‘She understands it. When she was a child, she spent every summer in Ukraine with her grandparents.’
‘What is she like, your mother?’
‘She’s very kind. I’ve never heard her raise her voice. We are very close.’
‘I’m close to my mama, too. My papa, not so much. Lisa is his favourite.’
‘My dad and I always fight. He’s authoritative, strict, doesn’t talk much. Except when we’re arguing. Then he seems to have a lot to say.’
‘I know what you mean,’ said Natasha, thinking of her own strict, authoritative father. ‘What do you argue about?’
He frowned. ‘Pretty much everything. The farm. My choice of friends. What I should study at university.’
‘What did you study?’
‘Physics.’
Natasha looked at him with admiration. ‘Physics! You must be a genius. It made absolutely no sense to me at school.’
He laughed. ‘Hardly a genius. Just curious about how things work.’
‘What did your father want you to study?’
‘Agriculture. He wants me to take over the family business. And I can’t imagine anything worse. Hence the arguments.’
‘You know what my grandfather says?’
‘What does your grandfather say?’
He looked like he was making a conscious effort to remain serious. His lips trembled as if he was on the verge of laughter. Was he teasing her? She blushed and for a moment forgot what she was about to say. ‘Oh, yes. My grandfather says arguments are good. It’s when people stop talking that something’s wrong. Not that he’s ever argued with a living soul.’
‘He’s very wise, your grandfather.’
‘Are your grandparents still alive?’
‘No, they died before I was born. They lived in a village not far from here. Would you believe it, we passed it in a truck on the way from Lvov. I always wanted to see where my family came from. Just not like this.’ A cloud passed through his face.
Turning away from him and towards the lush greenery of the park, she said, ‘You should see this place in April. Beautiful red tulips everywhere. We used to come here all the time. My brothers and sister, my friend Olga.’
They ambled full circle around the park and sat on a bench, only a small space between them. He was so close, if she reached out, she could touch him. She didn’t. Her hands remained firmly in her lap. She couldn’t watch his face, so she watched the Germans strolling leisurely past and the Soviets walking in hurried strides.
‘I brought you something,’ said Mark. He opened his rucksack. There were four cans of meat, two cans of pickled tomatoes, a loaf of bread, a dozen apples and a kilo of potatoes. Whole potatoes and not just peels. That’ll make a pleasant change, thought Natasha.
‘Oh, that’s wonderful. Thank you so much.’ She clasped her hands together at the thought of the feast they were going to have later.
‘You’re welcome. They don’t feed us as well as the Germans, but we still get some food.’ Looking straight at her, he smiled. And looking down at the ground, she smiled back.
‘So let me get this straight,’ she said. ‘In Hungary, you have a king and a regent. I find it hard to believe. It’s like something out of a Dumas novel.’
‘I guess it is. I’ve never given it much thought.’
‘It sounds too much like a fairy tale to be true. All we have is Comrade Stalin.’
‘And don’t forget the Bolsheviks.’
‘Well, no. Not anymore,’ she whispered. In the distance, an aircraft roared past. She could just make out the swastika on its fuselage. ‘What do you do now you’re in Ukraine?’
‘Guard strategic objects. Bridges, railway stations. Occasionally do some translating. Speaking Russian helps. But mostly, I’m on city patrol. I walk around, making sure nothing untoward is going on.’
‘Such as what?’
‘Well, last night, for example, I came across an old man who was detained for not handing in his food supplies. Two privates were interrogating him. He hardly had any food left, but they looked like they were ready to shoot him.’
Natasha shook her head. ‘If Germans take our food, how do they expect us to live? So what did you do?’
‘I sent them away and walked him home. He said I looked just like his grandson. Kept shaking my hand. Gave me an onion and a hammer. I gave him some bread and returned the onion. Figured he needed it more than I did.’
Natasha was unable to take her eyes off him. She no longer cared who saw them. She took his hand. ‘So that’s what you do. You help people.’
‘I try my best but there’s only so much I can do. Ever since we entered Ukraine… What can I say… The things we’ve seen here. Not just me but everyone else at the regiment is disgruntled. Men are wondering what we’re doing here. Certainly not protecting Hungary from the Bolsheviks like our government keeps telling us.’
They sat on the bench in silence. He didn’t say anything, and she couldn’t think of anything to say. Finally, she murmured, ‘You ever think of home?’
‘All the time. Hungary is stunning in autumn.’
‘As stunning as here?’ She gazed at the carpet of red leaves.
‘Different.’
‘I love Kiev. I love how green it is. They say you can walk across the whole city without leaving the shade of its trees. It’s beautiful, don’t you think?’
‘It is, very.’
What was that expression on his face? Natasha suspected that he wasn’t thinking about Kiev at all. They moved closer to each other, and she told him about her summers in the village with Olga and their one trip to Lvov. He told her about his parents’ farm and what it had been like growing up in Hungary. Natasha watched his face, watched his lips move. She was transfixed, mesmerised by him. Having been born in Ukraine, she couldn’t imagine a life different from her Soviet reality. She had never met anyone who had visited another country, let alone lived in one.
When he told her it was two in the afternoon and time for him to report to his regiment for duty, she couldn’t believe it. They had walked and sat on the bench and talked for almost three hours. It didn’t feel like three hours. It felt like three breathless minutes. Natasha didn’t want to say goodbye.
‘Can I walk you home?’ asked Mark.
Eagerly she nodded. It was only a five-minute walk, but it meant she could have him all to herself for another five minutes. But then she remembered all her fears about being seen with him. She remembered the woman in the park and her angry words. She tried to come up with an excuse, tell him that she was meeting Olga or catching up with her sister, but her lips were not used to lying. Looking away, she shook her head.
‘It’s okay. I understand,’ he said.
‘You do?’ She brightened. ‘How about I walk you to your barracks instead?’
On the way to Institutskaya Street Natasha put her arm through his. She could feel his fingers gently stroking the palm of her hand. In front of a thick wooden door that led to the barracks, she hugged him goodbye, taking the bag of food. He held her close and for a few seconds didn’t let go. His fingers were touching her hair. ‘I love your hair braided. You look very Russian.’
‘I am Russian,’ she whispered. She could swear her heart stopped for one whole minute. She wondered what it would feel like to feel his lips on hers. He kissed her forehead, opened the door and waved.
If it wasn’t for her mother’s shoes pinching her toes, Natasha would have skipped all the way home.
*
Olga had heard from a neighbour that one of the stores on Proreznaya Street had sugar and butter. She told Natasha, and the two girls, who hadn’t seen butter since June, rushed to the store and joined the line, shivering in the rain. The girls were the only ones talking in the sea of gloomy and mute faces.
Natasha desperately needed to confide in someone. If she didn’t share her feelings with another living soul, she wasn’t going to make it through her day. How could she, when she couldn’t breathe
for the burning inside her chest and all she could hear in her head was his name? Never having been in love before, she wanted to climb to the top of the tallest building in Kiev and shout his name for everyone to hear. ‘It’s so good to see you, Olga,’ she said. ‘I have so much to tell you.’
‘That’s lucky because this could take a while.’ Olga pointed at the queue stretching for what seemed like a mile in front of them. ‘What do you want to tell me? Something good?’
‘Something wonderful.’
‘Tell me, quick. I need good news to take my mind off things.’
Natasha peered into her friend’s face. Olga had lost weight and when she moved, it was in slow motion, as if every step drained what little energy she had. ‘Is everything okay? You don’t look so good.’
‘I’m just worried, Natasha. I keep hearing rumours—’
‘Rumours of what?’
‘Just the things the Nazis are doing to the Jewish people in Europe. Haven’t you heard?’
‘I haven’t heard, no,’ said Natasha, instantly feeling guilty for thinking only of herself. And of Mark.
‘Ever since they’ve come here, I haven’t been able to sleep. What are they going to do to me and my mama once they find out we are Jewish?’
Natasha squeezed Olga’s hand, trying to reassure her. ‘There are hundreds of thousands of Jewish people in Kiev. What can they possibly do to all of you?’
‘I’ve heard of ghettos in Poland and… I don’t know if it’s true, but someone told me they’ve shot thousands in Kovno in July.’
‘That’s impossible! It’s just a rumour, Olga, nothing else. Why would they kill so many people? They need someone to work for them, to man their factories, to bake bread and make munitions.’
Olga’s face looked lighter, not as grim. ‘You think so? I hope you’re right.’
‘Of course I am. They want us to see them as liberators. How will they keep up the pretence if they do something so terrible?’
‘Like they care what we think.’ Olga shrugged.
‘We’ll be okay. We’ll get through this.’ More than anything Natasha wanted to believe her own words but how could she, when all she saw around her was misery and despair? And judging by Olga’s face, she didn’t believe her either.
‘Tell me your wonderful news. It will cheer me up.’
Natasha took a deep breath and told Olga everything. She told her what happened in the park and about her secret meeting with Mark. ‘Wait till you see him. You are going to love him. He’s kind and attentive and handsome.’
Olga watched her intently, her own predicament seemingly forgotten. ‘You sound so happy,’ she said, but her face remained dull, as if anyone sounding happy in the face of the Nazi occupation was something to worry about.
‘He does make me happy. When I see him, nothing else matters. Not the Germans in Kiev, not the war, nothing.’
‘You said he’s Hungarian. Natasha, they’re allied with the Nazis.’
‘Don’t you think I know that? But he had no choice. He was forced to enlist and fight for Hitler.’
‘I’m not saying this to upset you. And I am happy for you. I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all. You only have one heart. Don’t give it away too freely. What future could you possibly have together?’
The queue wasn’t moving. There were no arguments and no confrontations to distract Natasha from Olga’s words. The same words that echoed in her head ever since she met Mark. ‘It’s war, Olga. What future do any of us have?’
‘You say Mark is here against his will. But he’s still here. He’s still our enemy.’
‘It’s not like that,’ protested Natasha. ‘He helps people. He saved me and my babushka. He can do more good here than anywhere else.’
‘He’s still on Hitler’s side. He didn’t jump off the truck bound for Ukraine and join a partisan battalion fighting against the Nazis. He didn’t risk his life and his family’s lives to avoid mobilisation.’ Natasha felt tears perilously close. She clasped her fists to stave them off. Olga added, ‘All I’m saying is, people all over the world are risking their lives to fight Hitler. If Mark didn’t want to be here, he wouldn’t be here. How long have you known him? What makes you think you can trust him?’
Telling Olga had been a mistake. Underneath her friendly concern, Natasha could sense something she didn’t like. A current of disapproval and incomprehension. ‘He’s a good person,’ she said. ‘Kind, caring, supportive. He saved my life. He’s good person,’ she repeated softly, as if it wasn’t Olga she was trying to convince but herself.
After they queued for an hour, the store manager came out and said there was no sugar or butter left in the store. Nothing left in the store at all. A hundred hungry and disgruntled Kievans left empty-handed. Olga seemed preoccupied, and Natasha didn’t want to talk about her fears anymore because talking about them made them seem real. The girls walked five blocks to Tarasovskaya Street in silence.
*
When Natasha returned home, she saw two Gestapo officers smoking outside her building. Autumn sun reflected off the silver buttons of their uniforms, and their left sleeves were adorned with swastikas. Natasha couldn’t bear the sight of the frightening symbol. She lowered her gaze. The two of them scared her so much that she forgot all about Mark for the few seconds it took her to cross the yard. She sped up, wishing she had dressed down like Olga.
In the kitchen, she opened Mark’s bag and placed everything on the table. In their hiding place in the garden they still had a few cans of fish and some barley. There was plenty of tea in the cupboard but no more salt or sugar.
‘Natasha! Where did you get all this?’ exclaimed Mother. Startled, Natasha turned around. A look of confused disbelief was on Mother’s face.
‘Aren’t you supposed to be at work?’ asked Natasha. She fidgeted under her mother’s glare.
‘There was no one there, so I came home.’
Natasha wished she had a plausible explanation for what seemed like a feast set out on the kitchen table. She couldn’t think straight, and blurted out the first thing that came to her mind, vaguely aware that it would be all too easy for Mother to check her story. ‘Olga’s mama sent the food. She went to the village this morning.’ She felt her face burn.
‘How odd,’ said Lisa, who had just appeared in the kitchen, trailed by Alexei. ‘We just ran into Oksana Nikolaevna. She didn’t mention anything about the village.’ She fixed her eyes on Natasha. ‘Did she, Alexei?’
‘No, she didn’t,’ confirmed Alexei.
‘Must have forgotten,’ mumbled Natasha.
Mother picked up a can of meat and, adjusting her glasses, turned it this way and that. ‘What strange writing. What language is it?’
Natasha panicked. Because she didn’t know what to say, she nearly opened her mouth and told her mother everything. But Lisa’s mistrustful eyes stopped her. ‘Hungarian,’ she muttered. ‘They have a Hungarian officer living next door.’
‘He shared his food with Oksana? That’s nice of him,’ said Mother, examining a tin of tomatoes.
‘I thought the food came from the village?’ demanded Lisa.
‘The potatoes did,’ mumbled Natasha, suddenly feeling like a wild animal caught in the headlights.
‘I think Natasha’s got a secret admirer and she doesn’t want to tell us,’ said Lisa, tickling her.
Natasha pulled away. Trouble was, in their small kitchen she couldn’t step back far enough to get away from her sister. ‘Don’t be silly, Lisa.’
‘Is that who you were wearing make-up for? Look at her face, Mama. And she’s wearing your shoes.’
‘I can wear what I want.’
‘Don’t get so defensive, I’m only joking.’
‘Why are you wearing my shoes?’ asked Mother distractedly.
‘Couldn’t find mine.’
‘Oh, really?’ Lisa pointed at Natasha’s old boots that were in their usual spot in the corridor. ‘Who are you trying to impress? The Germ
ans?’
Alexei chuckled. Natasha frowned. Mother groaned. ‘Girls, stop bickering and help me make lunch.’
They were busy cutting potatoes – whole potatoes and not just peels, thanks to Mark – when there was a loud knock outside that was immediately followed by another one, even more demanding. The Smirnovs fell quiet, exchanging a worried look. Mother went to answer the door, while the sisters poked their heads around the corner cautiously, ready to disappear back to the safety of their kitchen if the situation called for it.
The two Gestapo officers whom Natasha had seen downstairs pushed their way into the small corridor, followed by a young Ukrainian girl. Natasha guessed she was their interpreter. Lisa glared at the girl and muttered, ‘What a disgrace,’ to which Natasha squeezed her elbow and whispered, ‘Be quiet!’
The taller of the two Nazis barked something in German and the girl translated, ‘Any men here aged sixteen to thirty-five?’
Mother shook her head. ‘No, there aren’t. No men here at all.’ She glanced at Lisa, who turned around to warn Alexei. But it was too late. He had just appeared in the crowded corridor, wondering what all the commotion was about.
Lisa tried to protect Alexei, to shield him from view, to push him back in the direction of the kitchen. But she wasn’t fast enough. The men saw him. ‘Kommen Sie mit,’ said the shorter of the two. His words didn’t require translating because the gesture that accompanied them made it very clear what the officer wanted. When Alexei didn’t move, one of the officers wrestled him away from Lisa’s desperate embrace. As they were exiting the apartment, Lisa threw herself between the Germans and Alexei, but the officers pushed her away and ushered him out the door. Lisa stood as if rooted to the spot, watching Alexei until he disappeared down the stairs. When she could no longer see him, she slid down the wall onto the floor, whimpering. Glancing at her distraught sister, Natasha ran down one flight of stairs, catching up to the Ukrainian girl and pulling her by the sleeve. ‘Where are they taking him?’ she asked quietly.
‘I can’t tell you that,’ cried the girl. ‘They’ll shoot me.’ Her eyes were two dancing pools of silent fear.
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