Painting Home

by Jolma, Erika;

  "Just trying to warm up before we head on out to the Suomenlinna. It's cold out there."

  "I still don't have feeling in my hands after that ride back from the plant." Matti held up red, swollen fingers and waved them at the men.

  "I know just the cure for cold, frozen fingers, Ranta." Käärme shook his head firmly. "Come with us tonight and I'll introduce you to my tried-and-true cure for just about any ailment, glögg."

  The guys in Matti's old company had perfected their recipe for glögg on a cold night like this one. They had mixed wine and vodka with raisins, cardamom, and cinnamon until they’d said it reached perfection. One of the men had forced him to try a swig and he’d almost choked on it before forcing himself to swallow.

  No, thank you.

  "I think I'll just stay in, tonight. Listen to the radio, get some sleep."

  "Oh, no you won’t." Takala moved behind him and pushed him toward the door. "Grab your coat, Ranta. You're coming with us."

  Matti sighed visibly and grabbed his coat, buttoning it up to the top as the other guys grabbed their own parkas and cinched them tight.

  "All right, it looks as if I'm going with you." He shrugged. It actually wasn't that bad. The guys in his company were wild, but they were good men. Men he would have to rely on if they ever marched into Karelia.

  They opened the door and a snowy wind blew into the room, making Matti wish for a car. Or at least a horse. Slogging down the sidewalk in this weather wasn't exactly the most comfortable thing to do—even if it was only for a few blocks.

  "So, Ranta, you were down at Lake Lagoda last winter, right?"

  "Yes, sir.Army of the Isthmus, 4th Division, Second Corps."

  "We were in the 8th Division, Third Corps under Major General Heinrichs." The three men rattled off numbers and ranks as if they were schoolboys doing arithmetic.

  But Matti could hardly hear those numbers without thinking of Johan. Keep it together.

  Takala plodded through the snow, his boots clumping loudly so that Matti could hardly hear his voice. "It was horrible, wasn't it?"

  "Yes…it was."

  Takala stopped in his tracks and turned toward Matti. "It's been really nice to have someone else who understands what it was like. You know, in our company, Sergeant Ranta. I was beginning to think I was one amongst hundreds of greenhorns."

  Matti shifted his weight and took another step toward the street.

  Takala squinted at him. "I'm glad you're here with us."

  Matti shrugged. "Me, too. Even if you guys are dragging me out to the night club in a blizzard."

  "Hey, we're just helping you warm up."

  "That you are." Matti held open the door and brushed snow off his friend's shoulders as he walked inside. The music drowned out the loneliness that had almost overwhelmed him just an hour before.

  For the first night in months, he was able to forget all about the what-ifs surrounding his future with Anna and the war and just focus on the moment at hand.

  For those couple of hours, it felt nice to forget.

  23

  Leningrad, Russia

  Tanya paused on the sidewalk, allowing herself the luxury of stopping to listen to the violinist who strummed Russian folk songs to busy passers-by. With a frown, Tanya shook her head. It was downright blasphemous that Russian folk songs were being strummed on the streets of Leningrad today, on St. Nicolas's Day, of all days.

  Tanya closed her eyes and allowed the violin music to transport her back to Christmases past. She pictured a brightly decorated tree that her Papa had hauled in from the woods behind their house on St. Nicolas's Day. That day they had feasted opulently on roasted pork, sauerkraut soup, and koliadkis fresh from the oven before sitting down in the candlelight to exchange small gifts.

  A beautiful Christmas memory—one that was quickly stuffed into the recesses of her mind, only to be treasured in solitude after the Bolsheviks banned Christmas. Oh, her Papa had been angry the day he’d heard the government mandate that New Year's trees would now be decorated instead of Christmas trees. And Russian folk songs would replace Christmas carols at holiday concerts and gatherings.

  Standing there, listening to the folk music, Tanya chuckled when she thought about that mandate. Sure, the Bolsheviks thought they were stealing Christmas from Russia, but in reality, they were only making it more special. Stealing Christ's holy day from a nation of dedicated Catholics was akin to stealing Nazi tanks from an angry company of Germans.

  After the ban, her parents made sure their Christmases were even more Christ-centered. They made sure their only daughter understood the true meaning of Christmas regardless of what the government claimed. And she understood.

  She looked back at the violin player and briefly considered throwing a kopek into his worn case, but stopped herself. She had none to spare. Not if she was to survive the rest of the winter with a new baby.

  Tanya swallowed a lump in her throat and did her best to push aside the clamoring memories of the last few weeks. Memories of flirtatious smiles, of awkward kisses, of…

  She shuddered. She hadn't had a choice, had she?

  The man had offered her five hundred rubles. Enough to pay for milk for her baby for months.Enough to pay for a roof over their heads. Enough to make sure her baby survived. Enough to send her out onto the streets with a slip of paper in hand today.

  It had been worth it, hadn't it?

  She turned the corner onto Sadovaya Street, peering in awe at the Church of the Savior on Blood that loomed ahead. Nicolai would've loved the place—the brightly colored onion-shaped domes towering over the dingy city streets, a bright spot in her field of vision. But she wasn't on a tour of Leningrad today.

  She was on a mission.

  Tanya walked a few more blocks toward the church and stopped to check the crudely drawn map Feodora had sketched for her this morning. Yes, this was it. Turning, Tanya looked warily down the street as the houses seemed to grow more run down and decrepit with each step.

  This wasn't the nice part of town. But it wasn't the Azoz Sanatoria either. And it wasn't as if she had any hope of living in the nice part of town ever again. Not with what she did for a living.

  Tanya pulled her coat collar tight and reminded herself that it was all for the baby. Nicolai's baby. And the heavy jingling in her pocket reminded her she was well-fed, well-clothed, and warm…thanks to her work.

  The alternative was so much worse.

  She stepped up to house number 423, removed her gloves, and knocked lightly.

  "Coming!" A cheery voice called from inside.

  Rubbing her hands together, Tanya surveyed her surroundings. Tall apartment buildings crowded the street, leaving no room for trees or bushes or even weeds to grow. Instead, a concrete jungle of sidewalks, paver-brick streets and crumbling houses spread for as far as she could see. An endless sea of grays and browns.

  "Hello." The door creaked loudly as it opened before it settled at an unseemly angle, revealing a thin woman with wispy grey hair. She wore a peach-colored housedress and dull grey glasses.

  "Hello. I'm Tanya Egerov. Feodora's friend. I'm here to look at your attic bedroom."

  "Why, yes, hello Tanya. I'm Vera." The woman's gaze fell on Tanya's belly with a questioning look.

  Tanya hung her head, feeling a sudden urge to explain her circumstances. "My husband died last summer."

  Vera's eyes grew soft. "Oh, poor thing. Come on in!" She stepped aside, allowing Tanya to enter a tiny entryway with peeling pink and lilac flowered wallpaper on every wall. Tanya moved to the side of the foyer and waited to follow Vera's lead.

  Vera hobbled through a tiny door to their right, stopping every few steps to rub a spot on her back as if each footfall pained her. She chatted busily as she led Tanya down a narrow, dark hallway. "When I ran into Feodora last week at the gastronom and she told me that she was staying in that awful Azoz Sanatroia, I immediately told her she had to move in here. My attic bedroom has been sitting empty since my Sergei
enlisted. I just wish I had found her sooner. Do you know that Feodora's grandmama and I were best friends when we were girls?"

  Tanya stared at Vera's crinkled lips and tried to keep up with the conversation. It was the first time anyone other than Feodora had paid her even a modicum of respect in weeks. She wasn't quite sure how to take it.

  Vera continued. "Anyway, it's just awful what has happened to poor, sweet Feodora. I love her like she was my own child, you know. The granddaughter I never had. I’d always hoped she would fall in love with my Sergei and they would give me some great-grandbabies…" She turned a corner and headed up a dark, rickety staircase. "Of course, the war does funny things. Sergei enlisted in an officer's training program after his daddy was hauled off and hasn’t been around here since. I live here all alone, you know." She rubbed her lower back again, cringing as she hobbled up the last few stairs. "You have a good friend in Feodora. I told her to go pack her things and move in here right now and she said she couldn't unless you could come with her. That girl is always looking out for others. Such a dear thing."

  Tanya frowned, her view of Feodora clouded by images of her friend guzzling vodka and flirting with men in order to make a few rubles. She loved her, of course, but she had never seen the side of her that Vera described. "Yes, Feodora is wonderful."

  "Anyway, I told Feodora that I wish I could just let you stay here for free, but I'm hardly making ends meet right now, what with the war and all." Vera swung open a thin wood door to reveal a tiny attic bedroom, complete with two twin beds with thick, flowered bedspreads, a wash pan and a tiny armoire in the corner. "So she said you two could pay five hundred rubles a month, which would go a long way in helping me pay my bills. I've been worried that I could lose this place. Do you think you could come up with that?" Vera looked at her hopefully, swinging her arm out into the room and pointing to the features.

  Tanya smiled. It was the most beautiful room she had ever seen—clean and homey and private enough to nurse a baby without dozens of drunk revelers screaming obscenities. Gulping down her smile, Tanya considered the idea of paying two hundred fifty rubles a month—her share of the rent. She had enough in her pocket to pay her portion through the end of February, but after that, she'd have to start earning money again. Somehow.

  Suddenly, the room felt stuffy and she leaned against the wall, trying to get hold of her emotions. Was there any hope of ever finding a respectable job?

  Vera caught sight of her. "Oh, dear, are you all right?"

  "Yes, I just got a bit queasy for a minute. I probably need to get off my feet."

  Vera smiled. "Oh, come down and have tea with me, my dear. I don't have sugar, but I have plenty of honey and some cream." She led her down the stairs, looking back at Tanya every few moments.

  With a sigh of relief, Tanya followed Vera and took one last glance at the room. Wouldn't it be wonderful to finally have peace and quiet and warmth? And since she had saved up some money, she could spend the next few months hanging out here with Vera, helping her with the house and resting to get ready for her new arrival.

  This was perfect.

  Thank You, Lord, for providing. She swallowed the prayer, reminding her stubborn heart that she didn't pray anymore.

  Plus, God hadn't provided her this room, Feodora had. Feodora and Vera.

  "Can I help you make tea?"

  "No, dear, I can manage. You just sit down right here and put those feet up. You must be exhausted. I remember when I was eight months pregnant with my Lillya. My ankles were so swollen I could hardly get my boots on. I'd just lay here with my feet propped up on the table and pray that baby girl would come."

  Tanya sank down onto the couch, resting for what felt like the first time in months. She looked around the tiny parlor. She stared at fading brown-and-gray pictures of happy children and happier times. An old wedding photo hung in an oval frame in the center of the wall. Tanya started to ask Vera about it but stopped herself.

  She had enough to cry about without hearing the sob stories of others.

  Vera hobbled into the room, a tray with china teacups and a steaming pot balancing on her frail wrists. Setting it down gingerly, she poured Tanya a glass and then poured her own cup before sitting and taking a tentative sip.

  "So, my dear. Will this work for you and Feodora?"

  "Yes. It's just lovely." Tanya meant it. Sure, the house was starting to fall apart, but that didn't matter. It was clean and safe.

  But what if Vera found out what she and Feodora did for a living? They would end up on the streets.

  Was it better to move into this wonderful house if she would lose it in a matter of months? Or would it be smarter to stay at the Azoz Sanitoria, where at least she knew her baby would have a roof over her head?

  24

  Leningrad, Russia

  "She'll find out, Feodora."

  "No, she won't. We'll be discreet."

  Tanya glared at her friend. "You are never discreet. Not when you're drinking."

  "Well, then I won't drink when Vera is home. We can't turn away from this opportunity. You can't stay here." Feodora pointed to Tanya's bulging belly and then at the dingy room at the Azoz Sanatoria, cringing as she scanned dilapidated cots and peeling walls.

  She was right. Tanya would give almost anything to get away from here before the baby was born. There were more than twenty people crowded into this tiny room, most of them hard of luck. One peep from the baby and she'd be kicked out on the streets by a drunk, angry mob.

  "But how will we earn the five hundred rubles a month without…you know?"

  "We'll just have to cross that bridge when we get there." Feodora's face was steely with determination. "We have enough saved up to get us through February. Maybe by then the war will be over and someone will hire us to file or something."

  "Maybe."

  "In the meantime, I don't see any better options than us moving in with Vera, do you?"

  Tanya sighed and looked at her swollen belly. She didn't really have a choice, did she? "No. I don't." Tanya clenched her jaw, the reality of her circumstance once again causing her heart to despair. "Can you promise not to tell Vera about what we do?”

  "Promise!" Feodora grinned widely, reaching under her cot to grab a dingy knapsack. She started filling it with her few belongings.

  "So you will leave that here?" Tanya pointed to her flask and the half-empty bottle of vodka lying on her friend's cot.

  Feodora looked up with sad eyes and blew out a deep breath. "You know I can't do that." A tear trickled down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away.

  Tanya looked at her friend, her heart softening. "It's all right, Fe. We'll figure it out. I'm just glad we have somewhere to get away from this."

  The two stopped talking, focused instead on packing their possessions to leave the Azoz as soon as possible.

  The boom of footsteps pounding up the stairs broke the awkward silence between the two friends.

  Oleg Titov, one of the men who slept five cots down, burst into the room carrying a wrinkled stack of leaflets. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he huffed, "Stalin's guys just dropped these."

  President Stalin employed a troop of fixed-wing planes that flew through the skies with the sole purpose of sending important messages to the people.

  Feodora and Tanya each grabbed one of the pamphlets and started reading. "Be ready to protect the USSR from evil regimes! Learn to shoot accurately today!"

  The pamphlet showed an angry looking solider pointing a gun at a looming monster holding a Nazi swastika and a Finn flag.

  Tanya trembled. She had grown up under an oppressive regime, and her father had lost his life because of Stalin's great purge. The thought of a worse enemy taking over in Russia terrified her.

  She looked up at Feodora, who was still reading. "Do you think it's true, Fe? Would Hitler dare come to Russia?"

  Feodora shook her head adamantly. "No way, Tanya. Hitler would be crushed the moment he crossed our border. Plus, I heard M
olotov and Hitler are pals. In fact, Molotov is probably drinking a stein of beer at Hitler's hunting lodge as we speak."

  Tanya glanced away and then grabbed another flier from Oleg. This one was a single page with a fierce-looking soldier standing at attention. Across the top, it read Long live Red Army of workers and peasants, the true guard of the Soviet borders! On the bottom it read, We can all play a part in this great, patriotic battle.

  Tanya couldn't help but smile at this one.

  It claimed that peasants like her—women who had no money to buy war bonds and no ability to fight—could also play a part in saving Russia, of making it better. But what could she do? Nudging Feodora with her elbow, she showed her the flier and then saluted her friend with a grin.

  "Long live the Red Army, soldier!"

  Feodora grabbed the flier and read it quickly before saluting back. "At ease, soldier!" She stood up on her cot, as if she were leading her troops into battle.

  Oleg and the rest of the group rolled their eyes at them and turned to lay on their cots.

  Tanya couldn't help but dissolve into a fit of giggles. Just imagine Feodora in the Red Army. She certainly would keep things interesting. "But really, Fe, how can we play a part? I can hardly buy myself bread."

  Feodora grinned and winked. "I think we do plenty to boost the morale of the soldiers."

  Tanya blanched. That wasn't exactly the contribution she had envisioned. Maybe knitting socks? Or collecting food stuffs? "No, Fe, what can we really do? Maybe I can knit some socks while I'm in my lying-in period?"

  "Where will you get the money to buy yarn?"

  Feodora was right. She was probably the lone person in all of Russia who had nothing to give to the war effort. She folded up the fliers in her hand and stuffed them into Nicolai's satchel along with her few earthly possessions. No, she wasn't much help to the war effort, but at least she was getting out of the Azoz Sanatoria.

  Maybe her baby would someday make a great contribution to the world, to the motherland. That was, if her baby survived the next few months.

  25