2

The leaflets rained down as they had in Luga. First the leaflets, then the bombs. The difference was, there had been food then, and it was warm. The difference was, back then Tatiana had believed in many things. She had believed she would find Pasha. She had believed the war would soon be over. She had believed Comrade Stalin.

Nowadays she believed in only one faint but immutable thing.

In one immutable man.

Now the leaflets that rained down from the Luftwaffe planes proclaimed to her in Russian: Women! Wear your white dresses. Wear your white dresses so when you walk along Suvorovsky to get your 250 grams of bread, we can see you from 200 meters in the sky, and not shoot you and not throw bombs your way.

Wear your white dress and live, Tatiana! was what the leaflets shouted to her.

Tatiana saved one, a few days before the twenty-fourth celebration of the Russian Revolution on November 7. She brought it home and carelessly dropped it on the table. There it stayed until the next day, when Alexander returned, thinner than he had been two weeks earlier, his face more gaunt. Gone was the twinkling glance, gone was the perpetual smile, gone the charm and the liveliness. Gone.

What was left was a man who hugged Dasha and even Mama, who hugged him back and said, “Good to see you, dearest. Good to see you. We can’t bear to think about you in that wet and cold.”

“It’s drier, but not much warmer here,” said the man, who hugged Babushka standing against the wall in the hallway, because she could not stand unsupported anymore, and who pecked Marina on the cheek, and who, when he turned to Tatiana standing awkwardly by the door, holding on to the brass handle, could not bring himself to come over and touch her. Couldn’t, despite the fact that his dark eyes lingered on her. He waved to her. That was something. Waved, turned and walked inside the room, put down his rifle, took off his heavy coat, sat, and asked for his soap. The girls twittered around him. Dasha brought him a piece of bread, which he swallowed whole. Marina stared at the bread before he ate it.

“It’s Revolution Day tomorrow, Alexander. Will there be a little extra to celebrate with?” Dasha asked.

“I’ll get you some food when I go back to the barracks. I’ll bring some tomorrow, all right?”

“What about now? Do you have anything now?”

“I came straight from the front, Dasha. I have nothing today.”

Tatiana stepped forward. “Alexander, do you want a cup of tea? I’ll make you some.”

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll make it!” barked Dasha, and disappeared.

Taking out a cigarette, Alexander lit it and offered it to Tatiana. “Have a smoke,” he said quietly. “Go ahead.”

Shaking her head, Tatiana looked at him, puzzled. “You know I don’t smoke.”

“I know,” Alexander said. “But it’ll lessen your appetite.” He paused. “What? What are you looking at me like that for?” He smiled faintly. “Keep looking,” he whispered.

Staring at him with her clear, affectionate eyes, Tatiana couldn’t help herself. She placed her glove-clad hand on the back of his uniform and patted him softly. “Shura,” she whispered, “you’re still months behind us, aren’t you? I have no appetite.” She took her hand away. He put the cigarette into his own mouth.

Standing behind Alexander, Babushka and Marina watched them. Tatiana didn’t care. His face was to her. Marina said, coming up to them, “Alexander, offer me a cigarette, why don’t you? To lessen my appetite.”

Taking the cigarette out of his mouth, Alexander handed it to Marina, who took it and said to Tatiana, “Are you sure you don’t want a smoke? It’s just been in his mouth, Tania.”

Alexander looked from Marina to Tatiana with a tired, slightly bemused expression. “Marinka,” he said, “have the cigarette and leave Tania alone.”

Picking up the Nazi leaflet off the table, he said, “To celebrate the glorious revolution, Leningrad Party chief Zhdanov is trying to get a couple of tablespoons of sour cream for the children. There might be—”

He stopped talking. Reading the leaflet more carefully, he said, “What’s this?”

“Oh, nothing,” said Tatiana, stepping closer to the table. Marina had sat down. Babushka continued to stand against the wall. Tatiana opened her coat and showed Alexander the white dress with the red roses she was wearing underneath.

Alexander paled. “Is that your dress?” he asked, his voice breaking.

Only Tatiana stood in front of Alexander, and only Tatiana could see what his eyes were filled with. Stepping away from him, she shook her head at him imperceptibly, to say, no, stop, this room is too small for us, stop.

“Yes, that’s my dress,” Tatiana said, looking at the dress hanging off her. She closed her coat.

Dasha came through, shutting the door behind her with her foot. “Alex, here, have some tea. It’s weak, but tea is something we still have. Not much else, mind you, not much—” She broke off. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” Alexander looked back down at the leaflet. “What’s this?”

Dasha looked at Marina quizzically, and Marina just shrugged as if to say, I’ll be damned if I know.

Tatiana remained standing. “That’s why I’m wearing a white dress,” she said to Alexander. “To avoid being hit.”

Alexander shot up from his seat so fast that he spilled the hot tea all over himself. Holding the leaflet, he banged his fist hard on the table. “Are you crazy?” he yelled at Tatiana. “Have you lost your mind?”

Dasha grabbed him by the sleeve. “Alexander, are you crazy? What are you shouting at her for?”

“Tania!” he yelled again, taking a lunging step toward her. Tatiana did not back away; she blinked.

Dasha got between them, pushing Alexander away. “Sit down, what’s the matter with you? Why are you shouting?”

Alexander sat down, never taking his eyes off Tatiana, who reached behind the sofa, got an old rag, came to the table, and started wiping up the spilled tea.

“Tania,” Dasha said, “don’t come so close to him. Or in a minute he’ll—”

“In a minute I’ll what, Dasha?” Alexander said.

“Forget it, Dash,” Tatiana said quietly. Picking up the empty teacup, she started toward the door.

Alexander grabbed her arm. “Tania, put the cup down and go change your dress.” He didn’t let go of her arm, but added, “Please.”

Tatiana put the cup down.

“Tania,” said Alexander, his eyes boring into her. How she wished he would stop holding her arm and looking at her. “Tania, do you know what the Germans did in Luga? You were there, didn’t you see? They rained these leaflets down on the volunteer women and young girls, who were digging the trenches and potatoes. Wear your white dresses and white shawls, they said, and we’ll know you’re civilian women and we’ll avoid shooting at you. The women said, oh, all right, and happily went to change and put on their best whites, and the Germans, as they were flying overhead, saw their dresses from 300 meters in the sky and slaughtered them all right there in the trenches. It made targeting them so much easier.”

Tatiana pulled her arm from him.

“Now, go and change. Put on something brown. And warm.” Alexander got up. “I’ll make my own tea.” Looking at Dasha, he added coldly, “And, Dasha, do me a favor — don’t ever confuse me with anyone who has hurt your sister.”

“Can you stay?” Dasha asked.

He shook his head. “Have to report to the garrison by nine.”

They ate soup with a bit of cabbage leaf. Black bread as heavy as brick, a few tablespoons of buckwheat kernels, and some unsweetened tea. They gave Alexander a shot of their precious vodka. He went and found wood in the basement and made a nice fire. It got warm in the room. How remarkable, Tatiana thought.

Alexander was at the table, with Dasha on one side and Mama on the other and Marina standing behind him. Babushka remained on the couch. And Tatiana was in the farthest corner, looking into her beige tea. Everyone was around Alexander, except for her. She couldn’t even get close.

“Alexander?” Mama asked. “Dear, it must be so hard for you at the front thinking about food all the time, like us.”

“Irina Fedorovna,” said Alexander, “I’ll tell you a little secret.” He bent his head to her. “When I’m at the front, I don’t think about food at all.”

Rubbing his arm, Mama spoke again. “Is there any way you can get my girls out of Leningrad? We’re almost out of food.”

Shaking his head and trying to disentangle himself from the women, Alexander said, “It’s impossible. Anyway, you know that I’m not on the Ladoga command. I’m below on the Neva, bombing the German positions across the river in Shlisselburg.” He shuddered. “They’re just relentless. But besides, the lake is not frozen over yet, and the barges — There are over two million civilians in Leningrad, and only a few thousand have been evacuated by barge out of the city, all of them children with their mothers.”

“We are also children with our mothers,” said Dasha.

“Small children with their mothers,” Alexander corrected himself. “All of you work — who is going to let you go? You and Dasha are making uniforms for the army,” he said to Mama, patting her. “Tania works in the hospital. How are you doing there, Tania?” His eyes were on her. She had moved near the window, away from the dining table.

Tatiana shrugged. “Today I sewed forty-two sacks. Still wasn’t enough — seventy-eight people died. Mama, I wish I could bring a sewing machine home for you.”

Mama turned around and glared at Babushka on the couch, who said in a defeated voice, “You used to like the potatoes I brought, daughter. Now I have nothing to give you.”

“Tomorrow,” said Alexander, “I will bring potatoes from the army store. I’ll bring you a little white flour. I’ll bring you everything I can. But I can’t get you out. Did you hear about the gunboat Konstructor? It was crossing Ladoga with women and children on board, headed around the Ladoga horn to Novaya Ladoga, and it was hit. The captain avoided one bomb. The second one sank his ship, drowning all 250 people.”

Dasha declared, “I would rather take my chances here in Leningrad than die in the cold sea like that.”

“How have you all been holding up?” Alexander said. “Marina, are you hanging in there?”

“Barely,” Marina said. “Look at us all.”

“You’ve looked better,” Alexander agreed, glancing at Tatiana, who said emptily, without glancing at him, “Anton died. Last week.”

“Yes,” said Dasha. “Maybe now Nina will stop coming around asking you for food for him.”

“I’m sorry Anton died, Tania,” Alexander said. “You’re not giving away your food, are you?”

Tatiana didn’t reply. “Have you heard from Dimitri?” she asked, changing the subject. “We haven’t heard a word.”

Lighting a cigarette and shaking his head, Alexander said, “Dimitri is in the Volkhov Hospital fighting for his life. I’m sure he doesn’t have the energy to write.” He and Tatiana glanced at each other.

The air-raid siren sounded. Alexander looked around the table. No one moved. “Does anyone go down to the shelter anymore, or has Tania corrupted each and every one of you?” he asked over the shrill wailing sound.

Wrapping her cardigan tighter around herself, Dasha replied, “Marina and I still go every once—”

“Tania, when was the last time you went to the shelter?” interrupted Alexander.

Tatiana shrugged. “I went just last week,” she said. “I sat next to a woman who wasn’t speaking to me. I struck up a conversation three times until I realized she was dead. And not recently dead either.” Tatiana raised her eyebrows.

“Tania, tell the truth,” said Dasha. “You were there for five seconds, and the bombing went on that night for three hours. And when was the time before that?”

“September,” said Mama casually, getting up and going to get her sewing.

“Mama, you know what? You’re a fine one to talk,” exclaimed Dasha. “You haven’t been there since September either.”

“I have work to do. I’m trying to make extra money. You should do the same.”

“I do, Mama! I just take my sewing to the bomb shelter.”

“Yes, and I saw what you did to that uniform — attaching the arm upside down. Can’t sew in the near-dark, Dasha.”

While they were bickering, Tatiana watched Alexander, and he watched Tatiana.

“Tania,” he asked, “you haven’t taken off your gloves all night. Why? It’s so warm in the room. Stop standing by the window where it’s cold. Come and sit down with us.”

“Oh, Alexander!” Marina exclaimed, putting her arm around him. “You’re not going to believe what your Tanechka did last week.”

“What did she do?” he asked, turning to Marina.

Dasha stepped in with, “Your Tanechka? No, Alexander, we mean, you really won’t believe it.”

“I want to tell it.” Marina was petulant.

“Somebody tell it,” said Alexander.

Tatiana groaned. “Do I have to stay for this?” she said, walking over to the table and collecting the cups. “Maybe Alexander can throw some more wood on the fire.”

He immediately rose and went to the stove, saying, “I can throw wood on the fire and listen.”

Dasha continued for Marina. “Last Saturday, Marinka and I were coming back from the public canteen on Suvorovsky. We had left Tania in the room, we thought peacefully sleeping, but as we’re coming back, Kostia from the second floor is running toward us on the street, yelling, ‘Hurry, your sister is on fire! Your sister is on fire!’ ”

Alexander came back to the table and sat down. His eyes were still on her, but Tatiana had noticed they had become considerably less warm.

“Tania, dear, why don’t you tell Alexander the rest?” Dasha said. “I think it would be more fun coming from you. Tell him what happened.”

Tatiana, her hair short, her eyes sunken, her frame withered away, her arms full of her family’s dishes, said, “Nothing happened.”

“Why don’t you tell me, Tatiana?” said Alexander, glaring at her.

She tutted and stared at Marina with disapproval. “Kostia is too small to be on the roof by himself. I went up to help him. A very small incendiary exploded, and he couldn’t put the fire out by himself. I helped him, that’s all.”

“You went out onto the roof?” Alexander said quietly.

“Just for an hour,” she said, trying to be jovial, shrugging a little, managing a smile. “It was really nothing. There was a small fire. I used the sand, and in five minutes put it out. Kostia is a hysteric.” She glared at Marina. “And he’s not the only one.”

“Really, Tania?” Dasha exclaimed. “Don’t keep giving Marina the evil eye. A hysteric? Why don’t you take off your gloves and show Alexander your hands.”

Alexander was mute.

Tatiana moved toward the door with her load. “Like he wants to see my hands.”

“You know what?” Alexander said, standing up. “I don’t want to see anything. I’m leaving. I’m late.”

He grabbed his rifle, his coat, his rucksack and was out the door without even brushing past Tatiana.

After he left, Dasha looked at Tatiana, at Marina, at Mama, at Babushka. “What was wrong with him?” she asked wearily.

No one spoke for a moment.

From the couch Babushka said, “Much, much fear.”

“Marinka,” said Tatiana, “why? You know he worries about all of us endlessly. Why worry him further with nonsense? I’m fine on that roof, and my hands will be fine, too.”

“Tania is right! And what did you mean by ‘your’ Tanechka anyway?” Dasha demanded, whirling round to Marina.

“Yes, Marina, what did you mean?” asked Tatiana, looking angrily at her cousin, who replied that it was just a figure of speech.

“Yes, a stupid figure of speech,” said Dasha.