by JV Love
Katya watched as his shoulders slowly inched down from his ears. He nodded his head and leaned back onto his arms. He looked calm and at ease. Katya felt no fear, only sympathy for him. He seemed to be so scarred by something she held so dear to her heart.
"I think the most difficult part of religion is learning how to sift through all the debris that the Truth has been buried under," Katya said. "For example, did you know that for the first two hundred years after Jesus' death, his followers stuck close to his teachings and abstained from military service at all costs? They believed in Jesus' teachings that you couldn't destroy evil by destroying your enemies. Jesus taught that only love could overcome hate. It wasn't until rulers co-opted Christianity that certain wars became not only 'just,' but even ordained by the Lord Almighty."
Igor wrinkled up his pug nose as if in deep thought. "Does God judge you when you die?" he asked.
Katya ran her fingers through his ratty hair and pulled him closer to her. She was proud of the way she'd handled herself. "I don't believe in the Christian idea that God is anything like man," she said. "To me, God is all-embracing. He is in everyone and everything. He's pure love and light. He's not vengeful, judgmental, or proud. Those are qualities of man, not of God."
Petya shifted his position and sat up straighter. "Has God ever spoken to you?" he asked. "What does he sound like? What does he say?"
"I can't say I've ever literally heard his voice," Katya replied. "But I suppose if I did, it would be a calm, patient voice that reassured me when things weren't going well, complimented me when no one else would, and told me I was okay just as I am."
Petya leaned forward and seemed to contemplate Katya's answer. He propped his head up with his left hand and looked down at the floor.
There was a knock at the front door and Katya went to answer it. She was surprised to see a Red Army soldier standing in the hallway holding two heads of cabbage in his arms. He was dressed in an officer's uniform with a heavy wool greatcoat, fur collar and fur hat. "Hello, Katya," he said and took his hat off.
It took her a few seconds before she recognized him. He was Felix's commanding officer when he was doing clerical work for the army.
"How is Felix?" he asked cautiously.
"I haven't heard from him since he left for the front in early September," she said.
He was silent a moment and pursed his lips. Katya was surprised at how little he'd changed since she last saw him. Many of the people you hadn't seen in a few months were barely recognizable to you. Their skin would be dry and scaly and tight around the bones. They would speak slowly and easily lose their train of thought. Their gums would be swollen and bleeding, and their teeth would be in decay.
But this man wasn't one of the walking skeletons of the city. He was a military man and an officer, and though he was still probably hungry all the time, he was far from starving.
"Oh, here," he said, holding out the two cabbages. "These are for you."
Katya took them and was immediately worried that Petya might see or overhear. She didn't want to share them. These life preservers were for her and Igor only.
The man then reached into his pocket and pulled out four chocolate bars and handed them to Katya. "And these too," he said.
Katya was speechless. The gifts were literally gifts of life. "I . . . I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything," he said. "I only wish I could do more."
She put the chocolate bars in her pocket and wrapped the cabbages in the blanket hanging around her shoulders. As wonderful as the gifts of food were, Katya couldn't help but think that they would only delay the inevitable for Igor. "You know," she said, "there is something else you could do. You could find a position for my cousin, Igor, to increase his rations."
"I'm afraid I can't help you there," he said.
Katya dropped her head and stared at the buttons on his coat. "I understand," she said.
He cleared his throat and said, "I wish I could stay longer but I've got to get to . . ."
"Wait," she blurted out and grabbed him by the arm.
He looked slightly alarmed at her hand that gripped his sleeve.
"I . . .," she stuttered, "I really need your help." She couldn't believe how difficult that was to say. "I need you to get Igor a position."
"I just told you," he said, "we don't have any open positions." He put his hat back on. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to . . ."
"Don't deny me this," Katya said, maintaining her grip on his sleeve. "This isn't just a favor. It's a matter of life and death. He's going to die unless he gets more food."
He looked her in the face and she didn't turn away. "Hmm," he said and paused. "I guess I could look around for you. See if anything comes up. What is he doing now?"
"He's not doing anything now. He's just a boy."
"A boy? How old is he?"
"Twelve," Katya said, then quickly added, "but he's very capable."
"I don't think so," he started to say.
"He can do anything you ask of him," Katya said. "You must have a need for something around there," she persisted, "anything at all."
"No, we're well staffed right now," he said. He tried to gently pull his arm out of her grip, but she wouldn't let go.
"Please," Katya said. "Surely you can find some small tasks for him to do. I'm begging you."
He looked past her, into the apartment, as he scratched behind his ear with his free hand. "I guess it wouldn't hurt us to have a courier to deliver stuff once in a while. Can he walk alright?"
"Oh yes, he can walk - even run - if you give him enough food."
"I don't know," he said. "Let me get a look at him first."
Katya let go of his sleeve and hurried back into the apartment. "I'll get him right now," she called out over her shoulder. She went into the kitchen first to stash the chocolate and cabbage in the cupboard. Her hands trembled as she tried to get the key in the heavy padlock that safeguarded her food from Petya and Oksana.
The cupboard was bare except for a couple cubes of sugar, some small potatoes, and a container of dirty, coarse salt. The potatoes - five in all - were all that remained from when she traded her fur coat at the market last month. She set the cabbage and chocolate bars on the second shelf, locked the cupboard, then rushed in to Igor to try to comb his hair.
Katya was grateful that Igor was the only one who didn't look dramatically different from what he used to. He'd certainly lost weight like the rest of them, but he didn't look like a completely different person like Petya or Oksana. He just looked like a skinny kid.
"Listen to me, sweetheart," she said to him. "There's a man at the door who could save your life. I'm trying to convince him to give you a job so your rations will be increased. He wants to see you, so you need to look as healthy as possible and be very nice to him. Do you understand?"
Igor nodded his head.
Katya picked up a needle from her sewing materials, poked her middle finger, then squeezed a few drops of blood out. She rubbed them on Igor's cheeks until his pale, sickly skin looked rosy.
"Okay, let's go," she said. "Smile a little and try to look lively."
As they walked to the front door, Katya felt her heart sink because she no longer saw the man in the doorway. She was about to chase after him when he reappeared.
"This is Igor," Katya said, turning toward the boy.
"Zdrastvooyte!" - hello - Igor said and saluted.
The man smiled and saluted back. "How well do you know the city, young man?" he asked.
"Not too well," Igor answered. "I've only been here since August."
"Oh, he's being modest," Katya said. "He used to go out wandering around the city all the time before they implemented the curfew. I even sent him out on errands myself to buy things for me. He's very reliable."
Igor let loose with another one of his long, awful coughs, and Katya saw the man frown. "Don't worry about that, comrade," she said quickly. "He's just getting over a cold. It sou
nds much worse than it is."
"I don't know," he said. "He doesn't seem . . ."
"Oh please," Katya interrupted. "Please, please take him. He's not going to make it if you don't."
The man hesitated yet again, then unexpectedly cleared all expression from his face. "All right then," he said. "Maybe next week you could send him over and . . ."
"How about right now?" Katya said. "He has nothing to do, and there's no time like the present, right?"
"Well . . . I guess. Are you ready, son?"
"He just needs to get his coat and boots on," Katya said. She then threw her arms around the man. "Thank you," she said, nearly crying, "thank you so much. You won't regret it."
The hard snow crunched loudly under Katya's boots as she walked to work. The temperature had dropped fifteen degrees from the day before, but she was so cold all the time now that she barely noticed the change. The unexpected gifts of food and a job for Igor had renewed her spirit and given her hope that things were starting to change for the better. When she got to the office and saw Lev sitting at the table, she was convinced things were indeed improving.
"Good morning Lev," she said. "How are you feeling?" Besides some scratches on his face, he actually looked healthier than before.
"Katya!" he said and looked up. "Oh, it's nice to see your friendly face again. I'm feeling much better, thank you. They feed you quite well in the hospital, and I needed the rest even more than I knew. As soon as this ringing stops in my ears, I'll be as good as new."
She sat down next to him and cleared some space on the cluttered table.
"Congratulations on getting the ice formation data to the director that day," Lev said. "It couldn't have been easy."
"No," Katya said. "It wasn't. I made it back to the office ten minutes after six and our kind, sweet director still called in my commissar to tell her of my 'failure to perform to the best of my abilities.'"
"And?" Lev asked.
"That's it," Katya said, understanding he was asking if she'd received any punishment. She'd been let off with a strict warning: do exactly as you're told from now on or you'll be relieved of duty. The significance of the threat was not lost on her. She understood that to lose a job meant you also lost its commensurate ration.
"He's not an easy man to work for," Lev said. "Short on appreciation; long on criticism. And he expects you to carry out every order unquestionably." He emphasized the last word, then got up and started pacing in front of the plywood where the window once was.
The pacing meant more bad news, Katya knew, and she wondered what it was this time. When it came to the food supply or the war, there was never any good news. Military victories were as rare as a full stomach. Had the Germans broken through the lines somewhere? Had another warehouse been hit by a bomb?
"All right, Lev," she said after watching him pace for a few minutes. "Out with it."
"What?"
"Give me the bad news," she said.
"How did you know?"
"We've been working together a while now and there's been enough bad news that I know when it's coming," she said. "So what is it?"
"Okay, but you're not going to like it." He took a deep breath in. "The director has ordered a fifth ration reduction."
Her mouth fell open and she covered it with her right hand. "For the troops?" she asked cautiously.
"No," Lev said. "It's for the civilian population."
She placed her hands over her eyes. "No!" she practically screamed. "He can't cut rations again. People are already dying by the thousands. He might as well just hand out death certificates."
Lev sat down and arranged some stacks of paper on the table.
"He can't do it," Katya continued. "He has to cut the troops' rations. Those on the front-line already get twice as much bread as we do. Plus they get meat!"
"I knew you wouldn't like it," Lev said. "I don't like it either, but those are our orders. We need to get started on the preparations. There's a lot to do. He wants it implemented on the twentieth. That only gives us the rest of today and tomorrow to get ready."
"Is he in?" Katya asked.
"Why?" Lev replied.
Katya knew he would've said 'no' instead of 'why' if their director wasn't in. She left the room and walked down the hallway toward his office.
"Katya, don't be a fool," Lev shouted after her.
She stopped in front of his door, closed her eyes, and saw her grandmother. She was sitting in her rocking chair, knitting, and telling Katya about Jesus' Sermon on the Mount. Of the eight beatitudes, Katya had always liked number eight the best: "Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." It had given her great comfort as a child to know that no matter what happened to her dissident grandmother here in the Soviet Union, she was assured of a place in heaven in the hereafter. Katya silently recited the saying now, realizing it was the first time she was doing it not for her grandmother, but for herself.
She knocked on the director's door but didn't wait for him to answer before walking in. She found him sitting in a chair, a short, barrel-chested officer standing next to him. They were leaning over a table looking at a large map. Katya didn't know who the officer was and didn't care.
"Comrade Selenaya," her director said, "What is it? Can't you see I'm busy?" He had a long, thin nose, and by the way his nostrils flared, she knew he was annoyed.
"Sorry for the intrusion," she said. She regretted her choice of words as soon as they came out of her mouth. She wasn't sorry in the least. "I'd like to speak with you about your orders for the latest ration reduction," she continued.
"There's nothing to discuss," he said. "Please continue with the preparations."
She felt her hands shaking, but stepped closer to the two men anyway. She saw the map was of Leningrad and the surrounding area. Russian positions were marked in red, German in black. "I'd like you to reconsider the order," she said, "because I cannot carry it out in good conscience. You've ordered the deaths of tens of thousands of people."
Two kerosene lanterns provided the light for the room, and Katya wondered how he'd managed that when the rest of the city had long since run out of kerosene. The officer - bald headed and bespectacled - arched his eyebrows and folded his arms in front of his chest.
"It's a temporary reduction," Katya's director responded. "As soon as the situation improves, civilian rations will be returned to their current levels."
"But you can't make the civilian population shoulder the entire burden of the cut," she said. "You've got to cut the troops' levels."
He glanced at the officer. "Cut our troops' rations? You should be ashamed of yourself, Comrade Selenaya. They're putting their lives on the line every day for you, and this is how you want to repay them?"
"I know the situation," Katya said. "They can absorb a cut. Leningraders can't."
Her director raised his voice a notch. "We have a job to do," he said, motioning to the officer next to him, "and that is to see to it that we win this war."
"I thought your job was to see to it that Leningrad didn't starve to death," Katya said.
He stood up quickly, nearly knocking over one of the lanterns. "Leave this office now and carry out the order you've been given," he said.
"No."
The officer grunted and let his arms drop to his sides. "Then you can consider yourself relieved of duty," her director said. "I won't have anyone on my staff who disobeys direct orders."
"When orders are unjust, we have a moral obligation to disobey them," Katya said.
"Get out of this office now!" he shouted.
Katya walked to the door but stopped and turned back before going through it. "So that's it?" she asked. "The decision to cut rations has already been made?"
Her director paused, just slightly, before saying yes, and this gave Katya the answer she was hoping for. She knew he'd hesitated because he hadn't yet presented his recommendation to Comrade Zhdanov and the Leningrad Defense
Council. No decision concerning Leningrad was ever final until they said so.
If the cut was to take place in two days, then the Defense Council had to formally approve the decision that night to give them one day to issue and implement the order. Katya had delivered some last-minute documents at one of their previous meetings, so she knew where and when they met. She also knew that her director's recommendations were often accepted as a matter of course.
She had to ensure that didn't happen this time.
Clouds had moved in and blotted out the moon and the stars by the time Katya arrived at the bunker. The guards at the entrance shined a light in her face and asked why she was there. She told them she needed to deliver some last-minute documents again. They remembered her from the last time and checked her papers, searched her for weapons, then let her pass to the inside.
The bunker was buried deep in the ground and fortified with thick layers of concrete. Katya opened the door and walked down a narrow corridor, wondering how she was going to get the guards on the inside to let her into the meeting. When she'd delivered the documents last time, she'd had to give them to one of the guards to take in. Hardly anyone was allowed into these all-important meetings where the fate of Leningrad was decided.
Four guards were stationed outside the meeting room and Katya walked up to the one seated at the table and explained that she once again had important documents her director needed right away.
"Give them to me," the senior guard - a lieutenant - responded and held out his hand. "I'll take them to him."
"No, I can't this time," Katya said. "I have specific instructions to deliver them myself."
The man eyed her warily, then disappeared into the room and came back out a minute later. "He said he's not expecting any documents," he said to Katya.
"Well he must have forgotten," Katya said. "Why would I come all the way here if he didn't really need them?"
"I suggest you leave now," the guard said to her. "This is a secure area. Unauthorized personnel are not allowed to be here."
