Daughters of the Resistance

by Lana Kortchik

  ‘We used to go on a lot of camping trips when I was a child. It feels a bit like that, but colder.’

  ‘You surprised me, you know. I never expected you to stay here and work so hard. Breakfast was delicious.’

  ‘It was delicious because I didn’t cook it. Yulya refused to let me anywhere near the stove this morning. She changed her mind at lunch but I think she regrets it. I’m mostly on potato-cutting duty.’

  ‘Well, the potatoes were cut especially nicely yesterday. I remember thinking Yulya could never have done such a splendid job.’

  She tried to keep a smile from her face. ‘Thank you. I’m glad you liked them. I better get back or Yulya will be looking for me.’

  ‘Be ready for our lesson after lunch on Saturday.’

  He winked and turned his back to her, raising the axe in the air and letting it fall with ease. Lisa didn’t just walk back to the kitchen, she flew, the heavy bucket of snow the only thing slowing her down.

  Chapter 6

  It was still early when Irina finished her work for the day. The sun was shining and the sky was clear, but for a few black dots moving fast over Kiev – the German patrol aircrafts. As she walked, the city seemed to be holding its breath, as if waiting for something. Other than the din of the plane engines in the far distance, there were no other noises, no cars driving past, no loud groups of soldiers. The few Soviet citizens who hurried through the streets were quiet and fearful, aware that the city no longer belonged to them.

  Kirill usually took Sonya to the neighbours’ apartment to play with their children in the early afternoon. Irina didn’t want to return to an empty house or, worse, be alone with her mother-in-law. After Zina’s hurtful comment, Irina met every word from her with silence. She cooked dinner as quickly as she could and fed Sonya in her bedroom, then waited for Zina to go to bed before she had something to eat herself. When Irina did run into Zina in the kitchen, the older woman made no attempt at reconciliation.

  Not only were the German-occupied streets hostile, her home had become hostile too.

  Instead of heading back to Kazanskaya Street, she walked to Tamara’s building on Kirilovskaya. Her friend’s tiny two-bedroom apartment was Irina’s refuge, the only place where she could relax and be herself. Today, like most days, it was untidy, with clothes and books strewn over the floor. Tamara looked slightly untidy herself, having just returned from a nearby village, where she had traded her winter coat for a kilo of potatoes. Her hair was wild, her mascara smudged. Still, she was beautiful, in a vulnerable sort of way. Now that her passport was stamped with a fake marriage and she was safe – for the time being – from mobilisation to Germany, Tamara smiled more often and laughed louder. Only a trace of fear was left in her eyes. But that was hardly unusual. Everyone Irina met had fear in their eyes.

  Irina and Tamara were sitting at the dining table, two steaming cups of tea in front of them, just like so many times before the war. The difference was now there were no biscuits or cake or blinis to go with the tea. There was no carefree laughter or happy smiles, either.

  ‘I can’t believe she’d say that,’ exclaimed Tamara after Irina told her how Zina stormed into her room and shouted at her for breastfeeding Sonya. She wanted to tell her friend about the other thing Zina had said – the unspeakable, heartbreaking thing about her pregnancy. But saying it out loud meant thinking about it again and Irina couldn’t bear it. ‘It’s none of her business how long you breastfeed your child for.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘It’s your decision as a mother.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Does she have no respect for personal space? Ignore her. I always said she was a witch. She looks like one, with that mop of grey hair. She sounds like one. And she acts like one too.’

  ‘When I hear her voice, my hands start to shake and I feel physically ill. Even when she says something completely innocent, like “pass the salt, please”.’

  ‘I can’t say I blame you.’

  Irina rubbed her hands in a futile attempt to warm up. The apartment was freezing. ‘And then I feel so guilty. She’s Maxim’s mother. My mother-in-law. How can I hate her so much?’

  ‘It’s not your fault. You’ve been as patient as a saint. If I were you, I would have told her exactly what I thought of her a long time ago.’

  ‘How can I? I live in her house. If it wasn’t for her, I would have nowhere to go.’

  ‘Come and stay with me. You know you’re always welcome.’

  ‘Thank you, my dear. I would love to stay here with you but what would Maxim say?’ She sighed, thinking how wonderful it would have been not to have to deal with Zina day in and day out. ‘I keep thinking maybe it’s my fault somehow. Maybe it’s me who’s doing something wrong. She brought up such a wonderful son. She can’t possibly be all bad.’

  ‘I think he’s wonderful despite her, not because of her.’

  Irina suspected Tamara was right. ‘I don’t know how much longer I can take it. She crosses all my boundaries. When Sonya was a newborn baby …’ Irina shuddered at the memory. ‘It was such a difficult period. She was crying all the time, wouldn’t feed, wouldn’t sleep anywhere other than in my arms. I was going out of my mind. And instead of help and support, all I got from Zina was put-downs, arguments and criticism. No one has ever made me feel the way she does. Sometimes I think the only way I can be happy is if she’s no longer in my life.’

  ‘You can’t live like that. It’s not healthy for you or Sonya. Life’s too short, now more than ever.’

  ‘I feel so guilty for having these thoughts. It’s a vicious circle of hatred and guilt. It seems so petty, with the war and the real suffering all around. But it hurts so much. I feel like there’s a war zone inside our house. Ever since Maxim and I got married …’ She shook her head, unable to continue.

  ‘Have you told Maxim how you feel?’

  ‘He’ll never understand. He adores his mother.’ Her hatred for Zina was the only secret Irina had ever kept from Maxim. He was her soulmate and her one true love. They shared everything. But not this. She didn’t want to force him to take sides, though wasn’t sure if that was because she didn’t want to hurt his feelings – or because she didn’t know whose side he would choose. ‘Anyway, let’s not talk about her anymore. Tell me about your young man. I want to know everything. How did you two meet?’

  Tamara’s eyes lit up and she took a sip of her weak tea. ‘My best friend introduced us.’

  ‘But I am your best friend.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Heavy footsteps resounded in the communal corridor outside and Irina felt her body tense. She expected a series of loud knocks on the door, followed by German voices telling them to open up. Irina’s arms went around her belly protectively. But Tamara didn’t seem concerned. As she was rummaging in the cupboard for something sweet for their tea, some honey perhaps or a square of sugar forgotten on a shelf somewhere, a key turned in the lock. ‘Speaking of the devil,’ she said. ‘That’s him.’

  ‘Who?’ Irina caught a glimpse of her pale face in the mirror. Her hands were shaking.

  Tamara continued excitedly, ‘I can’t wait to introduce him to you. Of course, you already know each other. But …’ her voice dropped to a whisper ‘… as my fiancé. He asked me to marry him last night.’

  Irina took a few deep breaths and told herself to calm down. She really had to get her nerves in check. When she looked up, she saw Dmitry standing in the doorway. ‘What are you two whispering about with such secrecy?’ he asked, grinning.

  ‘Secrecy?’ Irina cried, relieved beyond belief and a little taken aback. Dmitry was the last person she had expected to see. ‘Look who’s talking. All this time you two were seeing each other and I had no idea!’ She tried to make her voice sound stern but failed. Nothing could please her more than seeing her best friend, who was like a sister to her, with a man like Dmitry. Someone she could trust with all her heart. Someone who would take care of her.

  ‘I
was just about to tell Irina how we became a couple,’ said Tamara. ‘Why don’t you join us? I’ll pour you some tea.’

  Dmitry hung his coat in the corridor and sat at the table next to Tamara, his chair almost touching hers. They linked hands under the table and Tamara rested her head on his shoulder. Dmitry’s face was glowing. ‘We got together by almost getting arrested, that’s how. We were giving out some leaflets at the station. You know, telling the population that the Nazis are lying and the Red Army is advancing—’

  Tamara interrupted. ‘Let me tell the story. I do it so much better. I hid the leaflets in the basket I was carrying, under some old clothes. Suddenly, a Nazi officer approached and demanded to search the basket. He was two metres tall and had the ugliest face I’ve ever seen. I said to him, you want it? Here it is. And put the basket over his head, pushing him as hard as I could.’

  ‘You should have seen her. She was magnificent,’ said Dmitry, his affectionate gaze on Tamara.

  ‘I can imagine,’ said Irina, her chest swelling with pride. She had known Tamara since kindergarten and her friend never ceased to amaze her.

  Tamara continued, talking quickly as if in a hurry to get the words out. ‘And then we ran as fast as we could. The Nazi tried to give chase, once he freed himself from the basket and the garments. But it was crowded and soon he lost sight of us. We hid in the cellar of an abandoned house and didn’t come out until the next morning. It was the scariest night of my life. Also, the happiest.’ Tamara put her hand out, showing Irina her ring. ‘And last night Dima took me back to that house. He made it look so nice, with ribbons and candles. And he asked me to marry him. As soon as I saw the ring, I said yes. How could I not? It had once belonged to his grandmother.’

  ‘Are you marrying the ring or the man?’ asked Irina, laughing. Their happiness was contagious.

  ‘She said yes before I even stopped talking. I could have been saying, “Will you cook and clean for me for the rest of your life?”’

  ‘Wasn’t that exactly what you were saying?’ Their eyes locked and for a moment they were quiet, as if forgetting Irina was in the room with them. ‘You and I are going to be related!’ exclaimed Tamara, jumping up and down and hugging Irina. ‘Like real sisters. Married to cousins.’

  Irina remembered what falling in love was like only too well. For her it had felt like diving off a tall building, not knowing if you would make it to the ground alive, and yet, being unable to think of anything but him and feeling nothing but happiness. Seeing them so excited, with their arms around each other, smiles wide on their faces, Irina longed to tell them about the baby. She almost opened her mouth and did so, but then she thought of Zina’s cruel words and dread like poison spread through her.

  What if her mother-in-law was right and the war was not a good time to have a baby? What if something went wrong? She couldn’t bring herself to tell them.

  February 1943

  Chapter 7

  Although the rest of the battalion woke at six, Lisa’s day started at five. The partisans had to eat before they left on their daily missions, and someone had to prepare breakfast and set the tables. To Lisa’s dismay, that someone was her. That’s only fair, she would tell herself as she lay exhausted on her straw bed in the mornings, unable to force herself to get up and face her chores. Everyone else risked their lives to fight the Nazis, even Anna. Masha helped the partisans and nursed them back to health. It was up to Yulya and Lisa to make sure the others were fed. She was grateful to be in the woods and not on the dreaded train of death headed to Germany or, worse, in a factory on the outskirts of Berlin somewhere without food or water or sleep, numb with utter exhaustion. Despite the monotony of her daily tasks, despite the fact she had spent her whole life trying to avoid housework of any kind, for the first time Lisa felt like she was doing something worthwhile. These people had saved her. Slowly, one peeled potato after another, she was paying them back.

  Every morning, she dragged herself out of bed, bleary-eyed and unhappy, set the tables and cooked porridge that was nothing but gruel and melted snow. After the cooking was done, she brought food to the partisans and carried the empty plates to the kitchen, washed the dishes in snow as best she could, scraping until her hands felt raw, cooked stew for lunch and potatoes for dinner, and then spent the rest of her day mending uniforms until her back was aching.

  Three times a day, Maxim came to the cafeteria and she served him his food. He always had a smile on his face and a few cheerful words for everyone. Every time she saw him, she forgot all about her exhaustion and laughed shyly at his jokes, while inside she was melting at the sight of him, his dark hair, his height and his white teeth. Was it her imagination or did everyone in the cafeteria fall quiet as soon as he walked in? He drew all eyes like a magnet.

  Late at night, Lisa would collapse into her bed, barely able to say goodnight to Masha and Anna, who looked as tired as she felt. In the past, she often had trouble sleeping as she worried about one thing or another, a boy she liked or an argument with her sister or a school assignment. Not anymore. Despite the uncomfortable straw and the cold, every night she would fall into a deep sleep the minute her head hit the bed and wouldn’t open her eyes until Yulya’s voice, the most unpleasant alarm clock, would wake her at five to start another excruciating day.

  On Saturday morning, Lisa didn’t drag her feet but jumped out of bed, wanting to sing at the top of her lungs. Today was the day she was seeing Maxim for her shooting lesson and she no longer cared about the backbreaking work or the cold or how tired she was. All she wanted was a moment to herself, so she could stay in bed, hide under the covers and whisper his name to herself: Maxim.

  Seven more hours to go! How was she going to get through them?

  Not very well, apparently. At one point Yulya ran into the kitchen, her eyes bulging, both hands waving, and shouted at Lisa, ‘What do you think you’re doing? The porridge is burning!’

  Lisa was busy constructing an imaginary conversation with Maxim. In her mind, she was incredibly witty and he was laughing at her every joke, while his adoring gaze never left her face. Yulya’s voice cruelly interrupted her reverie and she snapped to attention, but it was too late. The smoke filled the room and the precious oats were stuck to the bottom of the pot, a rancid smell emanating from them. Yulya shook her head but didn’t say another word. When she stormed off, she looked angry enough to hit somebody.

  Understandably, the men were as upset as Yulya. They grumbled and complained but still devoured every burnt bite before dispersing on their missions. Still, Maxim didn’t seem to mind. He winked and said, ‘Was there a fire in the kitchen today?’ It was all Lisa could do to smile in reply and look straight at him as if nothing was happening. Her hands were trembling so much, she almost dropped his empty plate on the floor as she made a hasty retreat.

  When the partisans left, Lisa cleaned up and washed the plates, then cut the potatoes for lunch. ‘What time is it?’ she asked Yulya.

  ‘Two minutes since the last time you asked. What is wrong with you today? You’re not yourself.’

  Lisa was stirring chicken soup when Masha walked in and sat at a table next to her, silent and wide-eyed.

  ‘What is it, Masha? Why do you look so sad? Is it Anton? Is he not getting better?’

  ‘Oh no, he’s much better. I’m pleased with his recovery. He’ll be back to normal in no time.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that. Anna must be so happy.’

  ‘She won’t stop thanking me. Even gave me her fur hat to wear.’

  ‘She gave you her favourite hat? That’s very kind of her.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘What is it, then?’ Lisa joined her friend at the table, making sure to move the pot of soup off the stove first. One incident with burnt porridge was enough for the day.

  ‘It’s this weather. I wish it would snow again,’ said Masha. ‘It was uncomfortable but at least it wasn’t so cold. The snow tempers everything.’

  ‘I know wha
t you mean.’ Lisa was freezing in her bed at night and on her walk to the cafeteria in the morning. As she cooked, she felt warmer, but it didn’t last because Yulya had forbidden to keep the stove going for a second longer than was necessary. ‘But what do you have to worry about? You are the only one at the battalion with a fine fur hat.’

  ‘It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s the men. They keep coming back from sentry duty with frostbite. I don’t have enough beds for everyone. I don’t have anything to treat them with.’

  ‘Winter is almost over. Once spring is here, this problem will go away. I for one cannot wait!’

  ‘By then it will be too late. How can I do my job if we have no medical supplies, only bandages? The limbs are getting infected and I feel so helpless.’

  Lisa put her arm around her friend and was about to say something soothing when Yulya walked into the room, dragging a sack of flour behind her. ‘Look at you, gossiping idly when a hundred people are coming for lunch in …’ she looked at her watch ‘… ten minutes! You two should be ashamed of yourselves.’

  ‘I’m just finishing my break,’ said Lisa, not stirring from her chair.

  ‘And I don’t work here.’ Masha jumped to her feet, almost knocking her chair down. ‘I better get back to my actual job. I have patients waiting.’

  When she was gone, Yulya turned to Lisa with her arms on her hips. She opened her mouth to say something but Lisa interrupted. ‘How do you expect me to feed a hundred men with thirty potatoes and one hundred grams of chicken?’

  ‘It won’t be the first time. Save the potato peel. We can fry it for dinner,’ said Yulya.

  ‘We have no oil left. I can’t make meals out of nothing. And every mealtime the men come up to me asking for more. What am I supposed to tell them? You can’t have more, you have to go and risk your life on an empty stomach?’

  Yulya’s shoulders stooped. Suddenly, she looked old, her hair thin and grey, her face drawn. ‘Tonight we might have more. Danilo took a few partisans to the villages on the west bank of the Dnieper to look for food. The villagers help us, although God knows they don’t have much to give either. My husband is in charge of the food operations. We raid German households, take their cattle. But it’s getting more and more difficult. And with so many mouths to feed, it’s not enough.’