The Story of Us

by Lana Kortchik

  Grandfather nodded. ‘The Red Army might be here by then.’

  Two days later, most of their neighbours had left and the Nazi patrols began. There was no putting it off any further. The Smirnovs didn’t want to leave anything for the Germans, so they waited until it was dark and dug a hole in the garden big enough to fit their blankets, their clothes, and their kitchen utensils. Natasha kissed the picture of her brother before wrapping it up and placing it in the ground. She contemplated Mark’s kerosene lamp and her favourite books. ‘Can we take these?’ she asked. ‘We’ll need the lamp.’

  ‘No,’ said Yuri. ‘We need to be ready at a moment’s notice. Belongings will only slow us down.’

  Reluctantly Natasha buried the lamp and the books. All but Mark’s copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. When Yuri wasn’t looking, she placed it in her backpack.

  After they filled the hole with soil and concealed all traces of their hiding place with grass and autumn leaves, they returned to the kitchen. Mother packed some potatoes she had boiled earlier, two dozen chestnuts, a few apples, and some bread. The blinis were gone. Natasha wondered if they had been nothing but a dream that had been interrupted by the dreadful news from the Nazis.

  ‘We have enough food for a couple of days,’ said Mother.

  ‘And then what?’ asked Natasha.

  No one replied.

  The German patrol marched in just before midnight and ordered everybody out of the building and onto the street. When the patrol moved on to the next apartment, Mikhail muttered, ‘They can’t force me out of my own house. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve lived here all my life and this is where I’m going to die.’

  Grandfather said, ‘Don’t be foolish, Mikhail. The Red Army will break through soon, and then we can return.’

  ‘Exactly. They’ll be back soon. And I’ll wait for them right here. It’s late. The Nazis won’t be back tonight. You should all stay here with me. The children need rest, and so do we. In the morning we can decide what to do.’

  Natasha was tempted. To stay in their apartment, to sleep in their beds and to have what little food they had at their kitchen table. It was almost worth risking her life for. But not her children’s lives. Not her mother’s life. Not her grandfather’s life. Not Nikolai’s life.

  Reluctantly they left after hugging Mikhail goodbye. Mother cried, clutching their small bag of food. Grandfather and Nikolai carried the clothes. Yuri and Natasha carried the twins. For a few minutes they stood on the corner, not knowing where to turn, and then joined the procession of people like them, people without homes and without hope, who were moving west.

  When they were finally outside the restricted area, Natasha said, ‘What’s the point in going any further? We have nowhere to go. We might as well stay here.’ She pointed at dozens of unfortunates who were doing exactly that.

  The others agreed, not because they thought sleeping on the street was such a good idea but because they were out of options. They found a spot on the ground that was reasonably clean. Mother placed a towel where the ground was soft with fallen leaves, and they sat down. It was cold. Natasha’s head felt heavy, as if filled with brick and scraps of metal, and sleep evaded her. She leaned on Mother’s shoulder. Mother didn’t stir. ‘Mama, are you awake?’

  ‘Yes, dear.’

  ‘Do you know a prayer?’

  Mother shook her head.

  ‘Didn’t Babushka teach you?’

  ‘A long time ago, when I was a child. Just close your eyes and pray. Pray in your own words. Ask God to protect us, to give us strength.’

  ‘Do you think our soldiers are close?’

  Mother’s hand felt cold in Natasha’s. ‘They must be,’ she said. ‘Why would the Germans be in such a frenzy otherwise?’

  ‘What do you think is going to happen to us?’

  ‘I don’t know. Ask your dedushka.’

  Grandfather appeared to be asleep, his head resting against the wall. His face looked pale in the dark. Natasha couldn’t close her eyes, couldn’t stop staring into the darkness, not for the dull ache inside her head, not for her weary eyelids, not for anything. She watched the shadows whirl past them, listened to children cry. A woman was screaming because she had lost her son in the commotion. Natasha’s gaze followed the woman, and she clutched Costa close to her chest. She tried to think of a prayer, of words that would give her strength. ‘Wait and hope,’ she whispered feverishly. ‘Wait and hope.’ She prayed silently and waited for the morning to dawn. She knew everything would seem less hopeless as soon as the sun was up.

  Yuri was sitting on the grass a few steps away from them, smoking a cigarette. Natasha passed Costa to Mother and walked over to him. ‘I remember you telling me about your mother’s house. Where was that?’

  ‘South from here, in Solomenka.’

  ‘Could we go there? How far is it?’

  ‘Not too far. Ten kilometres. Maybe twelve.’

  ‘Who lives there now?’

  ‘It was empty the last time I saw it,’ he said. ‘But that was a while ago.’

  ‘Let’s go there tomorrow. We can’t possibly spend another night on the street.’

  Yuri remained silent long enough to finish his cigarette and light another one. Then he said, ‘It’s been very hard for me, you know. You and me. Seeing you every day…’

  She couldn’t look at the outline of his pale face in the dark. She blinked and turned away. ‘I know. I’m sorry.’ What more could she say? She bit her lips.

  ‘Knowing I’m like a brother to you, knowing I could never love anyone the way I love you… I just don’t know what to do.’

  ‘I wish things were different.’

  ‘They could be. If only you gave us a chance.’ When she didn’t reply, he continued, ‘When we got married, I thought everything would change. For a minute in that registry office, I hoped it was for real. I hoped we could be happy. It was the happiest morning of my life.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated. The words didn’t come easy. It was like learning a new language. ‘I never meant to hurt you.’ She didn’t want to have this conversation with him.

  ‘Don’t apologise. I’m grateful to you for that moment of happiness, however brief.’

  ‘You are my friend and I care about you. You do know that, don’t you?’

  ‘I wish it was enough. But it isn’t, not for me.’

  Natasha moved back to her babies. Holding them close, listening to their breathing, she fell into troubled sleep. Around seven in the morning, they woke up and Yuri walked back to Ilinskaya, returning with Mikhail, who told them he had no intention of leaving Podol, even if it was to stay at Yuri’s old house in Solomenka.

  ‘If you disobey them, they’ll kill you,’ said Grandfather.

  But Mikhail was adamant. ‘I can’t leave. If Oksana and Olga return, this is where they’ll look for me. I want to be home when they come.’

  For a few moments no one spoke. Mikhail stood in front of them, old beyond his years, hunched, grey and thinner than Natasha had realised. Behind him, a column of dark smoke rose from Babi Yar, coloured purple by the sun. Natasha knew that no matter what they said, they couldn’t force the old man to part with the place where he saw his daughter and granddaughter alive for the last time.

  *

  When they finally reached Solomenka, it had just started to get dark. The house that had once belonged to Yuri’s mother looked so small in the setting sun. Was it possible that after all this time it was still unoccupied?

  ‘The boards I nailed to the door are gone,’ said Yuri.

  Natasha shivered at the possibility of another sleepless night under the open skies. She could hear a rumbling noise overhead. She looked up, expecting to see a plane, and realised it was only thunder. A minute later the rain poured down.

  Yuri pushed the door open and it gave way. Inside, the house was as small as it looked. There were only four rooms – a bedroom, a living room, a tiny kitchen and an even tinier bathroom. In the kitchen t
hey found a candle and lit it, looking around.

  ‘Where are the floorboards?’ exclaimed Nikolai.

  ‘Everything has been stripped,’ said Mother. ‘There is nothing left but the walls.’ She was right. Someone had taken all the personal belongings, the clothes, the books, the cookware. Only a rickety table remained.

  They gathered in the living room, the largest room in the house. Natasha patted Yuri on the arm and said, ‘Never mind the floorboards. We’ll sleep on the ground. Better than sleeping outside.’

  Mother mumbled something and sat on the floor. Yuri bolted the heavy wooden door. It didn’t make much difference because the windows lacked most of the glass but it made everyone feel a little bit safer.

  ‘Eat something,’ said Mother, placing some boiled potatoes on the newspaper next to them.

  ‘I don’t know about you but I’m too tired to eat,’ muttered Natasha.

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ said Nikolai, biting into a cold potato. ‘Tastes amazing, Mama. Can I have one more?’

  Mother pushed the bag of food in his direction.

  With his mouth full, Nikolai said, ‘Tomorrow, as soon as the sun comes up, Yuri and I will go back to Ilinskaya to get Mikhail.’

  ‘Go into the restricted zone? Are you out of your mind?’ cried Mother, glaring at Nikolai.

  ‘Don’t worry, Zoya Alexeevna. I’ll go. Nikolai can stay,’ said Yuri.

  Nikolai protested, ‘I’m coming with you. It should still be safe tomorrow.’

  ‘Over my dead body,’ said Mother.

  ‘Nikolai, if both you and Yuri go, who will protect us from the Germans?’ asked Natasha, attempting a wink. Her eyelids were so heavy, she could barely manage a grimace.

  While Mother and Nikolai argued, Natasha hugged the twins and fought against sleep. She didn’t fight for long. Soon her family’s voices faded away. When she awoke a few hours later, it was completely dark. It was impossible to tell what time it was. It felt like the middle of the night. For a few seconds she felt disoriented, as if she was in a strange and unfamiliar place she’d never visited before. And then she remembered. She was in a strange and unfamiliar place. Once again, they had been forced out of their home. For now they had a place to stay but how long before the Nazis barged in once more and ordered them to leave or, worse, rounded them up and took them away?

  In the light of the fires that were blazing in the far distance, Natasha could see her babies’ sleeping faces. She brushed her lips against their hair and kissed their foreheads, then made her way to the window to watch the fires. She was surprised there were still buildings left in Kiev to burn, after all this time. It broke her heart to see her beautiful city destroyed in front of her eyes. What she needed was something to take her mind off her bleak thoughts. In her bag, she found the copy of The Count of Monte Cristo she had given Mark all those months ago. As she sat by the window and touched the snow-stained cover, she could see Mark’s smiling face as he read to her, could hear his voice break as he told her to wait and hope. Mark was gone, but Natasha was still here, without him.

  She opened the book, and inside found the letter Mark’s mother had written. Instantly she regretted picking it up, but it was too late. Her fingers, stiff from the cold, reached for the letter. She read it under a burning candle and cried softly, careful not to disturb her family. Her face in her hands, she cried for all her hopes and the twins’ future. Was Olga right? Had she been a fool for trusting Mark? She remembered her friend’s words. If Mark had wanted to fight the Nazis, he would have. But he didn’t. It was true that he didn’t choose to enlist on Hitler’s side, but he went along with it. He didn’t oppose it. The question weighing heavily on her heart was this: if Mark could betray his principles so easily, could he also betray her? Could he say he loved her one day, and turn away from her the next? Could he promise her everything, knowing he could give her nothing?

  What was she even thinking? Here, right in front of her, was Yuri, always there for her, through sunshine and rain, through loss and hunger, taking care of her, feeding her, helping her, ready to take her with someone else’s children, ready to love her – and them – unconditionally. Here was a man who was prepared to risk his life for her and expected nothing in return, who did risk his life every day to oppose the Nazis and help those in need. Yuri might as well have been invisible because Natasha was blind and didn’t see him. All she saw was ghosts, all she longed for was the past.

  Was Mother right? Could she learn to love Yuri?

  For the first time in her life, Natasha could see clearly. Yes, her heart belonged to Mark. And maybe it always would. But there was someone else who deserved her love, and if it was at all possible, she would do her best to love him with everything she had.

  A faint strip of light escaped through the door that separated the two rooms. Her heart beating fast, Natasha walked a few steps and pushed the door open.

  On the floor she saw Yuri. He didn’t look up, didn’t even notice she was there. He seemed lost in thought, staring at a candle that had almost burnt out. Closing the door behind her, Natasha approached him, touching his shoulder. ‘Yuri?’ she whispered. He shuddered. She added, ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ She sat next to him. ‘What are you doing here all by yourself?’

  ‘This is the first time I’ve seen this house since the war had started. I was right here in this room when we heard the announcement on the radio.’

  ‘Is this where you grew up?’

  Another nod from Yuri. ‘War was the last thing on my mind that day. And then, suddenly, there it was. When it’s all over, I’m going back to university. I’m going to make something of my life.’

  ‘What did you study?’

  ‘Medicine,’ he said.

  ‘You were studying to be a doctor?’ When he nodded, she added, ‘I can’t imagine my life after the war. I can’t imagine waking up in the morning and not feeling afraid.’ She was afraid now, in this strange house, with German patrols outside their window. She was afraid her family wouldn’t make it. That the war would be over and they wouldn’t be there to see it. She watched the twirling shadows on the wall until the candle blinked one last time and went out, startling her. ‘I’m sorry about your mother,’ she said finally, touching his cheek.

  ‘So am I. I’m sorry she died alone. I’m sorry she died not knowing I was still alive.’

  A wind blew through the broken window, and Natasha shivered. Now that September was coming to an end, the days were chilly and the nights bitter cold. There was an icy feel to the air, and the wind carried with it a warning that winter wasn’t far off.

  Dawn coloured the sky orange, and she could see Yuri’s silhouette clearly in the eerie light. He looked so sad, his shoulders hunched over, his head hung low, she wanted to put her arms around him, wanted some warmth and comfort, for him and for herself. She moved closer until her hand was touching his. Taking his hand, she kissed it. He blinked in amazement. Her fingers, her lips touched his cheeks. He sighed and whispered her name.

  For a long time they kissed.

  His body enveloped hers and his hands caressed the bare skin of her back. She felt his need for her, his body close, and suddenly she was not as sad, a little less lonely. Under her fingers he felt so strong. He unbuttoned her nightgown and kissed the base of her neck and the top of her breasts. His hands stroked her back, moving lower. It happened so quickly, she thought it was a dream. It couldn’t be happening.

  It couldn’t be her, touching another man, kissing another man.

  The floor was cold. He took off his jacket and placed it next to her, whispering, ‘Here, this will be more comfortable.’ This simple gesture conjured memories that were almost forgotten, of another night, another dark room. The broken pieces inside her stirred and stabbed. When he removed his shirt and turned towards her, she could no longer kiss him. When he took her in his arms, she cried, trembling. She tried to push him away but was too weak. ‘Please, stop,’ she whispered, almost choking. ‘I can�
�t do this. I’m so sorry.’

  Yuri let go of her. He didn’t argue, didn’t question her, didn’t protest. They sat in silence, not looking at each other. Finally, he asked, ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I can’t. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Was it me? Did I do something? One minute you were here and then I lost you.’

  She shook her head, reaching for her nightgown. He turned away while she dressed. Outside their window, the world gradually woke. Voices filled the room, and dark shadows moved past. She followed them with her eyes, grateful to have something to look at other than his anguished face.

  After a moment of silence, he said, ‘Tell me about him. The twins’ father. You still love him, don’t you?’

  The last thing she expected was for Yuri to bring up Mark. ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Because if your heart was free, we wouldn’t be sitting here right now. You would be mine.’

  Her heart throbbed. ‘I do still love him.’ She turned away from him, back to the window, back to the moving shadows.

  ‘Tell me about him,’ he repeated, his face grim.

  ‘His name is Mark.’ She stopped. ‘Was Mark.’ Suddenly she couldn’t continue.

  ‘I knew that. Nikolai told me.’

  ‘Oh, that Nikolai. His tongue is longer than the Dnieper. I’ll have to have a serious talk with him.’

  ‘Don’t be upset with him. I kept asking until he told me. How did you and Mark meet?’

  ‘Do you really want to know?’

  ‘I need to know.’

  ‘He saved my life. He helped Babushka and I when a Nazi officer confronted us in the park.’ She was trusting Yuri with her life by revealing her secret. She knew he would never betray her.

  Little by little, she told him everything. She told him about the hours she spent with Mark on the streets of Kiev and their endless evenings in the cafeteria, about Hungary and the plans they had made together. When she cried, Yuri held her, and when she paused, he waited patiently for her to continue. In the end, she reached in her pocket and showed him the letter Mark’s mother had written to Mark. ‘I don’t know what happened to him. I don’t know what to think.’