The End of Sorrow: A Novel of the Siege of Leningrad in WWII

by JV Love

  The man took a big gulp from the bottle, then his face turned red and he fell into a coughing fit. Everyone in the hut laughed. Even Volkhov grinned.

  "What's the matter, German," someone yelled. "Can't handle fine Russian liqueur?"

  "That's Siberian tea!" someone else said. "It keeps you warm at night!"

  "He probably thought it was beer!" another man yelled.

  Felix waited for the men to stop laughing and for the German to stop coughing, then he addressed Sergei. "Tell him he'll get the cigarette after he answers us."

  The German said something to Sergei, who then reported to Felix that he'd requested a drink of water.

  "Not until we get an answer," Felix said.

  The German started speaking at length and Sergei translated. "He says there's ten men . . ."

  Volkhov held his hand to his ear. "What?" he shouted.

  "Quiet down!" Felix yelled to everyone in the hut.

  Sergei started again, "He says there's ten men there - two groups of three near the road, and a group of four on the right flank. He claims the left flank is currently undefended."

  "He's lying," Volkhov said to Felix. "We know for a fact they have at least fifteen men defending those hills. We've spotted that many. Who knows how many more we haven't seen?"

  Felix knew that already. That was why he started with that question - to see if the man was going to tell the truth.

  "Tell him he's lying and we know it," Felix said. He smelled Natasha's perfume again and felt his patience for his current activity decline even further. He closed his eyes for a second and imagined taking Natasha's numerous layers of clothing off one by one.

  The noise level had already returned to its previous level, and Sergei shouted over it, "Tell him what?"

  "Felix," Natasha said, pulling on his sleeve, "come on. You should do this tomorrow."

  Felix agreed. There was too much chaos for an interrogation. Besides, he'd much rather be back in Natasha's hut. "I think he'll be more willing to tell the truth after a night without food or heat," Felix said to Volkhov, then got up from his chair. He shook his head at how loud everyone was talking.

  Yuri's long bushy eyebrows pulled together and thick wrinkles layered his forehead as he watched Felix put his mittens on and turn toward the door. "Are we giving up? You want me to shoot him?" he asked.

  "You're finished?" Natasha said and smiled widely. "You're going to do it tomorrow?"

  Felix glanced at her and saw how pleased she was. "Yes, might as well," he answered. "We're not getting anywhere."

  The crack of a gun suddenly rang out and everyone in the hut stopped talking and turned their head to the corner where the German was. The man slumped sideways to the ground, a pool of blood forming on the ground below him.

  Yuri still held tightly to the rifle he'd just fired. "What the hell did you just do?!" Felix yelled at him.

  "I asked if you wanted me to shoot him," Yuri said, "and you said, 'Yes, might as well. We're not getting anywhere.'"

  "I wasn't talking to you!" Felix said. He went over to the man and felt the pulse in his neck. It was fading fast. Felix rolled him onto his back so he could inspect the wound. It didn't take him long to find the small hole in the middle of the man's chest. Bright red blood was gushing out of it.

  There was nothing to be done, Felix knew. The young man would be dead in a matter of minutes. He saw the edge of something white on the inside of the man's jacket and pulled out a small photograph. Felix was completely dumbfounded when he saw it. He had to look twice, then three times, then four before he was sure.

  It was a picture of a young woman with a long thin neck, sad dark eyes, and hair that fell to the sides, naturally framing her face. There was an expression on her lips that looked almost like a smile, but not quite. Felix was convinced at first that it was Katya. Only after staring at the photo for a long time did he find the subtle differences that told him the woman was German. Still, he couldn't pull himself away from it. He was mesmerized by the uncanny likeness.

  Volkhov came up and took the photo from Felix's hand to look at it.

  "Felix, what's wrong?" Natasha asked. She took him by the arm and tried to get him to face her, but Felix shook free and fled to the outside. He was overcome with emotion and could hardly think. He had to get away from everyone and everything.

  He went deep into the woods where he could be alone with the evergreens and the falling snow. They had been trying to communicate with him for a long time, he now knew. Thinking back to when he thought he'd heard the forest whispering his name, he felt angry and ashamed for having ignored it. He had done his best not to hear it, because he hadn't wanted to face the darkness he knew it would speak of. But now he had to listen. He had to know what it was trying to tell him.

  As he opened himself to what it had to say, he was surprised to find a sense of comfort and familiarity coming from it. It was the same feeling as when he was a kid lost in the playground and heard his mother's voice calling him to her outstretched arms.

  The thing spoke to him for hours, and Felix watched with intense curiosity the emotions that came and went in his mind as he contemplated what was said about the universe, his life, and why he was in this uncomfortable situation of war and separation. He recalled the mystical experience he'd had as a boy with the being named Ariel, remembering how it said that he had chosen a challenging path for this life - how he would either succumb to bitterness and contempt, or undergo a great transformation under the most trying of circumstances. Felix could see now that the decision was his.

  He closed his eyes to think, leaning his head back so that the snow fell onto his face. And all the while, Katya and the German woman in the photo looked down at him; waiting, it seemed, for him to emerge from a black thick-walled cocoon that he was just now beginning to see surrounded him.

  The morning came quickly, and after tossing and turning for several hours trying to get to sleep Felix was glad the night was over. He lit a candle and placed it at the foot of his bed, then tried to pack his things quietly so as not to wake Yuri, Misha, and Volkhov.

  When he came to Katya's letter, he held it to his nose and inhaled. She'd put a purple lilac flower in it, but he could no longer smell its fragrance. He ran his fingers along the paper. Then he unfolded it carefully and admired the thin, flowing style of her handwriting. In the top corner, she'd drawn a picture of a unicorn flying toward a crescent moon.

  Yuri began to stir, and Felix quickly folded the letter, tucked it in his pocket, and finished packing. Just as he was getting ready to leave, Yuri awoke and turned his head toward Felix. He saw the pack and rifle around Felix's shoulders and asked, "Where are we going now?"

  Felix had planned on slipping out unnoticed and just leaving a note behind, but now he decided to tell. "I'm going to Leningrad," he said.

  "Very funny," Misha said, now awake. "Seriously, where are you going?" He sat up in bed, then groaned in agony. "Oh, that hurts," he said and held his hand to his forehead. "You know most everyone is probably a bit hung over. Can't we stay put at least one more day?"

  "I don't recall us discussing any plans for moving out today," Volkhov, now also awake, said. "Did we finally get our orders?"

  "No, the orders haven't come yet. You might as well stay put until they do," Felix said.

  "Son-of-a-bitch," Misha muttered. "You're serious, aren't you? You're leaving."

  "Comrade, what is this about?" Volkhov asked.

  Misha took a quick drink of water from his canteen. "How the hell do you think you're going to get to Leningrad?" he said.

  "Over the Ice Road," Felix answered.

  "Over Lake Ladoga? That's crazy," Yuri said.

  "You might make it to the lake," Volkhov said, "but I doubt you'll get across it. If the Germans don't stop you, then your own comrades in the Red Army will."

  "He's right," Misha said. "They're not going to let you cross the lake and they're sure as hell not going to let you in the city. I'm speaking from exp
erience here. I was nearly sent to the firing squad when I entered the city without permission back in August."

  "I know this is difficult to understand, but it's something I need to do," Felix said.

  "What on earth is this about," Volkhov asked again.

  "This isn't about that girl you left behind, is it?" Misha said. "She's probably dead, and even if she's not, what can you do?"

  "I don't know," Felix said. "But I'm going. I know that."

  "Your country needs you here," Volkhov said, stressing the last word.

  "We need you here," Yuri chimed in. He had his massive arms folded tightly in front of his chest. "Don't betray us like this."

  "This has nothing to do with you," Felix said.

  "The fight is here, comrade," Volkhov said. "It's not in Leningrad."

  "Yes, listen to him," Yuri said. "He's right. We have to fight now. If we don't, we lose. That's why we're here - to fight for what's right."

  Felix felt a strange sensation inside of him. With every word they said, it grew bigger. The harder they pushed, the larger this thing grew in return so it could push back. Felix couldn't put it into words, but he knew without a doubt they were wrong. This logic, this intellectual reasoning, this curse of the twentieth century, was a trap. It was a trick man played on one another so that no one thought outside the acceptable boundaries.

  "Felix, you believe in equality, right?" Volkhov said. "In justice? In freedom? That's what the fight is about. This isn't just a battle to kick the Nazis off our land. This is a battle for what's right. We're fighting on behalf of the entire world against evil. You're not going to turn your back on the world, are you? Who's going to fight for those with no voice?"

  He hit on Felix's weakness. That was how they always got to him and convinced him to keep playing the game. He felt himself slip a little, starting to fall prey to that insatiable beast.

  "Comrade, you've been blinded by your personal desires," Volkhov continued. "Can't you see that? Love has no role in this world. Love, romance, compassion - they're all dead. They're tired cliches, useless concepts, that have no value anymore. You're stuck in that . . . in those fairy tales from the past. You've got to pull yourself out of it. The only emotion that's helpful these days is hate. It's fuel. It'll keep you alive. Hate is the only way we're going to win this war. That's what the Nazis came here with, and that's why they've been winning so far. We've got to 'out-hate' our enemies if we want to win."

  Felix slipped another inch closer to the trap, but then the thing inside him suddenly swelled to twice its size and pushed the poison out of his head. Silently, Felix asked this thing, "What are you?" In response, he heard Katya's voice whispering that poem in his ear on that warm summer day last June: Love is the beginning, and Love is the end, and here in the middle is where we must mend. He had to go to her and he had to go now. He'd never been so sure of anything in his life.

  "I'm going," Felix said with finality. "I hope none of you try to stop me." He was referring specifically to Volkhov and looked at him now.

  Volkhov got up from his straw bed and put his glasses on. "In the short time I've known you," he said, "you've earned my respect. I won't try to stop you, but know, too, that I can't defend your decision if you're caught."

  "I understand," Felix said. He handed Volkhov an envelope addressed to Katya. "Could you send this out in the next batch for me?"

  Volkhov took it and nodded.

  Felix had written several letters to Katya, though he had his doubts as to whether any of them made it to her. He began tightening his coat and scarf around him, getting ready for the bitter cold outside. Volkhov went to the other end of the hut with the letter, and Yuri began rummaging through his things looking for something. Felix pulled his hat down tight, took a deep breath and said to his three comrades, "I hope we all meet again one day after this madness is over. We'll drink a bottle or two and tell some jokes."

  No one responded.

  Felix saluted, said goodbye, then headed toward the door. Yuri grabbed Felix's right arm and stuck something in his hand. "You'll need this," Yuri said.

  Felix looked down at his hand and saw some rubles. He had no money himself and felt very grateful. It was hard to come by these days and would come in handy if he needed to buy food when he got to Leningrad.

  He looked up at Yuri's face, at that big forehead, bushy eyebrows, and dark eyes. "Thank you, my friend," Felix said.

  "It's nothing," Yuri responded with a wave of his arm.

  Felix knew better. He stepped forward and they embraced for a second, patting each other on the back.

  Before Felix got to the door, Misha called out to him. "Wait," he said. "Let me go with you."

  "No," Felix answered. "This is something I need to do on my own." He pulled the blanket hanging at the doorway aside and a gust of wind blew snow and cold air into the hut, extinguishing the candle at the foot of Felix's bed.

  * * *

  Misha finally caught up with Felix two hours later when Felix stopped at an infirmary. Misha had set out twenty minutes after him and followed his tracks from camp until they ended at the scattered tents erected on the frozen field. The infirmary was a dismal place that didn't have much to offer in the way of care. The first tent Misha went into had a sickening stench and was full of soldiers with chest wounds. Their sallow, expressionless faces reminded him of the dream he had where he was following the dead people. He felt nauseous and hastily left the tent. Except for a few scratches and bruises, he hadn't been wounded in the war and felt so very grateful for that now.

  He found Felix in the third tent he checked. He was sitting next to one of the stoves warming his hands on a cup of tea. Misha walked up to him and said, "Wow, fancy meeting you here."

  Felix looked up, but if he was surprised, he didn't show it. "Why are you here?" he asked.

  "Just thought you could use some company, that's all," Misha said.

  Felix pointed with his head to the other side of the tent. "There's some cups over there."

  Misha went over and got a cup, filled it with hot water from the large homemade samovar, then sat down next to Felix. "What do you think? Are you impressed I found you?"

  "No," Felix said. "I've learned that you're quite capable. If you set your mind to do something, you'll do it."

  Misha squirmed in his seat. He'd been raised on criticism and felt uncomfortable with compliments or praise or anything even approaching it. He studied Felix's face, looking at the pink scar on his cheek just below his right eye where a bullet had grazed him in one of their first battles to retake Tikhvin. Misha was jealous of him. Felix had a way of being in the world that Misha didn't. Felix did all the same activities that Misha did - eating, drinking, sleeping, planning, fighting - but Felix did them all with a sense of purpose. Misha desperately wanted to figure out what this purpose was so he could live his life that way too. Even more than that though, Misha just wanted to be around Felix and help out any way he could.

  He poured the hot water down his throat like it was a shot a vodka. "What are we waiting for?" he said and stood up. "Let's get going. Leningrad, here we come!"

  Leningrad was two hundred miles east of Tikhvin. The first goal of their journey was to reach the town of Kabona on the edge of Lake Ladoga. Next was to gain access to the lake, then hitch a ride across it, then onto the road to Leningrad, and, lastly, into the city itself.

  It took them seven days to get to Kabona - one to get arrested on the way there, three for Misha to talk and bribe them into letting he and Felix go, and three for the actual journey.

  Kabona was a former sleepy village on the edge of Lake Ladoga that was quickly being transformed into a bustling port. Misha had actually driven through there before the war. Back then, it was a typical Russian village with a few hundred inhabitants working as fishermen in the summer and lumberjacks in the winter. It looked very different now. There were newly built warehouses and barracks, and lots of tents to house the road maintenance crews, drivers, and anti-a
ircraft garrisons. Everywhere Misha looked, he saw soldiers and civilians walking to and fro. There were hundreds of trucks and ambulances and staff cars, the majority of which were headed for the lake.

  Felix and Misha walked past the village huts amid the sound of barking dogs. It wasn't long before the frozen expanse of Lake Ladoga came into view. It was the largest lake in Europe - 125 miles long and nearly 80 miles across at its widest point.

  There were several roads leading to the lake, but they were all being filtered through one central gateway where Red Army soldiers stopped every truck and reviewed the papers of each of its occupants. Felix and Misha tried to hitch a ride with the trucks beforehand, but none of the drivers would take them through a checkpoint. They all said the same thing, "See me on the other side."

  After having no success at three of the four checkpoints, Felix and Misha approached the last one feeling quite desperate. At the previous three, the soldiers wouldn't even talk to them as soon as they learned Felix and Misha didn't have the proper authorization to travel across the lake.

  The traffic had thinned in the last fifteen minutes and the two soldiers Felix and Misha walked up to had no trucks waiting in their line.

  "Let me do most of the talking," Misha said when they were less than ten yards away.

  One of the soldiers was well over six feet tall and had a long drooping nose. The other man was short and had lots of acne scars on his cheeks. They both had the same fatigued, unhappy look on their faces as the others Felix and Misha had already spoken to. "Papers," the short one demanded and held out his hand.

  Misha had tried to forge an official order but it hadn't fooled any of the others. He took it out now and handed it to the man, hoping for the best.

  The man looked it over quickly and handed it back to Misha. "That's not getting you onto the lake," he said.

  "What do you mean?" Misha asked. "Those are official orders from our commanding officer, Major Lestov."

  "That may be," the man replied. "But they're not getting you past this checkpoint."