legs out. Her feet and back were aching. The tiredness and the queasiness were supposed to get better in the second trimester. Only one more month to go. She couldn’t wait to feel her baby’s first kick, to experience the tiny hiccups inside her tummy, to finally meet him for the first time when he was born. Maxim was convinced they were having a boy and now Irina thought of the baby as a boy too. Not that she minded. She would be just as happy with another little girl. Smiling, she placed her hand on her tummy and tried to imagine her baby curled up safe and sound inside. ‘Why aren’t you with Tamara?’ she asked Dmitry. ‘She said she was making you dinner when I saw her in the street earlier. Potato pancakes, better than the German bread, even without salt or eggs or sour cream.’
‘Potato pancakes, my favourite,’ he said wistfully but didn’t make a move to get up from his chair.
‘Then why are you still here? Did you two have a fight?’ Irina almost laughed out loud at the impossibility of it. She couldn’t imagine Tamara having a fight with anyone but especially not with Dmitry, the kindest man she’d ever known.
Dmitry shrugged, his face twisting.
‘What happened?’ Irina prodded.
‘Tamara lied to me. She said she’ll marry me and all this time …’ Dmitry reached into his pocket and pulled out a passport. Opening it, he glanced inside as if hopin
g that whatever had upset him wasn’t there anymore. ‘I was going to the registrar to find out about getting married, so I took her passport. Look what I found. She’s already married.’ He threw the passport on the table with disdain.
He looked so sad, Irina wanted to hug him. Picking up the passport, she glanced inside. ‘Is that all? You are upset because her passport is stamped?’ She pointed at the stamp stating that Tamara Semenova was married to a man called Ivan Sidorov. She couldn’t help it: she laughed.
Dmitry looked taken aback and more than a little hurt. ‘You think it’s funny? Who is this Ivan, anyway? She’s never mentioned him before.’
‘That’s because he doesn’t exist. He’s a figment of my imagination.’
‘Your imagination? I don’t understand.’
Irina pointed at the stamp. ‘That’s my signature. I placed the stamp here a month ago, to keep Tamara from going to Germany.’
‘So it’s not real?’ Dmitry’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. ‘She’s not actually married?’
‘Of course she’s not married. How do you think single women have been avoiding mobilisation to Germany?’
‘Thank God.’ Dmitry jumped up to his feet and gathered Irina in a hug, practically dancing with her on the spot. ‘I can’t even tell you how happy that makes me. I don’t know what I’d do without her. I feel like I’ve been looking for something my whole life and didn’t even know it. And suddenly, here it is. You know what I mean?’
‘I know exactly what you mean,’ said Irina, thinking of Maxim’s arms around her as he told her he would always take care of her. That he wasn’t going anywhere.
‘But how will we get married now? Her passport is already stamped.’
‘Let me see.’ It was fortunate that she had affixed the stamp in the middle of the passport. Undoing the staples holding the document together, she took the page with the stamp out. ‘Here you go. Tamara is free once again to make an honest man out of you. Now go! Don’t let those potato pancakes go cold.’
Chapter 9
One freezing day in the middle of February, when the snow came down hard but brought little relief from the cold, a miracle happened. The partisans raided a German household and brought a whole chicken to the settlement. Danilo reverently carried the bird into the kitchen and handed it to the ecstatic Yulya, who was bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement. Two hours later, the chicken had browned in the oven and smelt delicious, sitting proudly in the middle of the table. When the time had come to serve it, Lisa, who had been eyeing it with longing, picked up a knife. The ache in her stomach was unbearable. It was the same ache she had been living with ever since the first Nazi soldiers set foot on the streets of Kiev, but it didn’t mean it was getting any easier. It wasn’t something one could get used to. As she eyed the delicious roasted meat, the likes of which she hadn’t seen in over a year, all she wanted was to take a few morsels for herself, not much, just a small slice of the white breast and a pinch of the crispy golden skin. Her mouth watered just thinking about it. But she could hear the hungry voices outside. She could imagine the partisans’ hungry faces. These men and women, while feeling just as hungry, went out to fight and protected Lisa from the Nazis. They needed the food more than she did. She couldn’t take even the smallest bite.
When Yulya saw Lisa eyeing the chicken, she cried, ‘Step away from the table. I will carve the bird myself.’
Lisa trembled with indignation. Did Yulya think she was going to steal some? Reluctantly she passed the knife to the older woman, throwing one last regretful glance at the bird. She wondered if Yulya would take a slice for herself. The woman looked so starved and exhausted, she could definitely do with some meat. But no, Lisa watched her carefully as she divided the chicken. Not even a gram disappeared into her mouth. When she was done carving the meat, Yulya told Lisa to fetch some plates and carried the bird to the large cafeteria table behind which two dozen partisans were already queuing. Clearly, she didn’t trust Lisa even with all those eyes on her because she served the meat herself, placing a tiny bit on each plate next to a couple of old carrots and potatoes.
The partisans were loud like children on New Year’s Eve waiting to open their presents. As Lisa walked through the hall, collecting empty plates, all she heard was, ‘Comrade Smirnova, can I have some more?’ She couldn’t bring herself to tell them that the tiny bit of meat was all they were going to get.
At a small table in the corner, Alex and Sergei were sitting close together, smoking. As Lisa approached to collect their plates, she overheard Sergei saying, ‘Women in the partisan battalion! How absurd! And now they think they can learn how to shoot, wasting everybody’s time.’
Lisa’s mouth slid open in shock as she slowed down and stopped behind them. All this coming from a man who couldn’t even shoot straight. The nerve! She felt the tips of her ears burning.
‘Leave them alone. What have they done to you?’ asked a broad-faced man called Arthur, tucking into his vegetables with delight, having already finished his chicken. ‘Look at this delicious lunch they’ve prepared for us. Without them, who’d feed us?’
‘You call this lunch? An old potato and a tiny bit of chicken. It was so small, I couldn’t even taste it. But you’re right, their place is in the kitchen. And that’s where they should stay. Instead, they think they can be soldiers like us.’
‘I agree,’ said Alex, nodding. ‘Life in the battalion would be easier without them. When they are around, you have to watch your language, you have to wash.’
‘When was the last time you bothered to wash?’ exclaimed Arthur, mockingly covering his nose and shuffling away from Alex on the wooden bench.
‘With women around, we don’t have the freedom to be men. Even here. Even at war.’
‘Shut up. It’s good to have them here. They inspire us. If a woman is fighting, we men have no choice but to do our best,’ said Arthur.
‘What do girls know about fighting? Ninnies, all of them.’
Seething, Lisa collected their bowls and stormed back to the kitchen. Making sure Yulya wasn’t around to see what she was doing, she reached under the bench where the vegetables were kept. Some carrots at the bottom of the pile were so old, they had turned to putrid liquid before they could be used. Yulya had been nagging Lisa to clean the mess up for days. Now Lisa was glad she hadn’t got around to it yet. Picking up a spoon, she scraped off some of the rotten gooey mass, mixing it with rice pudding in the two bowls meant for Alex and Sergei.
Hesitating only a moment, her hands trembling slightly, she served the bowls with a straight face, not looking at the two men and not responding to their teasing comments. This would teach them, she thought with satisfaction. Maybe next time they would think twice before making disrespectful comments about women, who risked their lives and worked as hard as the men, who were just as brave and just as determined, if not more so.
And if the two men got sick and she could have Maxim all to herself during their next shooting lesson, even better.
*
At lunchtime the next day, as she waited for the lesson to start, Lisa looked nervously around, hoping Sergei and Alex wouldn’t appear and ruin everything. But there was no sign of them and the closer it got to twelve o’clock, the more confident she became that her plan had worked.
She couldn’t see Maxim but behind the pine trees she spotted Bear, running towards her with a stick in his mouth. His tail was wagging and he danced around her as if inviting her to play. ‘Here, Bear, here,’ she called him. He bounced like a ball, finally approaching her for a stroke and placing the stick in her hand. Having observed him with his master, Lisa knew Bear was a gentle giant who wouldn’t hurt a fly – unless someone he loved was threatened – and she was no longer afraid of him. Gently scratching him behind his ear, she picked up the stick and threw it as hard as she could. Bear ran after it, almost overtaking the stick and jumping up to catch it mid-air. ‘Good boy,’ she cried, clapping her hands.
When Bear r
an back to her, she put her arms around his thick neck, repeating what a good boy he was. Her hat fell off her head and her long auburn hair covered her face. She barely noticed, giggling and tickling the dog.
When she looked up, she saw Maxim staring at her from across the clearing. His expression reminded her of the way her older brother Stanislav would look at her sometimes when she did or said something endearing. There was amusement on his face, and tenderness. She blushed.
‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ said Maxim, smiling.
‘No problem at all. Bear kept me company.’
‘You two looked like you were having a great time. Are you ready for our lesson?’ There were only two rifles in his hands.
‘What about the others?’ When she said it, her voice didn’t tremble and she didn’t lower her gaze.
‘They both seem to have a mild case of upset stomachs. They won’t be joining us today.’
‘I hope it’s not my cooking? I told you I’m a lousy cook.’ She felt a sense of triumph, only slightly tinged by guilt. All was fair in love and war. And this was both.
‘That’s impossible. The chicken, all five grams of it, was the best I’ve ever had.’
Lisa smiled happily and didn’t tell him Yulya had refused to let her anywhere near the bird. As they walked, she watched Bear, who never strayed more than a few metres away. ‘Bear is the best. It feels like he can read your mind sometimes.’
‘Sometimes he can. I love dogs. Always had dogs growing up. The dog is the only creature that loves you more than it loves itself.’
‘That’s what my grandmother always said. When I was two, she bought us a puppy, saying every child needed a dog to grow up with.’ As she thought of her grandmother’s kind smile and soft voice, of the way her warm hand felt as she took little Lisa to the playground, of the pain on her face when she lay in their kitchen in Kiev, dying, Lisa felt close to tears. Not wanting Maxim to notice, she turned away from him, towards the forest and a flock of birds spooked by the exuberant Bear.
Daughters of the Resistance Page 12
