After running home, Tatiana told her family of the reduced rations. They weren’t concerned. “Two kilos of bread?” Mama said, putting away her sewing. “That’s more than enough. That’s plenty. No need to stuff ourselves like pigs in times of war. We can tighten our belts a little bit. Plus we have all that extra food just in case. We’ll be fine.”
Tatiana divided the bread into two piles—one for breakfast, one for dinner—and then divided each of the piles into six portions. She gave Papa the most bread. She gave herself the least.
At the hospital gone was the pretense of training with Vera. Tatiana was reduced to cleaning the toilets and baths for the patients and then washing their soiled bedding. She served lunch and was herself able to eat. Sometimes soldiers came in to eat. While serving them, she always asked if they were stationed in Pavlov Barracks.
Intermittent bombing continued during the day.
That night Tatiana had enough time to make dinner and clean up before the air-raid siren sounded at nine. Back to the bomb shelter. Tatiana sat and sat and sat. It’s been only two days, she thought. How many more days of this? Next time I see Alexander, I’m going to get him to tell me the truth about how long this is going to continue.
The shelter was long and narrow, painted gray, with two kerosene lamps for the sixty or so people, who sat on benches or stood leaning against the walls. “Papa,” Tatiana asked her father, “how much longer do you think?”
“It will be over in a few hours,” he said wearily. Tatiana smelled vodka heavy on his breath.
“Papa,” Tatiana said in a tired voice, “I meant . . . the fighting, the war. How much longer?”
“How should I know?” he said, trying to stand up. “Until we’re all dead?”
“Mama, what’s the matter with Papa?” Tatiana asked.
“Oh, Tanechka, you can’t be that blind. Pasha is the matter with Papa.”
“I’m not blind,” muttered Tatiana, moving away. “But his family needs him.”
Edging closer to Dasha and Marina, Tatiana asked, “Dash, Marinka here told me that Misha in Luga had a crush on me. I told her she was crazy. What do you think?”
“She is crazy.”
“Thank you.”
Marina looked at Tatiana and Dasha. “You are both crazy,” she said. “And you, Dasha, are one day going to eat your words.”
“There you go, Tania,” said Dasha, without even looking at her sister. “Maybe it’s Misha you need and not Dimitri.” She sighed.
The next day was the same. This time Tatiana brought a copy of Dostoyevsky’s Notes from the Underground with her.
The next day she said to herself, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t sit and drum out my life on my knees. So as her family was heading downstairs, Tatiana fell a little behind and then ran back through the apartment and up the rear stairs to the roof, where Anton, Mariska, and Kirill and a few other people she didn’t know were watching the sky. Tatiana thought that with a bit of luck her family might not even notice her absence.
The bursting and whistling noise from the shelling was fearful on the roof. Tatiana stayed for two hours. No bombs landed near them, much to everyone’s disappointment.
Tatiana had been right. No one realized she hadn’t gone to the shelter. “Where did you sit, Tanechka?” asked her mother. “On the other side next to the lamp?”
“Yes, Mama.”
There was no word from Alexander or Dimitri. The girls were beside themselves. They could barely be civil to each other, much less to anyone else. Only Babushka Maya, unshakable to the last, kept quiet and continued to paint.
“Babushka, where do you get your peace of mind from?” asked Tatiana one evening, brushing Babushka’s long hair that was just starting to go gray.
“I’m too old to care, sunshine,” replied Babushka. “I’m not young like you.” She smiled. “I don’t want to live quite so much.” She looked over her shoulder and touched Tatiana’s face.
“Babushka, don’t say that.” She came around to the front and hugged her grandmother. “What if Fedor comes back?”
Stroking Tatiana’s head, Babushka Maya said, “I didn’t say I didn’t want to live at all. I said not quite so much.”
Tatiana was a little worried about Marina. She was gone from the apartment from early morning until night, going to Leningrad University and then faithfully visiting her mother at the hospital.
At night Mama sewed. At night Papa drank. And screamed, and slept. At night Dasha and Tatiana listened to the radio for news. At night, there was bombing, and Tatiana sneaked out to the roof.
And during the day she heard the sound of war. It was never quiet in Leningrad. Shell fire came in two sounds, distant and nearby, stopping briefly for lunch in the afternoon and a sleep in the evening.
Tatiana worked, got bread, healed her leg, and acted as if her life had not stopped dead like the tram near the white-night Obvodnoy Canal.
Babushka Maya had a room all to herself. Mama slept alone on the sofa, and Papa slept alone on Pasha’s cot. Tatiana, Marina, and Dasha slept in the same bed. Tatiana was almost grateful for the buffer between her and Dasha, the buffer that allowed her to face the crisis of bombings by averting her eyes from the crisis of her sister, who had the right during war to love Alexander.
Not enough of a buffer. Dasha one night climbed over Marina and put her arms around Tatiana. “Tania, darling, are you asleep?”
“No. What’s the matter?”
“Do you think about them dying?” Dasha asked in the dark.
“Girls, I have school tomorrow,” said Marina. “Go to sleep.”
“Of course.” Tatiana heard Dasha’s quiet whimpers.
“Do you think they’re dead now?” asked Dasha, holding on to Tatiana.
Taking an aching breath, Tatiana inhaled for Alexander. “No,” she said. “I don’t think so.” She did not want to be talking to Dasha about Alexander. Not now. Not ever. “Dasha, worry about yourself. Look at the conditions we’re living in. Do you even see? In the hospital they asked me if I would mind leaving the kitchen and going upstairs to help with the bomb victims. I agreed, but then I saw what was left of them.” Tatiana paused. “Did you see that today across Ligovsky a whole building collapsed?”
“I didn’t see.”
“A girl, seventeen . . .”
“Like you.” Dasha squeezed her.
“Yes—was buried under the rubble. Her father was trying to help the firemen dig her out. All day they were digging. At six when I left the hospital, they had just succeeded. And she was already dead. Hole in her forehead.”
Dasha didn’t say anything.
Marina said, “Tania, did you just say you left the hospital at six? But there was bombing at six. You didn’t go to the shelter?”
“Marinka,” said Dasha. “Don’t even talk about that with her.” She whispered into Tatiana’s hair, “If you don’t start going to the shelter, I’m going to tell on you.”
That night the sirens woke them up at three in the morning. The Germans obviously wanted to have a little fun. Tatiana turned to the wall and would have continued to sleep had her family not dragged her out of bed. They crowded on the landing behind the stairs, and Tatiana thought, it can’t get much worse than this.
4
Alexander and Dimitri returned during the night of September 12, the first night and day there was no bombing at all. They had come back from Dubrovka for just one evening—to pick up more men from the garrison and more artillery weapons.
Alexander turned up, much to the tearful relief of Dasha, who would not let go of him for a second, refusing to help with dinner. Dimitri hung on to Tatiana in much the same way Dasha hung on to Alexander, but while Alexander was able to hug Dasha back, Tatiana stood like a skinned goose and looked helplessly around the room. “All right, now, all right,” she said, trying very hard not to look at Alexander’s black hair and large body, and failing. To see his shape in front of her eyes would have to be comforting enough. Sh
e would have to do without his arms around her.
When Dimitri went to wash and Dasha ran to make tea, Marina said, “You know, Tania, you could show a little more interest in the man who is fighting for you at the front.”
I’m showing plenty of interest, thought Tatiana, barely able to glance away from Alexander.
“Your cousin is right, Tania,” said Alexander, grinning at her. “You can show at least as much interest as Zhanna Sarkova, who, as we walked by her slightly ajar door, was lying on her bed with a glass to your wall.”
“She was?”
Raising his voice, Alexander took his rifle, banged once very hard on the wall and said loudly, “Have you heard this joke? A man showed a friend his apartment. The guest asked, ‘What’s the big brass basin for?’ And the man replied, ‘Oh, that’s the talking clock,’ and gave a shattering pound with a hammer.” Alexander banged the wall hard again. “Suddenly a voice on the other side of the wall screamed, ‘It’s 2 a.m., you bastard!’ ”
Tatiana laughed so loudly that Alexander put down his rifle and patted her gently on the back. “Thank you, Tania,” he said, smiling. “I’m starved. What’s for dinner?”
As Tatiana turned to go to the kitchen, she had to walk past Marina’s eyes.
Tatiana fried two cans of ham with a bit of rice that Alexander had brought, and some clear broth, which once had chicken in it. While she was cooking, Alexander came out into the kitchen to wash. Tatiana held her breath. He came up to the stove and checked under all the lids. “Hmm, ham,” he said. “Rice. What’s this, water? Don’t give me any of that.”
“It’s not water, it’s soup,” said Tatiana quietly. His bent head was very close to her arm. If she moved three centimeters, she could touch him.
Still holding her breath, she moved three centimeters.
“I’m so hungry, Tania,” Alexander said, raising his eyes to her, but before he could say another word, Marina came out to the kitchen and said, “Alexander, Dasha wanted me to give you a towel. You forgot.”
“Thanks, Marina,” said Alexander, grabbing the towel and disappearing. Tatiana stared into her clear soup, perhaps for a reflection.
Marina came over to the stove, looked inside the pot, and said, “Anything interesting in there?”
“No, not at all.” Tatiana straightened up.
“Mmm,” said Marina, walking away. “Because there is plenty of interesting out here.”
Over dinner Dasha asked, “Is the fighting terrible?”
Eating hungrily and happily, Alexander replied, “You know, strangely, no. It was the first two days, right, Dima? He knows. He was in the trenches for two days. The Germans were obviously trying to see if we would buckle. When we didn’t, they stopped attacking, and our recon guys swore to us that it looked as if the Germans were building permanent trenches. Concrete trenches and bunkers.”
“Permanent? What does that mean?” asked Dasha.
Slowly Alexander said, “It means that they are probably not going to invade Leningrad.”
The family rejoiced at this—everyone except Papa, who was half asleep on the couch, and Tatiana, who saw an ominous hesitation in Alexander’s face, a reluctance to tell the truth.
Biting her lip, Tatiana carefully asked, “Are you happy about it?”
“Yes,” Dimitri replied instantly, as if she were talking to him.
“I’m not, no,” Alexander replied slowly. “I thought we would fight,” he stated. “Fight like men—”
“And die like men!” interrupted Dimitri, banging on the table.
“And die like men, if we had to.”
“Well, speak for yourself. I’d rather the Germans sit in their bunkers for two years and starve Leningrad to death than endure their fire.”
“Oh, come on!” Alexander said, putting down his knife and fork and staring at Dimitri. “This wasting away in the trenches, you don’t think it’s a bit unbecoming? It’s almost like cowardice.” He gave Dimitri one more cold glance, wiped his mouth, and reached for the vodka. Tatiana pushed the bottle toward him from the other side of the table.
“Not at all like cowardice,” Dimitri declared. “It’s smart. You sit and you wait. When the enemy weakens, you strike. It’s called strategy.”
Nervously picking at her ham, Mama said, “Dimochka, surely you don’t mean starve Leningrad to death? Not in the literal sense, right?”
“Right, right,” said Dimitri. “I meant figuratively.”
Tatiana studied Alexander, who remained silent.
“Is there any more vodka?” Dimitri asked, lifting the nearly empty bottle. “I feel like becoming senseless tonight.”
Everyone glanced at Papa and glanced away.
“Alexander,” Tatiana said in her cheerful voice. She liked being able to say his name out loud. “Nina Iglenko came by today asking us if we could spare some flour and some ham. We have plenty, so I gave her some. She said she wished she had been as forward-thinking as we were—”
“Tania,” Alexander interrupted, and she sat heavily back in her chair. Her feelings had been right. He knew too much. And he wasn’t telling. “Don’t give a gram of your food away, for any reason, do you understand? Not even if Nina Iglenko seems more hungry than you.”
“We’re not that hungry,” said Tatiana.
“Yes, Alexander,” said Dasha, “we’ve had rations before. Where were you during the Finnish campaign of last year?”
“Fighting the Finns,” he said grimly. Tatiana wondered why Dasha always had to euphemize war into a campaign or a conflict. Was she writing propaganda for the radio?
“Dasha, all of you, listen to me. Hang on to your food as if it’s the last thing between you and death, all right?” Alexander said.
“Why do you have to be so serious?” Dasha asked sulkily. “Where’s your famous sense of humor? We’re not going to starve. The Leningrad council will get food in somehow, right? We’re not completely surrounded by the Germans, are we?”
Alexander lit a cigarette. “Dasha, do me a favor, save your food.”
“All right, dearest. You have my word.” She kissed him.
Alexander turned to Tatiana. “You, too, Tania.”
“All right.” Dearest. “You have my word.” She didn’t kiss him.
“Alexander, how long was London bombed for in the summer of 1940?” asked Dasha.
“Forty days and nights.”
“Do you think it’s going to be as long here?”
There was the question Tatiana wanted. She didn’t even have to ask it herself.
“Longer,” said Alexander. “The bombing will continue until Leningrad either surrenders or falls, or we push the Germans away.”
“Are we going to surrender?” asked Dasha. “I’ll fight the Nazis on the streets of Leningrad if I have to.”
Tatiana thought that was brave talk from Dasha, the girl who sat in the bomb shelter every night.
Shaking his head, Alexander said, “You don’t want to fight them, Dasha. A street war is devastating, not only for the besieged but also for the attacker. The loss of life is enormous. And while our beloved great leader might not set much store by the lives of his own men, Hitler maintains a surprisingly healthy interest in the lives of the Aryan race. I don’t think he will risk his men for Leningrad.” He glanced at Tatiana. “I think Dima will get his wish after all,” Alexander finished, with barely concealed contempt.
Tatiana looked at Dimitri—splayed on the couch, either asleep or in a stupor, next to her father—and went to get the cups for tea.
“Is it going to be like London?” Dasha said, throwing back her curly hair, her eyes gleaming. “London was bombed, but the people still went on with their lives, and there were clubs, and young people went dancing. We saw pictures. It all looked so gay.” She smiled at Alexander, stroking his leg.
“Dasha, where are you living? London?” Alexander exclaimed, moving away from her. “London might as well be Mars as far as you’re concerned. We don’t have dance clu
bs in Leningrad now. Do you think they will build them just for the blockade?”
Dasha’s face soured. “Blockade?”
“Dasha! London was not blockaded. Do you understand the difference?”
“Are we blockaded?” asked Dasha.
Alexander did not reply.
Mama, Dasha, Marina, and Babushka were squeezed around the table, all devouring Alexander with their eyes, all except Tatiana, who was standing in the doorway, her hands full of cups and saucers.
She did not look at him when she said, “We are indeed blockaded. That’s why the Germans have entrenched. They’re not going to lose their own men. They are going to starve us to death. Right, Alexander?”
Alexander said, “I’ve had enough questions for one evening. Just don’t give your food away.”
Mama said with disbelief, “Alexander, I heard the Germans are at Peterhof Palace. Is that true?”
“Remember we went to Peterhof, darling?” Dasha murmured, holding his hand. “Oh, Alexander, it was the happiest day! It was the last young, carefree day we had. Do you remember?”
“I remember,” Alexander said, not glancing at Tatiana.
“Nothing’s been the same since that wonderful day,” Dasha said sadly.
Turning to Mama, Alexander said, “Irina Fedorovna, Peterhof is indeed in German hands. The Nazis have taken the carpets out of the palace and are lining their trenches with them.”
“Darling,” said Dasha, sipping her tea, “maybe Dimitri was right. There are three million people still left in Leningrad. That’s too many to sacrifice, don’t you think?” She paused. “Has the Leningrad command considered giving up?”
Alexander studied Dasha. Tatiana was trying to figure out what was in his eyes.
“I mean,” Dasha continued, “if we give up—”
“Give up and then what?” Alexander exclaimed. “Dasha, the Germans have no use for us. Certainly they will have no use for you.” He paused. “Have you read about what they have done to the Ukrainian countryside?”
“I’m trying not to,” said Dasha.
“But now I have,” said Tatiana quietly.