Daughters of the Resistance

by Lana Kortchik

  ‘But you did keep it.’

  ‘It wasn’t about the money.’ Not raising her eyes, Tamara rubbed mascara over her face with clenched fists. ‘Zina wasn’t even nice to you. I couldn’t stand the way she treated you.’

  ‘She’s still my husband’s mother.’

  ‘They came for me again, Ira. The Nazis. They no longer cared about some stupid stamp in my passport. As of last week, they started taking married women to Germany and even those with small children. I was told to pack my things and report to the station within two days.’

  ‘What does that have to do with my parents-in-law?’

  ‘Don’t you understand? I had a choice. It was either give them information or a certain death in Germany.’

  ‘Yes, you did have a choice. You chose your life over the lives of two innocent people.’

  ‘Remember Tonya from school? She left for Germany three weeks ago. I just found out from a mutual friend that she died. She was the strongest, healthiest girl I know and she died from overwork and malnutrition. I couldn’t face it.’

  ‘Why didn’t you come to me? I helped you once, I would have thought of something.’

  ‘I didn’t have the time. The Nazis were after me. I had to think fast.’

  ‘So you opened your mouth and condemned my parents-in-law to a certain death?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I feel so terrible. Now that I think about it, I can’t believe I could do such a thing.’

  ‘Nor can I.’

  ‘I was so afraid, Ira. You can’t even imagine! What was I supposed to do? What would you have done in my place?’

  Irina didn’t know what she would do if she was at risk of being taken to Germany, of leaving everything and everyone she loved behind, leaving her daughter behind. But she knew what she wouldn’t do. She would never throw two innocent people off a cliff to save her own skin. She watched Tamara’s shaking mouth and tear-stained face, her trembling hands and quivering shoulders. Who are you? she wanted to say to her friend. I don’t even know who you are. But there was little point.

  ‘I hope you can forgive me one day. I didn’t do it to hurt you. I would never do anything to hurt you and Sonya.’

  ‘You didn’t think this would hurt me? Just imagine what it will do to Maxim, to our future together. It will change everything.’ Irina couldn’t stop herself from shaking.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’ Irina narrowed her disappointed eyes on her friend. ‘Poor Dmitry. What will he do when he finds out?’

  Tamara clasped her hands together, tears in her eyes. ‘He can never find out. Please, promise me you won’t tell him. It will break his heart.’

  ‘I won’t tell him. You will.’

  ‘We are friends. How can you do this to me?’

  The disbelief on Tamara’s face almost made Irina laugh out loud. It was the same disbelief she had felt when she discovered the money in her friend’s bedroom. ‘I could ask you the same question.’

  ‘Why would you want to hurt Dmitry?’

  ‘I’m not the one hurting him. You are. I don’t want him to make the biggest mistake of his life. He has no idea who you really are. I had no idea who you are and I’ve known you my whole life.’

  Irina couldn’t look at her friend anymore. She couldn’t take the pain and distress on Tamara’s face because she didn’t want to feel sorry for her. She wanted to hate her for what she’d done. Turning around, she walked back to the bedroom, where Sonya was still sleeping, the cut on her arm dark brown from the antiseptic. How could her best friend, someone she’d known for as long as she could remember, do something so despicable? Despite the years they had spent side by side, Irina realised Tamara was a complete stranger to her. The person Irina thought she knew couldn’t have done this. The friend she had loved like a sister couldn’t have gone to the Gestapo, knowing the price for her actions would be the death of two innocent people.

  Irina thought of all the times she had complained to Tamara about her mother-in-law, of the long hours talking late into the night, sharing confidences and heartbreaks. How many times had she told her friend how much she hated Zina? Was what had happened Irina’s fault? If she hadn’t confided in her friend, would Zina and Kirill be safe now? Irina’s guilt weighed heavily on her as she lay in bed holding her daughter and praying for a miracle.

  *

  For once, Irina was grateful for her work. She needed something, anything, to take her mind off what had happened. Today her task was to check that the driveways had been swept clean, as per the Nazi order. With Sonya in her arms, she knocked on the door of the first house and a woman opened it, small, underfed and exhausted. Irina could hear children’s voices coming from inside the living room. It sounded like the woman had an army in there. ‘Sweep the driveway?’ exclaimed the woman. ‘I would do it, if only I had a minute to myself. They will set the house on fire or kill each other if I leave them alone.’ She sighed wearily. ‘Why don’t you come in? My name is Valya.’

  The army turned out to be four boys, ranging in ages from a toddler to a ten-year-old. Feeling guilty for harassing this poor woman about something as ridiculous as sweeping the driveway, Irina followed Valya to the living room and stood uncomfortably, looking at the bare walls and the poorly dressed children rolling around the floor. There was no furniture, no couch to sit on, no table or chairs.

  Valya sighed. She looked close to tears. ‘We’ve exchanged everything we had for food. How are we going to live now?’

  ‘And your husband?’

  ‘Killed at the front in 1941. His first real battle, poor man. My youngest can’t walk. He was born with weak hips. It takes all I have to put food in his mouth.’

  Irina looked at the woman, at the thin faces of the children, and her heart ached. ‘Don’t worry, I can help you. Where is your broom?’

  While Valya was busy breaking up a fistfight between the two older children, Irina placed Sonya in a swing in the front yard and swept the driveway clean. Afterwards, she washed her hands under a pipe, adjusted her hat and called out to Valya, who had one boy by the scruff of his neck like a puppy and another by his arm. ‘All done. Now you don’t have to worry about a fine.’

  ‘I don’t know how to thank you. If only every inspector was like you.’

  ‘Don’t worry. From now on it’s just me on your street. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.’ Irina wished she had some food to give to Valya for her little boys but she had barely enough to feed her own daughter. The familiar feeling of helplessness washed over her and she blinked away the tears of shame because, no matter how hard she tried to help, she could only do so much. She cursed the Nazis as she said goodbye to the woman who looked like she was about to fall over from hunger and exhaustion.

  ‘God bless you. Who are you? You are not like the rest of them,’ said Valya as Irina was walking through the gate with Sonya.

  ‘My name is Irina. I was a schoolteacher before the war.’ The words resounded heavily in her heart. It felt like a lifetime ago. A lifetime of misery and fear.

  The last house under her jurisdiction was bigger than the rest, with a porch and two large oak trees framing it like a painting. There was a swing between the trees, on which a fat ginger cat was sleeping. The woman who answered the door was plump like the cat and just as ginger. The house was unbearably hot. A wood-burning stove was lit in the kitchen. On the table Irina could see a plateful of pies, a large chunk of butter, eggs, milk, a few slices of cheese and a loaf of bread, golden and delicious. Irina was so hungry, she almost collapsed at the smell of food. She stood for a few moments, unable to take her eyes off the table.

  ‘Are you here to check the driveway? I’m so busy in the kitchen, I forgot all about it. I will do it right away.’ The woman didn’t invite Irina to sit, nor did she offer anything to eat or introduce herself.

  Irina thought she had walked into a parallel reality. Who had butter, milk and cheese in such abundance? It didn’t seem like
the woman cared about rationing her food, like everybody else in Kiev, in Ukraine, in all of the Soviet Union. It was as if there was plenty more where it all had come from. Only when Irina checked her records did she understand. The woman was what was known as Volksdeutsch – Russian of German descent. People like her enjoyed special privileges under the Nazis, especially if they were sympathetic to the new regime. Often sympathetic meant denouncing their friends and neighbours to the Gestapo and sending them to a certain death for as little as walking out into their garden to get a bucket of snow after curfew.

  ‘Is there anything else?’ asked the woman rudely. ‘Because if there isn’t, I have to take the pies out before the meat gets too dry.’

  Irina opened her notebook. ‘The driveway should have been done yesterday. I’m afraid I’ll have to issue a fine.’

  It felt strangely satisfying to stamp and sign the fine notice and hand it to the woman, who shrugged as if it didn’t concern her.

  When Irina and Sonya returned that evening, Tamara was sitting at the dining table, her eyes red. ‘I feel so bad, Ira. I don’t know what I was thinking. How could I do that to them?’

  ‘You are asking me?’ Sonya was wriggling in her arms. Irina let her go and leant to kiss her daughter on the head. She didn’t look at Tamara.

  ‘I didn’t think it through. I didn’t think they might kill them.’

  ‘What did you think the Gestapo did to families of partisans? Invite them for tea and feed them blinis?’

  ‘I thought they would question them and let them go.’

  ‘You’re a liar. You knew exactly what you were doing.’

  ‘I promise, I didn’t think.’ Tamara shook her head and her hair fell over her face in a wall of entangled curls, shielding her from Irina.

  ‘You did think. But only of yourself.’

  ‘How can I live with myself after what I’ve done?’

  Irina didn’t feel like comforting her friend. She wanted to tell her she would find a way. Selfish people always did.

  ‘Please, don’t tell Dmitry. He’s my life. I can’t imagine living without him.’

  ‘He has the right to know who you truly are.’

  ‘I thought you were my friend.’

  ‘How can I be your friend? Tomorrow, when you feel hungry or threatened again, you’ll sell me to the Nazis for a piece of bread. You’ll sell my husband and my daughter. And Dmitry, too. You are a user, Tamara, cruel and self-absorbed. I could never trust you again. And neither should Dmitry. I regret the day I met you. I wish we were never friends.’ As soon as she said those words, Irina wanted to take them back, but it was too late. Tamara stared at her in silence. She looked like she had been slapped.

  Irina locked herself in the room with her daughter and spent the next couple of hours packing what few belongings they had. After everything that had happened, she couldn’t stay here for a moment longer. Once everything was packed, she sat on the bed next to her sleeping daughter and thought about her options. She couldn’t return to the apartment she had shared with her parents-in-law. Once she was seen there, how long would it take the Nazis to take her and her daughter into custody and use them as leverage against Maxim? Her other friends were long gone – some lucky enough to evacuate before the Nazis arrived, others taken by the Nazis, because they were Jewish, because they had a father or a son fighting in the Red Army, because they had concealed prohibited weapons or distributed anti-Nazi propaganda.

  If it was just her, she would sleep on the street rather than stay in Tamara’s apartment. But she had to think of her daughter. Sonya’s safety was all that mattered. Until they heard from Maxim, Irina had nowhere to go.

  The little girl woke up and instantly started crying. ‘Are you hungry, darling?’ whispered Irina, thinking longingly of the eggs and carrots in Tamara’s string bag. But she would never take Tamara’s food. In the kitchen she had some boiled potatoes left over from the day before. She picked up Sonya and left the room. The apartment was quiet. There was no sign of Tamara in the kitchen. Peering into Tamara’s bedroom, Irina saw that the doors of her wardrobe were open, revealing empty shelves. Tamara had taken all her clothes and the blood money she had received from the Gestapo for betraying Irina’s parents-in-law.

  She was gone.

  *

  Two days after Tamara had left, on a summer-warm morning with the breeze wafting in through the open shutters and bringing with it the scent of narcissus and angry German voices, a key turned in the door, making Irina spill the porridge she was carrying. Throwing a regretful glance at what was their last cup of oats, she turned around and saw Dmitry in the doorway, flustered, unshaven and out of breath. She felt close to tears at the sight of him. He still had no idea what Tamara had done or that she was gone. Irina didn’t want to be the one to tell him. She didn’t want to be the one to break his heart.

  ‘I was able to send word to Maxim. I didn’t tell him about his parents, just that we need to see him urgently,’ he said once they’d sat down opposite each other at the dining table. Irina had a cup of steaming hot tea in front of her. Dmitry had a glass of cold water. ‘He’ll be here in a few days.’

  In a few days! The cup in her hand trembled with anticipation, with sadness. A part of her was desperate to see her husband. He had an incredible ability to make her heart a little lighter just by being around. One glimpse at his beautiful face and her troubles disappeared. If only she didn’t have to be the one to tell him about his parents. The last thing she wanted was to cause him pain. ‘I can’t stop thinking about Zina and Kirill. Where do you think they have taken them?’

  Dmitry looked inside his hands, as if searching for answers. ‘I wish I knew. They could be anywhere right now.’

  ‘I wonder if they are still alive.’

  ‘The Nazis will keep them alive for as long as they are useful to them. They don’t have Maxim yet. So yes, his parents are probably alive.’

  But for how long? Irina wanted to ask but couldn’t. She was trying hard not to cry. ‘Zina was a force of nature,’ she said, remembering Kirill’s story about her mother-in-law standing up to two boys who were harassing her neighbour. ‘She couldn’t stand injustice of any kind.’ And then she thought, Why am I talking about her in past tense, as if she is already dead? Shuddering, she continued, ‘And Kirill is the kindest man I’ve ever met. I miss him so much. I wish I had a chance to tell him that he’s been like a father to me.’

  ‘You don’t need to tell him. In his heart he already knows.’

  ‘Tamara always had a soft spot for him. She always said he had a heart of gold.’ But it didn’t stop her from going to the Gestapo and sentencing him to a certain death. Irina looked away from Dmitry, to the blotches of spilled porridge on the floor, to the curtains twitching in the wind.

  ‘Where is Tamara? I was able to find a dressmaker who could adjust one of her old dresses to make it look like a wedding dress. She’ll be so pleased.’

  There was no joy or excitement in Dmitry’s voice. He sounded tired, as if he was done with it all. Irina understood. There was no place for joy in their lives, even with a wedding to plan. And now there wasn’t going to be a wedding. How did she tell him that? When she had first found out about Tamara’s betrayal, Irina was convinced Dmitry deserved to know the truth. But now, as she was facing him, she wasn’t so sure anymore. ‘Tamara is not here,’ she said as quietly as she could.

  ‘She didn’t have to go out today. We have enough food for dinner tonight. And here, I brought some potatoes …’ He noticed the expression on Irina’s face and stopped.

  ‘She left, Dima.’

  ‘What do you mean, left? Where did she go?’

  ‘She has a cousin in Podol somewhere. I assume she’s staying with him. I don’t know exactly. She didn’t say.’

  ‘But why would she go away now, when we are about to get married?’ He laughed in grim disbelief, before his face crumpled in confusion. ‘Is it me? Did I do something?’

  ‘Of course not
.’

  ‘I thought she was happy. Did something happen? Did she say anything? Is there someone else?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’

  ‘Well, do you know where this cousin lives? I will go and find her, bring her back. At the very least we can talk. Whatever it is, we can work it out. It’s the wedding, isn’t it? She’s getting cold feet. It’s a huge step and I know it happened quickly. But I thought she wanted it as much as I did, or I wouldn’t have asked her to marry me.’

  ‘I don’t know where her cousin lives. I’m sorry.’

  Dmitry’s shoulders stooped and, when Irina next looked up at his face, he looked older by years. He disappeared behind a newspaper but Irina knew he wasn’t reading. The newspaper didn’t move, the pages didn’t turn. The house felt so quiet without Tamara’s laughter. The silence felt heavy and uncomfortable, like a premonition of something terrible to come. Irina wished for voices, for Kirill’s soft singing, for the murmur of Maxim’s guitar, even for Zina’s never-ending complaints. Anything to take her mind off the thoughts inside her head.

  As she was scraping the breakfast plates clean and rinsing them with water she had brought from the pump, she heard the sound of planes. A distant din at first, gradually it grew closer, until it was no longer quiet in the little apartment.

  It was not unusual to hear aeroplanes in occupied Kiev. The German observers were in the sky day and night, never letting Irina forget that she was living in a city at war. But now she heard something else, something she hadn’t heard in over a year and a half: a familiar whistling sound. It was followed by a loud explosion, deafening her momentarily and making her cry out in terror. The plate she was holding flew to the floor, shattering into a hundred tiny pieces and adding to the racket. As if through a thick layer of cotton wool, she heard her daughter’s petrified shrieking. Placing both arms around her, Irina pressed her close to her heart, shielding her from danger.

  ‘The Germans are bombing us? But why?’ Irina exclaimed when all was quiet again.

  ‘I don’t think it’s the Germans, Ira. Why would they bomb the city that already belongs to them?’ said Dmitry, glancing out the window at the fires blazing in the distance.