The group scattered, keeping as low as they could to the ground – at least if they were struck they wouldn’t have too far to fall. It was impossible to see who was watching them, or where they were shooting from. Up ahead was the beginning of a street. Anton could make out bits of buildings, which meant shelter. He pointed at them, silently inviting his friends to join him. Leo allowed himself to be surprised at Anton’s new role in the proceedings, thinking, I can’t believe I’m following him. But, then again, who else would be stupid enough to lead the way in a situation like this!
Determined to pretend that he was back home playing football, Vlad decided that Anton was the forward with the football and the first building he could see was the goal. The gunfire was nothing more than the chorus of the home crowd as he and Leo sprinted after their forward, determined to help him score.
There was no doubt about it; Anton was feeling elated. Men older than him were looking to see what he was doing and his classmates were falling in line behind him. This was much more enjoyable than bullying small kids for their pocket money, or scaring the nine lives out of a stray cat. For the first time in his grubby life, Anton felt he was doing something right, something that mattered.
As they neared the street, they began to stumble over the bodies; there were scores of them. Anton heard some of the fellows exclaim, ‘There are so many!’ and ‘Who are they?’
However, this was not the time for questions. Anton led by example, flinging himself at them, scrambling through limbs, this way and that. ‘Look for guns!’ he yelled to whoever could hear him.
Of course! thought Vlad, Of course! He got to work immediately, Leo at his side. Quickly they shifted through the corpses, feeling around in the darkness for anything they could use.
A gun battle was taking place just above their heads. Russian soldiers were firing on their attackers, trying to give these new recruits a chance to join them.
‘Vlad, here!’ Leo was doing his best to pull a large rifle out of the locked fingers of a German soldier.
Vlad grabbed the hand, bending the fingers open with great effort, one by one. Who would have thought the dead could be so strong? Leo was unbuckling the man’s belt which was full of bullets. A couple of precious moments later and they had their quarry.
Anton, sporting a small handgun and what looked to be a bread knife, was already a few feet in front of them. There was no time to make a second search for another gun, but Vlad quickly scanned the bodies, just in case. And then he saw something he didn’t expect to, something which made him forget he was in danger of being shot dead at any second. It was a young girl, maybe nine or ten years old, it was hard to judge her age thanks to the mess that covered most of her face. Her hair might once have been pretty and maybe blonde. Now it was dark with dirt and her blood. Her eyes were wide open, causing Vlad to reach forward to help her. What was she doing here, in the middle of these dead soldiers? She didn’t blink as he grabbed her hand. It was freezing, so thin and so small. ‘Little one, are you okay?’ Vlad ignored his name being called over and over as he tried to pull the child from the ground. She didn’t answer him, her eyes only stared and stared, hypnotising Vlad with their emptiness.
It was Leo who broke the spell, pushing his gun into Vlad’s side. ‘She’s dead! They’re all dead! We have to go now or we’ll be dead too!’ Not giving Vlad a choice, Leo caught hold of his friend’s sleeve and shook his arm until he released the girl’s. Then Leo dragged Vlad after Anton, not stopping once, nor taking one step back.
BREAD FOR YURI AND PETER
Peter looked very glum, his head bowed as he kicked away any pebbles that dared to stand in his way. ‘I’m hungry!’ he whispered for about the tenth time since they left the basement.
Yuri was hungry too but what was the use in complaining. ‘I’m not your mother,’ he snapped bitterly. As soon as the words were out of his mouth he was sorry for them.
Peter seemed not to have heard. He kicked another stone and didn’t even bother to see how far it would roll, ‘Where are the soldiers?’
‘How should I know?’ Yuri was tetchy and irritable, and Peter was really getting on his nerves. Everything was. That’s the bad thing about kids his age; they don’t worry about anything. Yuri, on the other hand, had to do all the worrying for the both of them. For instance, should he be looking for the sergeant and his soldiers again? What they made Peter do was so dangerous. Thank goodness it worked out fine and they both got fed, but today Peter was in a bad mood, and clumsy with it. Already Yuri had had to steady him twice when he lost his balance, either out of hunger or tiredness.
But if they didn’t bother with the soldiers and their bribes of sausage meat, they were going to go hungry again. There would be nothing to eat until Tanya came back, and that might be nothing more than a few crusts. What else could they do for food? Apart from not wanting to listen to the moans of a hungry Peter, Yuri was determined to find something to bring back. Surely Tanya would regret her decision to have them move in if there wasn’t enough to eat for her mother and herself. He couldn’t bear the thought of her asking him and Peter to go back to sleeping in the tunnels or, worse still, the sewers. He had an idea. ‘Will we go and see if there are any apples left on that big tree?’
‘No!’ Peter’s answer was definite and Yuri wasn’t going to try and change his mind. Neither of them wanted to run into that mad woman with her dead baby. Peter must have felt obliged to provide a proper explanation because he added, ‘She’ll only try to eat me.’
Yuri didn’t bother to argue. They continued on in silence until something built up inside Peter causing him to blurt out, ‘I want cake!’ He started to cry, although there were no tears in sight.
The small boy’s sorrow was so dramatic that Yuri couldn’t help himself; he started to laugh.
Peter was shocked. ‘Why are you laughing?’ The pain in his voice was real, dampening Yuri’s fun.
‘I’m sorry, Peter. I didn’t mean to. I just wasn’t expecting you to say that. I mean, when was the last time you had cake?’
Peter’s faced creased up like newspaper, and tears threatened this time as he yelped, ‘I don’t know!’
To soothe him, Yuri agreed that it was all so stupid, ‘We should be able to have cake if we want.’
Peter peeped up at him, full of hope. ‘Can we?’
Now it was Yuri who wanted to cry. The last cake he had eaten was his birthday cake, shared between himself and his mother. How he wished that she would suddenly appear. It was scary not knowing what to do, or what was going to happen.
It was then, despite all his worries, all the hundreds of thoughts racing through his brain, that Yuri noticed the smell. He stood rooted to the spot as if a door had been slammed in his face.
Peter was sulking too much to care about what he was doing, or, at least, that’s what he wanted Yuri to think. However, when they didn’t move after a few seconds he pouted, through down-turned lips, ‘What?’ Just that: ‘What?’
Against his better judgement Yuri told him the truth. ‘I can smell freshly baked bread.’ He closed his eyes as if this would improve the strength of his nose and opened them again when Peter leant his head against his arm and asked, ‘Can we have some?’
It was a sensible question; Yuri just had no idea how to answer it. They were on an empty street in the older part of the city, where the roads were shorter and narrower. The shooting had been fierce a few minutes ago, so he had walked them away from it, never expecting to lead them to smelling fresh bread. Where is it coming from? Is it in the wind? Yuri hadn’t realised he was talking out loud until Peter sniffed, and said, ‘I can’t feel any wind.’
Like every other street they had ever walked in, the buildings were broken and smashed. The few walls which were still standing were completely blackened by the fires that had raged for weeks on end. Nevertheless, Yuri was sure that there were ordinary people living here, somewhere. Then he heard a whispered exclamation, ‘Why, it’s just two boys.’ Right
ly or wrongly, Yuri called out a quiet hello. If there was food to be had, he was willing to risk looking stupid. He was instantly shushed, but from where he couldn’t work out. Peter put his hand in his while Yuri hoped they looked as young and as miserable as they felt. He scanned the buildings either side of them but couldn’t detect any movement whatsoever, although he could still smell the bread, which prevented him from going anywhere.
To his horror, the lid of a man-hole, that was a few feet in front of them, shifted slightly. He jumped, forcing Peter to jump too, which nearly gave Yuri a fit of the giggles. Peter had a serious expression on his face, but Yuri was sure that they must have looked really daft jumping like that. He shrugged at Peter apologetically as Peter stared dolefully back at him. In any case, they immediately forgot about one another on hearing a woman’s voice urging, ‘Come on, you two. Quick as you can!’ Neither of them moved.
A woman’s forehead and pair of eyes appeared from beneath the lid. ‘Are you alone, just the pair of you?’
Peter nodded before Yuri could think about whether to say ‘yes’ or not.
‘Poor little things! Would you like some bread? Are you hungry?’
They both nodded at that.
Cocking her head, she said, ‘Down you come then, just for a few minutes, alright?’
They ran over to her. She pushed the lid back, telling Yuri to pull it closed after him. Peter went first and was happy to announce, ‘There are steps, Yuri.’
Glancing around to make sure there was nobody watching them, Yuri made a quick wish: don’t let this be a trick, not like the mother with her invisible dinner. Surely there was definitely food here; the smell of bread was only getting stronger and stronger.
It was dark and chilly in the sewer, for that was what they were walking through, beneath the battered street above.
‘We’re just down here,’ said the woman as she padded along.
‘Who else is there?’ asked Yuri, just because it seemed a bit rude not to make an attempt at conversation.
‘Just me and my sister’, was the reply.
She led them into an opening off the main tunnel, down a small corridor and then around a corner, up some steps and there appeared, out of the gloom, a large room which Yuri guessed to be the basement cellar of a house, long gone, just like Tanya’s. The boys felt suddenly shy as another woman stared at their approach while their guide declared, ‘Two waifs in need of bread.’
Yuri was too nervous to smile, just in case he did something to make them change their mind about giving them food. However, a low moan erupted out of Peter’s belly, causing the women to rush into action. The sister, a tall woman in a grey dress, wearing a purple scarf on her head, actually clapped her hands and led them to a table with a white tablecloth on it. Really, a white tablecloth in the middle of nowhere! ‘Rest your bones down there!’
They willingly obeyed. The woman who had invited them strode over to a small counter where, to Yuri’s surprise, and heady delight, he spied a stove. She opened the door, and the smell nearly knocked him over. Using a towel, she slowly lifted out a tray with two loaves on it. Meanwhile, the sister set out two small plates in front of the boys. They looked like new.
‘Thank you!’ said Peter as he stared at the bread, and then, in a rush of excitement, informed his hosts, ‘I wanted cake but this is nice!’
‘Peter!’ hissed Yuri, frantic that the boy sounded ungrateful and cheeky.
‘Oh dear!’ said the sister. ‘I’m afraid we don’t have any cake, child.’
Peter smiled, as if he was bestowing a giant favour on them all, and said, ‘I don’t mind. I like bread too. Don’t I, Yuri?’
Feeling a little embarrassed, Yuri said ‘yes’, while giving Peter a warning look to mind his manners.
The women grinned at one another, taking no offence at Peter’s precociousness. ‘So’, said the taller of the two, ‘at least I know what to call you two, Yuri and Peter. My name is Isabella and this is Sarah.’
Yuri nodded, shook her hand and said, ‘Pleased to meet you.’
Peter watched him and then copied him, word for word, making Isabella smile.
While waiting impatiently for their bread, the boys took the opportunity to have a peek at their surroundings. It was an odd room, slightly smaller than their basement, with lots of drawings, books and lit candles. In the middle of the table was a small jar filled with flowers which had started to droop. Someone had been drawing pictures of the flowers. Yuri could see them on a chair in the corner, and it must have been when the flowers were fresh because of how straight they stood in the paintings.
Isabella saw him looking at the artwork and said, ‘We have to try and remember the important things, and keep them alive in our mind’. Her sister smiled in agreement.
‘You have a lot of books and things,’ Yuri said. ‘All we have are chairs and blankets where we live.’
Isabella followed his greedy looks at the books in towering piles that leant precariously against one another. ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘But they’re not ours.’
There was a gasp from Peter, and before Yuri could stop him he blurted out, ‘You stole them?’
The women laughed heartily while Sarah managed to say, ‘Goodness, no! We’re not thieves.’
Yuri wanted to put his head in his hands. Isabella continued on from her sister’s cheery denial, ‘They’re from one of the libraries. We’re just minding them until the war is over.’ She picked up one and blew the dust off its cover. ‘When we found this nice place to live, we used to go out looking for things to rescue: books, flowers, pictures or whatever we could find.’
‘Why?’ asked Peter.
‘Well, one day the soldiers will leave and it will be time to build Stalingrad back up again.’
‘Why?’ asked Peter again.
Isabella gave him a gentle smile. ‘Don’t you want things to go back to normal?’
Peter scrunched up his nose. ‘What do you mean “normal”’?
‘Oh, now,’ said Sarah. ‘Isn’t that a good question!’
Peter’s reply was one of genuine surprise, ‘It is?’
Isabella was enjoying the conversation. ‘Tell me, pet, wouldn’t you like the houses to be fixed up, along with the roads, the shops and the schools, you know, for the city to go back to how it used to be before the bombs?’
Peter looked as if he was hearing the most fantastic story. ‘Really, can somebody do that?’
Isabella put the book back in its place. ‘Well, the war can’t last forever and that has to mean that things will get better again. So, we can all look forward to that, can’t we?’
Yuri had guessed what was coming next.
Peter whispered, ‘Do you mean I’ll be able to go home and Mama will be there, like before?’
Yuri quickly opened his mouth to explain, but Isabella shook her head, letting him know that she had guessed it all. Taking one of Peter’s hands, she said, ‘No, my dear. I am afraid that the people we have lost – like your mother and my sister Maria – won’t be coming back after the war but they will always be with us in our hearts.’
Peter cried softly for just a minute or two. It was the first time that Yuri had seen Peter cry about his mother, and he had to dig his nails into his thighs to stop himself from doing the same thing.
Finally, four thin slices were cut from the first loaf and barely touched with the butter knife. Sarah laid them gently on their plates and then fetched two small glasses of brownish water. Bread and water, it was a banquet. Silence reigned as Peter and Yuri ate and drank, both of them taking their time, wanting to make the meal last for as long as possible. The two women busied themselves as the boys ate. Isabella produced knitting, which must have been in her apron pocket, while Sarah moved the paintings out of the armchair and sat down. She picked up a tin box which was at her feet, and taking one of the paintings, she turned it over. Next, she opened the box and took out a pencil and, with that, began to make marks on the blank side. It only occurred to Yuri w
hat she was doing when he saw her study himself and Peter in turn and then go back to the page, over and over again. So, she was the artist and, apparently, they were her next picture. He pretended not to notice; it was a little embarrassing to have her stare at him. Anyway, he was thoroughly enjoying the bread, the nicest he had ever tasted.
Perhaps to distract them from her drawing, she began talking about her sister, Maria, ‘She was a bit older than us. We called her “Mother” because she went out every day no matter how loud the guns were, carrying a bucket of soup to feed whoever was hungry. She wasn’t afraid of anything, was she Isabella?’
Isabella broke off from counting stitches. ‘No, indeed. We couldn’t stop her. In her mind it was the least she could do for those defending the city.’
Peter asked the question on Yuri’s lips, ‘What happened to her?’
Sarah didn’t hesitate to answer, ‘We think the Germans began to recognise her since they would have seen her so often, going from building to building, in search of the people who had come to rely on her. And I suppose they disliked the idea of our soldiers’ strength being helped by a cup of watery soup.’
Peter waited for her to finish.
Rubbing away at something on the page, she glanced up at her listeners, with raised eyebrows, wondering if they had guessed the ending.
Yuri rose to the occasion. ‘They killed her for helping our soldiers?’
Sarah began sketching again. ‘I don’t think any of us expected them to bother with a harmless old woman, but they must have felt she was a threat. Anyway, that’s why you two are here. We’re continuing on her work, feeding those who stumble across us.’
Peter looked to be doing his best to control his emotions. Finally, he asked in a shaky voice, ‘Are you very sad?’
Sarah paused, the pencil in her hand hovering over the paper. ‘Well, Isabella and I miss her, of course. But Maria wouldn’t have wanted it any other way; she died helping others on the streets of the city she loved.’
City of Fate Page 11
