The Story of Us

by Lana Kortchik

  Uspensky Sobor, one of the most beautiful cathedrals in Ukraine, had been destroyed. Built in the eleventh century, it had withstood the Mongol invasion, countless earthquakes and floods, only to collapse in flames when Hitler’s troops marched through Kiev. Many people saw it as a bad sign. It was as if the very soul of Kiev had died that day. But Natasha knew that the soul of Kiev had died in September, the moment the first German boot touched its soil. And it continued dying with every new atrocity, every blue notice on the wall, every dead body swollen and disfigured by hunger.

  The ice had already etched elaborate patterns on the windows, as if winter had decided to lay its claim on Kiev early. Natasha was exhausted after her brisk walk. The sheer weight of her winter clothes was dragging her down. She stopped to catch her breath and saw Mark turn the corner.

  Her weakness, her fatigue, her heavy heart were all forgotten. She ran to him just as he ran to her. They embraced on the empty frozen street. Mark’s uniform felt so thin under Natasha’s fingers. It was the same threadbare uniform he had worn in September. She wriggled out of his arms. ‘Don’t you have a coat? A hat? Something warm?’

  ‘They ordered winter uniforms but they haven’t arrived yet. This is all we have.’ He smiled at the horrified look on Natasha’s face. ‘Don’t worry. It’s not that cold.’

  ‘Not that cold? It’s minus fifteen. And going to get even colder. I’m cold just looking at you.’

  ‘Come closer. I’ll warm you up.’

  She came closer. ‘Here, have this.’ Taking off her scarf, she wrapped it around him. Immediately the skin of her neck felt numb.

  ‘You can’t give it to me. You’ll freeze. Besides, how would I look patrolling the streets in a pink scarf?’

  She protested but he ignored her. Kissing her, he enveloped her in her scarf. His neck and ears were bright red.

  ‘I wish you’d listen to me and take the scarf. You’ll get frostbite,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you walk me home and I’ll find you something warm to wear? We still have Stanislav’s winter clothes.’

  His arm around her, they meandered back to Podol. On every building, Natasha saw placards depicting German soldiers, German planes and German tanks. ‘Wait. What does it say?’ asked Natasha, pointing at one of them. They slowed down to read. The place of every Ukrainian is by the side of the German army as it fights against the Bolsheviks for the new European order.

  The placard was pasted to a wall of a restaurant that sported a ‘Germans only’ notice on the door. There were many such establishments springing up all over the city; restaurants, cafes and shops where the Soviets were not allowed, filled with food and luxury goods and warm clothes, where smiling German officers drank beer, ate fresh meat and bought delicious bread, looking out the windows at passers-by who were dying from hunger and cold. Everything in the city was for the Nazis, and it seemed that the ghost town of Kiev itself had become German, too.

  ‘Do you ever go to these places?’ asked Natasha.

  Shaking his head, Mark said, ‘Never. A couple of soldiers from our regiment went to a Germans-only café a couple of days ago. They got thrown out and beaten badly.’

  ‘Promise me you’ll stay away.’

  ‘Don’t worry. We don’t mix with them unless we absolutely have to. We have nothing in common.’

  ‘I know you don’t,’ said Natasha. She took off her mittens and entwined her fingers with his. ‘You know, now that we have a piano at home, everyone’s feeling much more cheerful, even Papa. Yesterday I actually heard him attempt a joke.’

  ‘I’m so glad you’re settling in okay.’

  ‘And Mikhail is so happy to have us there. I just wish Papa had a proper job. He was forced into rebuilding roads and bridges twice this week. Under German machine guns. It brings him down. If he was working, they would leave him alone.’

  ‘I don’t know about your father but I could get you a job.’

  ‘Really?’ She was surprised. In occupied Kiev, jobs were almost as hard to come by as bread.

  ‘There’s a new cafeteria opening in Podol. They’re looking for a cook and a cleaner.’

  ‘A cook? You’ve obviously never tried my cooking. I burn eggs when I boil them.’

  He chuckled. ‘One day you’ll have to cook for me. I’m a big fan of burnt eggs.’

  ‘One day I will. But you might regret it.’ She smiled and felt her cheeks burn when he smiled back. ‘No, I wouldn’t make a good cook. No one other than you would eat my food. A cleaner, on the other hand… that would be alright.’

  ‘I know it’s not much but it’s better than nothing. It’s safer to be working. And you’ll have food.’

  ‘It would be better to feel like I’m doing something.’

  ‘And I could visit you at the cafeteria and walk you home after work. Would you like that?’

  ‘You’d walk me home every night?’

  ‘Every single night.’

  Mark kissed her fingers. ‘Put your gloves back on. Your hands are icy.’

  As they strolled through the empty streets, Natasha was counting Ukrainian flags until she came across a white flag with a black swastika. She shuddered and lowered her head. She didn’t want to see the unthinkable but there was no avoiding it. The unthinkable was everywhere. It was swaying in the breeze on top of the university building, sauntering past her in a grey uniform, cruising leisurely through grim November skies. The unthinkable had become her life.

  Mark interrupted her thoughts. ‘I received a letter from my parents today.’

  Natasha looked up into his beaming face. He must be missing his family so much, she thought. ‘How are they?’

  ‘My sister-in-law had a baby boy. I’m now an uncle.’

  ‘That’s wonderful news! Your brother must be so happy.’

  ‘Unfortunately he’s in a Ukrainian village somewhere and they don’t know how to reach him. They haven’t had news of him in a very long time.’ He frowned, but only for a second. ‘I wrote to my mother and told her about you.’

  ‘You did?’ Natasha was pleased. ‘I wish I could tell my family.’ In a different life, she would have brought Mark home for dinner with her and introduced him to everyone. Mother would feed him her signature pelmeni, and Father would offer him a cigarette, which Mark would politely decline. Grandfather would find out his views on Napoleon, and Nikolai would challenge him to a game of chess. Natasha had always assumed that, when she fell in love, she would share every little detail with her sister, just like Lisa had once shared every little detail about Alexei. Not being able to tell Lisa about her feelings made Natasha feel like something was wrong with the world.

  They walked hand in hand past the Smirnovs’ old building on Tarasovskaya. ‘I miss our old building,’ she whispered. After a month of fires, she was pleasantly surprised it was still standing.

  ‘There’s no place like home,’ said Mark.

  ‘If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind, as long as my family were nearby.’ They walked slowly, pausing every few minutes to kiss. Thankfully, the streets were deserted. ‘Somewhere by the sea. Maybe France. I love the water. We spent a month in Marseille once when I was a child. It was the best holiday of my life.’

  ‘You’ve been to France? Are you allowed to go overseas?’

  ‘Of course we are. Only in the Soviet Union are citizens prisoners in their own country.’

  ‘I never thought about it like that. We don’t feel like prisoners.’

  ‘Why would you if you never knew any different?’

  ‘We definitely never questioned it.’ She looked up at him. ‘What was it like, Marseille?’

  ‘Loud, rowdy but infinitely beautiful. It’s got so much history. And the Chateau d’If—’

  ‘You saw the Chateau d’If from The Count of Monte Cristo? Now I know you’re making it up.’

  He looked at her, laughed, shook his head, then kissed her on her icy cold nose. ‘One day I’ll take you to a
ll the places you read about in your favourite Dumas novels. We’ll see Paris, Marseille, La Rochelle, Corsica. We’ll go anywhere you want.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that be great? To go anywhere we want. It’s my grandfather’s dream to see Corsica. His hero Napoleon was born there.’

  ‘Corsica is incredible.’

  ‘You’ve been there, too?’ Her mouth slid open in amazement.

  ‘Yes, a few years ago. The whole island is a shrine to the Emperor Napoleon. Streets, hotels, restaurants, cafes, everything is named after him and his family. There are monuments to him on every corner. And do you know what the Corsicans do for Napoleon’s birthday?’

  ‘What do they do?’

  ‘Every year on the 15th of August, they celebrate with music and military parades. For a week they march and they fire their cannon and they salute their emperor.’

  ‘Grandfather would love that. That’s the problem with being a history professor in the Soviet Union. You can never visit the places you teach about. He’s been to Borodino, though. You know where that is?’

  ‘My mother told me about it. It’s near Moscow, isn’t it?’

  Natasha nodded. ‘Lisa and I were so jealous when our dedushka went to Moscow. We’ve never been anywhere. But you know, I would rather go to Marseille. I would simply faint if I saw the Chateau d’If.’

  A group of German soldiers ambled past. Natasha fell quiet. When they disappeared around the corner, Mark said, ‘Okay, it’s your turn now. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?’

  She thought about it. ‘I always wanted to live in Leningrad.’ Leningrad, which was fighting for its life at that very moment. ‘No, not Leningrad. Anywhere in the world? Maybe Australia.’

  ‘Why Australia?’

  ‘Why not? Australia is an enchanted fairy-tale place full of magical creatures.’ She stared at the ground. ‘And I could do with a little bit of a fairy tale in my life right now.’

  ‘Australia is so far. You have to cross the ocean.’

  She smiled into his sceptical face. ‘I always wanted to see the ocean. And it is far. Far from the war and Hitler. It’s safe.’

  He had nothing to say to that.

  When they neared Natasha’s building, she let go of Mark’s hand. ‘Wait here,’ she said, disappearing behind the front door. Upstairs, she searched for the bag of Stanislav’s clothes, finally finding it in the corridor. Nearby was a fur hat she hadn’t seen before. Assuming it had belonged to Stanislav, she placed it in the bag, too. From one of the cupboards she fetched a spare blanket, the warmest she could find. It occurred to her that maybe she should ask before taking something that didn’t belong to her. But the questions, the explanations! She shook her head and walked outside, soundlessly closing the door behind her.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Mark, taking the bag and the blanket.

  In his face there was everything she was hoping to see – joy, gratitude, love. Her heart soared. ‘You are welcome,’ she said. ‘Now you’ll be warm. And you’ll think of me whenever you wear the clothes.’

  ‘I don’t need a coat to remind me of you. I think about you all the time.’

  ‘All the time?’ Her breathing quickened.

  ‘Yes,’ he whispered, catching her in his arms, pulling her close.

  ‘Me, too,’ she said. Her chest was burning despite the bitter wind.

  *

  A few days later, Natasha was in the kitchen, preparing a meagre breakfast. Three eggs divided among seven people, barely a spoonful each. Now that winter was on their doorstep, they had no more potato peel, let alone whole potatoes. They had no more carrots. For many weeks now they hadn’t received any bread from the store. The family subsisted solely on Mark’s food. Every time Natasha cut the bread he had given her and every time she cooked the barley he had brought, she raised her eyes to heaven in silent thanks. She was thankful for the little they had because other people had nothing. She often thought of Masha Enotova’s distorted face as she cried helplessly for her baby. Just like hunger, helplessness had become the one constant in their lives.

  Hunger was a powerful motivator. Many Soviets, who until recently were adamantly anti-German, chose to work for the Nazis rather than die from starvation. More and more people signed up for the militia or worked as interpreters in German organisations. Who was Natasha to judge them? Now that November was here with its piercing wind and debilitating food shortages, working for the Germans was no longer a question of morals but survival.

  ‘You won’t believe what I found in Olga’s drawer,’ said Lisa.

  ‘What?’ asked Natasha.

  ‘Antonina.’

  ‘Antonina? Who’s Antonina?’ She stirred the eggs, wanting nothing more than to devour the whole thing herself.

  ‘Your favourite doll. You never went anywhere without it.’ Lisa shook the old doll in front of her sister. ‘Don’t you recognise her?’

  Natasha swatted Lisa’s hands away. ‘Stop going through Olga’s drawers and help me with lunch.’

  Lisa didn’t move. ‘So tell me about this job. How did you find it?’

  ‘I was walking past this new cafeteria—’

  ‘You just happened to walk past?’

  ‘Yes, Lisa. They hired me as a cleaner but they need a cook, too. Why don’t you apply?’

  Lisa’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Me, work? Like I don’t have enough problems.’

  ‘It’s safer to have a job,’ said Natasha.

  ‘It’s okay, I never leave the house. Unlike you.’

  ‘A job might do you good. Distract you.’

  Lisa sniggered. ‘You think a job would distract me? Seriously? Cooking for other people? You know I hate cooking.’

  ‘I know you do. You only enjoy eating.’

  Just as Natasha was taking the eggs off the gas, she heard Mother’s voice. ‘Has anyone seen Stanislav’s old clothes? I can’t find them anywhere.’ Natasha’s hand trembled and the pan went flying, trickling eggs all over the kitchen floor.

  ‘Are you crazy? You almost hit me with that pan,’ exclaimed Lisa, pouting.

  ‘Stop complaining and help me, Lisa.’

  ‘Is everything alright?’ asked Mother.

  ‘Yes, everything’s fine. I just dropped the pan.’ Natasha crouched on the floor, spooning the eggs onto the plate that Lisa held for her. Once, in her happier, pre-war life, Natasha would never think of eating anything off the floor, even if it was her favourite chocolate, even if it was her grandmother’s delicious blinis. Not anymore.

  Mother looked under the table and behind the door. ‘Where could they be? I was sure I packed them. Vasili, have you seen Stanislav’s old things?’

  ‘No, I haven’t, Zoya,’ said Father, striding into the kitchen. ‘And I can’t find my winter hat, either. It was minus twelve today, with the wind. I was outside in minus twelve without a hat.’

  Natasha remembered the fur hat she had given Mark, thinking it was Stanislav’s. She pretended to busy herself with breakfast, keeping her eyes down, sensing the impending storm and doing her best to ignore it.

  After a few more minutes of futile search, Mother said, ‘Did we leave them on Tarasovskaya? I’ll go there later today and check.’ With a dejected sigh she perched on a chair.

  ‘Don’t go to Tarasovskaya, Mama. It’s too dangerous,’ muttered Natasha, placing the plate of eggs on the table.

  ‘We need the clothes,’ said Mother. ‘I wanted to take them to the market. Now that it’s cold, we can get some nice cheese for them and maybe even some milk.’

  Natasha took a deep breath. ‘The clothes aren’t on Tarasovskaya, Mama.’

  ‘They aren’t?’

  Father narrowed his eyes on Natasha. Unfortunately, Natasha was all too familiar with the look in his eyes. She knew it didn’t bode well. She cleared her throat. ‘I gave the clothes away.’

  ‘You what?’ bellowed Father, stepping closer.

  His enraged face was only inches away from hers. She squeezed her eyes tight,
thinking of a plausible lie to tell her parents. Praying for a lightning bolt, a thunderstorm, an explosion, anything that would stop her father from looming over her as if he was about to wrestle the frying pan from her shaking hands and use it to beat her to the ground. Her mind was blank. She said, ‘There was this boy. He was… He was homeless and had nowhere to go. With Stanislav away, I thought we could spare the clothes; he hasn’t worn them in years anyway. Without them the boy would freeze to death.’ She stared at the stains that the eggs had left on the kitchen floor. They were barely visible. She wished she was barely visible, too.

  ‘That’s good of you, daughter,’ said Mother. ‘What a kind heart you have. I’m so proud of you.’

  ‘You’re proud of her?’ shouted Father. ‘We could’ve exchanged these clothes for food. She took the food from our mouths and gave it to a complete stranger. What are we supposed to eat?’

  ‘It’s war, Papa. We must help people. If only in a small way.’

  ‘Help people? And who will help us? Everyone’s looking out for themselves. It’s the only way to survive!’ shrieked Father, leaning over Natasha. Lisa took one look at her father’s angry face and withdrew to the safety of the bedroom. She left the door open, however, so she wouldn’t miss a word. Father shook Natasha, whose body had gone limp in his arms. ‘What were you thinking? Now thanks to you we’re going to starve. Because, guess what, there’s no food left.’

  Natasha tried to push her father’s hands away, but he was much stronger than her and wouldn’t let go. ‘Leave me alone,’ she cried. ‘It’s only thanks to me that we haven’t starved yet. I’m the only one who brings food home. When was the last time you got us anything to eat?’ Natasha couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. And judging by the expression on her mother’s face, neither could she. Father let go of Natasha. His face was red, and he looked as if he was having trouble breathing. ‘Papa, I’m sorry…’ she muttered.