‘But what if he didn’t want to come here? You said so yourself. They are just following orders.’
‘They chose a madman as their leader. And now the whole world is paying for it. It’s only fair that they should pay for it too. Yes, you pulled the trigger but his death is not your fault. It’s not on your hands. And you need to remember that. Because next time it won’t be any easier and you need to be prepared.’
Lisa wanted to tell him there wasn’t going to be a next time. She couldn’t go through this again. ‘I can’t stop thinking about the expression on his face just before … He seemed so animated, so alive. And in a second, he was gone.’
‘I’ve never told anyone this, so don’t go repeating it and ruining my reputation. But the first time I killed a German soldier, I broke down. I cried like I’ve never cried in my life. You get used to it and that’s the scary part. The horrible, unnatural part.’ He was silent for a moment, as if lost in the past. ‘You have to believe we are doing the right thing. That it’s for the greater good. We are fighting to rid our country of this evil, whatever it takes.’ He stared into his hands and when he finally looked up, his eyes were dark with sadness. ‘My best friend was executed because he was Jewish.’
‘One of my friends, too.’
‘One night, his whole family was taken away. Their house was burnt and all who tried to stand up for them were arrested, myself included. I managed to get away. Others weren’t so lucky. Next time don’t think about them as human beings, because no human being is capable of such atrocities. You killed one of them. You did the world a favour.’
‘What if he wasn’t like that?’
‘But what if he was?’
Lisa no longer felt like crying. She was no longer afraid because she knew she could tell this man anything, could share the innermost secrets of her heart and he would understand. That night she slept soundly and when she closed her eyes, it wasn’t the German soldier’s face she saw. It was Maxim’s.
May 1943
Chapter 14
It was a beautiful spring day that reminded Irina of carefree times when the world was at peace. Everywhere she looked, she saw new life emerging from a long sleep. At lunch, she walked through Berezovyi Gai Park, which was filled with lilacs and narcissus. She passed pear, cherry and apple trees blossoming in the gardens, their heady scent making her heart beat faster with hope. It was as if nature had forgotten there was a war on and was celebrating a new beginning with all the exuberance and delight it was capable of.
Irina wished she could forget too, if only for a moment. If she closed her eyes, she could see herself on the bank of the Dnieper, jumping in the water stark naked while Maxim watched her with longing. The beginning of them as a couple, when they had nothing to fear and everything to hope for. She could see herself as a little girl, building a sandcastle, while her mother and father frolicked in the water as if they didn’t have a care in the world. But then she would open her eyes to the burnt-down buildings and the bomb craters. She would open her eyes to the self-satisfied German faces and the desperation in the eyes of the Soviets walking past. Feeling desperate herself, she would cling to her memories of that other, happier life. The sky was a clear blue then too, just like today. And the nightingales were chirping, just like today. But unlike today, there had been no enemy aircraft overhead and no grey uniforms on the streets of Kiev.
Irina’s job today was to make house calls on the streets under her supervision, looking for young people who were hiding from mobilisation to Germany. She hated this part of her work. Every family had its own story, its own heartbreak. Fathers killed at the front or lost in prison camps, grandparents shot at Babi Yar, the ravine of horror where the Nazis systematically massacred tens of thousands of Kievans. And hunger, unabating, debilitating, with no end in sight. How could she add to these people’s heartache and take their children away from them, even if her job depended on it?
I am not the right person for this job, she repeated to herself as she walked wearily down the street.
The little wooden hut she visited first was nothing but bare walls. Even the furniture was gone. She stood uncomfortably, unsure what to do with herself or where to turn. There was no sofa, not even a chair to sit on.
‘We gave our dining table away yesterday. Received half a dozen eggs for it and a jar of milk. Had a real omelette for dinner, the likes of which we haven’t had since before the war,’ said the lady of the house, a pale round-faced woman called Sima. Irina suspected she was no older than forty-five but she looked like an old woman, frail and broken. ‘I’m sorry we have no food to offer you. There’s nothing left.’
Irina glanced at the empty room. ‘Don’t apologise. I’m not here to eat.’ What she was here for was to collect two children and take them to a warehouse in Podol, where they would go through a medical exam and be sent straight to a German factory. In her folder she had a list of twenty people, their names, ages and addresses, as well as their next of kin and how to contact them.
When Sima heard the purpose of Irina’s visit, she started to cry and wouldn’t stop. ‘My eldest daughter just came back from Germany last week. I didn’t even recognise her. Her hair was completely grey and she’s only twenty-three.’
Like me, Irina thought and shuddered.
‘And now they want my two youngest? When is enough going to be enough? They came here and they bled us dry and when we couldn’t take it, they bled us some more.’ The woman dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘Please, don’t take them away. Do they have to go today? I couldn’t bear it. Please … What’s your name?’
‘Irina.’
‘You look so young. Do you have children?’
‘I do, yes.’
‘Then you can imagine what it’s like to see your son or daughter taken away from you. To not know if you’ll ever see them again. If anything happened to them, I don’t know what I’d do. Please …’ Sima took Irina’s hand and squeezed it. Irina felt an ache in her heart that wouldn’t go away.
‘I won’t take them away. In fact, I can help you. If your boys don’t mind digging trenches, I can get them an exemption from Germany.’
‘Thank you so much,’ cried the woman, smudging tears and dirt over her face. ‘You have a kind heart. God bless you and protect you.’
‘I would rather die than help the Nazi pigs defend Kiev from our soldiers,’ said the youngest of the two boys, who was reading an algebra textbook on the floor nearby. From her records Irina knew he was sixteen but he looked about ten, so thin and undernourished he was.
‘Me too,’ said his eighteen-year-old brother, glaring at Irina as if she was responsible for every Nazi atrocity in Kiev.
‘You will do what the nice lady tells you to do and you will thank her,’ said their mother, her hands on her hips.
‘They’d have to shoot me before I do anything for them,’ said the younger boy.
‘The trenches are not going to help them,’ said Irina quietly. ‘Believe me, they won’t stop our soldiers.’
‘You really think so?’ asked the younger boy, looking at her uncertainly.
‘Of course. And once the Red Army gets here, you’ll be able to join them. You can help fight the Nazis. You won’t be able to do that if you are in Germany.’
The boys appeared to mull it over for a moment. Finally, they exchanged a look and nodded. In their eyes there was joy, at being taken seriously, at being seen as soldiers by this tall, grown-up woman with a notebook. To thank Irina, the mother gave her a book of poems by the Ukrainian poet Taras Shevchenko and an embroidered picture she had made herself. She walked Irina out, all the way thanking her and shaking her hand.
At lunch, Irina found a quiet place in the park and sat on the new grass. Opening the book in a random place, she read the lines written by the great poet:
If only I could see
my fields and steppes again.
Won’t the good Lord let me,
in my old age,
be free?<
br />
I’d go to Ukraine,
I’d go back home.
And all she could think of was, how much longer? How much longer would the people of the Soviet Union have to suffer?
On the way home from work, she was turning the corner to Kazanskaya Street when she bumped straight into Tamara, who grabbed her hand and pulled her into a quiet alley. Her friend’s eyes were wide and her whole body, it seemed, was shaking. At the sight of her, Irina felt a panic rise inside her. She wanted to ask what was wrong but couldn’t get the words out.
‘You can’t go home right now,’ said Tamara, blocking her way.
‘I have to go home. I have to get Sonya. Why? What happened?’
‘Don’t worry, Sonya is with Dmitry.’
‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’
But Tamara didn’t reply, leading her in the direction of her house. Irina had never seen her friend so agitated. When they were safely inside, Tamara poured herself a glass of water, as if trying to delay the inevitable. Finally, she said, ‘The Gestapo are at your house. They are questioning your parents-in-law.’
That dreaded word, Gestapo, sent a shiver through Irina. There was only one thing they could possibly want from Zina and Kirill. Having a son in the partisan battalion was enough to get them both killed. Having a son like Maxim, someone the Nazis were desperate to get hold of, meant they would be tortured and beaten until they gave him up. But if Irina knew her parents-in-law at all, they would die before they gave him up. At the thought of what was ahead of them, she felt unsteady on her feet and had to lean on the wall for support. ‘How do you know this?’
‘Dmitry told me.’
As if on cue, Dmitry appeared in the doorway. ‘I just got Sonya to sleep. She kept asking for her mama.’
‘Is she all right?’ asked Irina, rushing to the bedroom. Only when she saw her daughter, sleeping peacefully on Tamara’s bed, tucked under a warm blanket, could she breathe freely again. ‘Tell me what happened,’ she said when she returned to the kitchen.
Dmitry glanced away from her and out the open window at a group of German soldiers laughing outside. ‘I was taking Sonya for a walk when I saw the four Gestapo officers pushing their way in. Poor Zina. Poor Kirill. All I wanted was to help them. But what could I possibly do?’ His hands trembled.
Pressing his hand gently, Irina said, ‘There was nothing you could do. Thank you for taking care of Sonya for me.’ What if her daughter had been with her grandparents when the Gestapo arrived? Her heart ached at the thought.
‘It will be all right,’ said Tamara. ‘They haven’t done anything wrong. They don’t know where to find Maxim. Once the Germans realise that, they will let them go. But in the meantime, it’s not safe for you and Sonya to return home. You can stay with me for as long as you want. If anyone asks who you are, I’ll tell them you are my cousin from Kharkov.’
‘What about Maxim? We must get in touch with him. He’ll know what to do. He’ll know how to help them.’ Even as she said it, a blind terror paralysed her. Yes, her husband would do anything to help his parents, of that she was certain. But what if he did so at risk to his own life?
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Dmitry.
Irina couldn’t close her eyes at all that night. With dread in her heart she watched the moving shadows on the wall, from the trees trembling in the wind, and the cars passing by, engines roaring, and wondered if she would ever see her parents-in-law again. How long would it take for the person who had denounced her parents-in-law to notice her one day as she stepped out of Tamara’s building? How long before they heard the sound of boots marching through the front yard and up the communal staircase, and a heavy fist knocking on the door? How long before the Gestapo came for her and Sonya?
Irina thought of all the nights she had spent unable to sleep, resenting Zina. How she had wished her mother-in-law was gone from her life for good. How ironic, now that she finally got her wish, that she would give anything to hear Zina’s voice again.
Because of the work she did, Irina knew better than anyone that once the Nazis got hold of someone, they never let them go. Trembling, she held her daughter’s little hand through the night and wondered where her parents-in-law were. Had they been threatened, tortured, beaten? It didn’t bear thinking about. Her heart ached for Kirill, who treated her like a daughter and never had a cross word to say to her, or anyone. And it ached for Zina, who in the last few weeks had been a changed woman. Gone were the demands, the snide comments, the soul-destroying criticisms. Irina had hoped it was a new start for the two of them. Maybe they could learn to live together after all. She had never told Zina she thought of her as family. And now she never would.
As soon as the morning dawned, colouring the sky red, Irina was out of bed and dressed.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Tamara, who was brushing her hair in the bathroom.
‘Please, look after Sonya for me. I won’t be long.’
‘You can’t go back home. It’s not safe.’
But Irina was already out the door. When she reached the building where she had lived with her husband and parents-in-law, she slowed down and glanced in the window of their apartment on the ground floor, trying to catch a glimpse of what was inside. The shutters were drawn and everything was quiet. Nothing betrayed the fact that only a day ago something terrible had happened here.
Irina’s heart thudded with pain at the sight of the porch that held so many happy memories. This was where Maxim had lifted her in his arms and carried her over the threshold on the day they were married. This was where he had told her he loved her for the first time and where Sonya had taken her first step. Irina wondered if she would ever come back here again. And if she did, would her home be filled with voices, like it had always been? Or would silence greet her?
Dmitry had told her in no uncertain terms not to go inside their apartment. It wasn’t safe. But she had to see with her own two eyes that the apartment was empty and her parents-in-law were gone. She had a feeling she would open the door, step into the familiar corridor and hear Zina’s voice and the sound of Kirill’s guitar. But all was quiet inside the little apartment. Their boots were by the door and their winter coats were hanging on their hooks, as if waiting for them. Nothing was out of place. Slowly Irina walked to the living room. Kirill’s newspaper was folded on his favourite armchair, Zina’s glasses were forgotten on the table. It was as if her parents-in-law had stepped out for a minute and any moment would come back.
Gritting her teeth and trying not to cry, Irina locked the door behind her and walked up the stairs, knocking on Katerina’s door. She thought she could hear something, a pitiful sound like a cat meowing. When she pushed the door, it gave way easily. ‘Hello?’ cried Irina. The crying stopped. Slowly she made her way down a dark corridor into the kitchen, where she saw the neighbour sitting at the table with her head in her hands.
At the sight of her, Irina trembled with anger. She could still see the smirk on Katerina’s face when she had come to her office and made her threatening remarks all those months ago, demanding to know if Maxim was still in the partisan battalion and every German officer’s worst nightmare. ‘It was you, wasn’t it? You told the Nazis about my husband.’ Irina’s voice was breaking. She swayed and grabbed the table to steady herself. ‘Because of you, the Gestapo took my parents-in-law.’
Katerina looked through Irina like she wasn’t in the room. She was grey and unkempt and looked like she hadn’t washed or brushed her hair in days.
‘What did they give you in return? Money? Food? What did you sell us out for? God can see everything, you know, and you will pay for this. One of these days you will pay.’
Finally, with a great effort Katerina’s eyes focused on Irina. ‘What did you say about your parents-in-law? The Gestapo took them?’
‘Don’t pretend you know nothing about it. It’s all your doing. You came to my office and told me you knew about Maxim. Now, suddenly, the Gestapo take his parents. Don�
�t tell me it’s a coincidence.’
‘I haven’t said a word to anyone. I haven’t left the house this week.’
Something caught Irina’s attention. A desperate quality to Katerina’s voice, the heartbreak in her eyes. She looked like a shadow of her former self. Her eyes were red from tears, her movements slow. ‘Is everything all right?’
Katerina took in a sharp breath, as if gathering her strength. It took her a few moments to reply. ‘My daughter is gone. A bomb exploded as she was leaving the factory in Berlin.’
Her legs becoming weak, Irina sat on a chair. ‘How do you know this?’
‘Her friend returned from Germany yesterday. They sent her back because she was too sick to work. She saw it happen.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ whispered Irina.
‘I sent her to Germany because I thought she would be safe there. Now I wish she’d stayed here, where I could keep an eye on her. What happened is my fault.’
‘It’s not your fault. You did what you thought was right. You did your best to help your child.’ Irina placed her hand on the neighbour’s shoulder but Katerina didn’t seem to notice.
As Irina staggered out of her old building and ambled towards Tamara’s little house, where her daughter was waiting for her, all she could think of was: if it wasn’t Katerina, then who? Who was this invisible enemy who wished them harm?
Chapter 15
As the weeks went by and the snow melted away, their food supplies seemed to melt away with it. The portions Lisa served to the partisans became smaller and smaller. All she heard three times a day, during breakfast, lunch and dinner, was: Please, Comrade Smirnova, can I have another plateful? Not much, just a little bit to tide me over. I’ve been so hungry. Another mealtime, another Please-Comrade-Smirnova from another hungry mouth, another pleading pair of eyes. Lisa would smile and shake her head, explaining politely that she didn’t have more, that if she let them have another plateful, someone else in the battalion would have to go without. Every mealtime, her heart broke a little bit more at the sight of these starving men, who risked their lives to protect her from the Nazis. But at the same time, it took all her willpower not to help herself to some of their food. Sometimes, Yulya’s cold stare was the only thing that stopped her. The emptiness in her stomach and the dull ache of hunger never went away, not even after she would devour her butter-less oats for breakfast, her watery stew for lunch and her stale bread for dinner. Her clothes were hanging off her and she could barely remember what it felt like to be full, to not want more, to not think about food. When she awoke in the morning, just before she fell asleep at night and every moment in between she would imagine her grandmother’s blinis, her mother’s borscht and her sister’s cabbage pies.
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