Текст книги "The Bronze Horseman"

Автор книги: Paullina Simons

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Текущая страница: 24 (всего у книги 47 страниц)

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.

3

That night Tatiana dreamed that she did not sleep, that the night lasted all year, and that in the dark his fingers found her.

In the early morning there was a knock on the door as she was getting up. It was Alexander. He had brought them two kilos of black bread and a cupful of buckwheat kernels. Everyone besides Tatiana was still in bed. He waited for her in the kitchen with his arms crossed and his eyes cold while she brushed her teeth over the kitchen sink. He mentioned that the toilet smelled worse than ever. Tatiana was beyond noticing.

She was already dressed. She slept dressed.

“Shura,” Tatiana said, “don’t go out now. It’s so cold. I can carry a kilo of bread. I think I can still do that. Give me your ration card, I’ll get yours, too.”

“Oh, Tatiana,” Alexander said, “the day has not come when you’ll be getting my rations.”

“Really?” she snapped, moving toward him so quickly that he actually backed away a step. “If you can go to the front, Alexander—”

“Like I have any choice—”

“Like I have any choice. I can get your rations for you. Now, give me your card.”

“No,” he said. “Let me get your coat. How are your hands?”

“They’re fine,” she said, showing them. She wanted him to take hold of them, to touch them, but he didn’t. He just stared at her with the same cold eyes.

They went out into the bitterness together. It was minus ten degrees. At seven o’clock the skies were still dark, and there was a shrieking wind that got underneath Tatiana’s coat and into her ears, whistling its Arctic lament for ten blocks to the store. Inside the store was better, and there were only thirty people ahead of them. It might take only forty minutes this time, Tatiana thought.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Alexander said, his voice tinged with barely suppressed anger. “That here it is November, and you’re still doing this by yourself.”

Tatiana didn’t reply. She was too sleepy to reply. She shrugged, pulling her scarf tighter around her head.

Alexander said, “Why do you do this? Dasha is perfectly capable of going. At the very least she can come with you. Marina, too. Why do you continue to go alone?”

Tatiana didn’t know what to say. First she was too cold, and her teeth were chattering. After a few minutes she warmed up, but her teeth were still chattering, and she thought, why do I go on my own, during air raids, and cold, and dark? Why don’t we ever switch? “Because if Marina goes, she eats the rations on the way home. Because Mama sews every morning. Because Dasha does laundry. Who am I going to send? Babushka?”

Alexander didn’t reply, but the anger didn’t leave his face.

Tatiana touched his coat. He moved away. “Why are you upset with me?” she asked. “Because I went out onto the roof?”

“Because you don’t—” He broke off. “Because you don’t listen to me.” He sighed. “I’m not upset with you, Tatia. I’m angry at them.”

“Don’t be,” she said. “It all just happened this way. I’d rather be out here than washing laundry.”

“Oh, because Dasha is washing laundry so often? You could be sleeping late six days a week like she is.”

“Listen, she is having a hard time with all this. I started going—”

“You started going because they told you to, and you said all right. They said, oh, and can you cook for us, too, and you said all right, broken leg and all.”

“Alexander, what are you upset about? That I do what they tell me to? I also do what you tell me to.”

Gritting his teeth, he said, “You do what I tell you to? Are you off the fucking roof? Are you in the shelter? Have you stopped giving your food to Nina? Yes, you do what I tell you.”

“You think I listen to them more?” Tatiana said incredulously. It wasn’t their turn yet. A dozen people still ahead of them in line. A dozen people listening to them. “I thought you said you weren’t upset with me?”

“I’m not upset about that. You want to know what I’m upset about?”

“Yes,” she said tiredly. She didn’t really.

“Everything they ask of you, you do.”

“So?”

“Everything,” he said. “They say, go, you say, all right. They say, give me, you say, how much? They say, go away, you say, fine. They hit you, you defend them. They say, I want your bread, I want your milk, I want your tea, I want your—”

Suddenly seeing where he was going, Tatiana tried to stop him. “No, no,” she said, shaking her head. “No, don’t.”

Through clamped teeth, trying to keep his voice quiet, Alexander continued. “They say, he’s mine, and you say, all right, all right, he’s yours, of course, take him. Nothing matters to me at all. Not me, not my food, not my bread, not my life, and not him either, nothing matters to me.” He brought his face very close to hers and whispered angrily, “I, Tatiana, fight for nothing.”

“Oh, Alexander,” Tatiana said, looking at him with intense reproach.

They fell silent until they got their rations. Alexander received potatoes, carrots, bread, soya milk and butter. And sour cream.

On the street he carried the bag with the food, and she walked mutely beside him. He was walking too fast; she couldn’t keep up. First Tatiana slowed down, and when she saw that he did not shorten his stride, she stopped.

Turning around, Alexander barked, “What?”

“You go ahead,” Tatiana said. “Go ahead home. I can’t walk that fast. I’ll be along.”

He came back and gave her his arm. “Let’s go,” he said. “To celebrate our Russian Revolution, the Germans are going to start bombing in a few minutes, and mark my words, they will not end until late tonight.”

Tatiana took his arm. She wanted to cry, and she wanted to keep up, and she wanted not to be cold. Snow seeped inside her ripped boots that were tied together with twine. Sorrow seeped inside her ripped heart that was tied together with twine.

They trod through the snow looking at their feet.

“I didn’t give you away, Shura,” Tatiana said finally.

“No?” There was so much bitterness in his voice.

“How can you do that? How can you turn the right thing I did for my sister into a tragic flaw on my part? You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“I am ashamed of myself,” he said.

She held on tighter to his arm. “You’re supposed to be the strong one. I don’t see you fighting for me.”

“I fight for you every day,” said Alexander, walking faster again.

Pulling on him to slow down, Tatiana laughed soundlessly, the spirit taken away from her by the weakness of her body. “Oh, asking Dasha to marry you is fighting for me, is it?”

From above, Tatiana heard the thunderous burst of clapping followed by a high-pitched warble, becoming more insistent, but not nearly as insistent as the sirens of her heart. “Now that Dimitri is a wounded dystrophic and out of the picture, you’re getting brave!” Tatiana exclaimed. “Now that you think you don’t have to worry about him, you are allowing yourself all sorts of liberties in front of my family, and now you’re getting angry with me over what’s long passed. Well, I won’t have it. You’re feeling bad? Go and marry Dasha. That’ll make you feel better.”

Alexander stopped walking and pulled her into a doorway.

They got caught in the downpour. Bombs bombs bombs.

“I didn’t ask her to marry me!” he yelled. “I agreed to marry Dasha to get Dimitri off your back! Or have you forgotten?”

Tatiana yelled, “Oh, so that was your grand plan! You were going to marry Dasha for me! How thoughtful of you, Alexander, how humane!”

The words were coming out angry, hurled at him between her frozen breaths, and Tatiana grabbed his coat as she pulled her body against him and pressed her face into his chest. “How could you!” she yelled. “How could you…” she whispered. “You asked her to marry you, Alexander…” Did she yell that or whisper it? Tatiana shook him—it was weak and pathetic—and she pounded his chest with her small mittened fists, but it wasn’t pounding, it was tapping. Alexander grabbed her and hugged her to him so hard that the breath left her body.

“Oh, God,” he whispered. “What are we doing?” He didn’t let go. She closed her eyes, her fists remaining on his chest.

Waiting it out in the doorway, she said, looking up at him, “What’s the matter, Shura? Are you afraid for me? Do you feel I’m close to death?”

“No,” he said, not looking down at her.

“Do you have a clear picture of me dying?” she asked, pulling away and going to stand on the other side of the doorway.

When at last Alexander spoke, his choking voice revealed his emotion. “When you die, you’ll be wearing your white dress with red roses, and your hair will be long and falling around your shoulders. When they shoot you, up on your damn roof or walking alone on the street, your blood will look like another red rose on your dress, and no one will notice, not even you when you bleed out for Mother Russia.”

Trying to swallow the lump in her throat, Tatiana said, “I took the dress off, didn’t I?”

Alexander stared onto the street. “It doesn’t matter. Think about how little actually matters now. Look what’s happening. Why are we even standing here? Let’s walk home. Walk home, holding your 300 grams of bread. Let’s go.”

Tatiana didn’t move.

He didn’t move. “Tania, why are we still pretending?” he asked. “Why? For whose sake? We have minutes left. And not good minutes. All the layers of our life are being stripped away, and most of our pretenses, too, even mine, and yet we still continue with the lies. Why?”

“I’ll tell you why! I’ll tell you for whose sake!” Tatiana exclaimed. “For her sake. Because she loves you. Because you want to comfort her in the minutes she has left. That’s why.”

“What about you, Tania?” Alexander asked, his voice cracking. He didn’t say anything else for a moment, staring at her as if he wanted her to say something. She said nothing.

At last he spoke. “Don’t you want comfort in the minutes you have left?”

“No,” she said weakly. “This isn’t about me or you and me anymore.” She lowered her head. “I can take it. She can’t.”

“I can’t take it either,” said Alexander.

Tatiana raised her eyes and said intensely, “You can take it, Alexander Barrington. And more. Now, stop it.”

“Fine,” he said, “I’ll stop it.”

“I want you to promise me something.”

His weary eyes blinked at her.

“Promise me you won’t…”

“Won’t what?” Alexander asked from across the doorway. “Marry her or break her heart?”

A small tear ran down Tatiana’s face. Gulping and pulling her coat tighter around herself, she whispered, “Break her heart.”

He looked at her in disbelief. She couldn’t believe herself either. “Tania, don’t torture me,” Alexander said.

“Shura, promise me.”

“One of your promises or one of mine?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m not hearing a promise.”

“Fine. I promise, if you will promise me…”

“What?”

“That you will never wear your white dress again, never give away your bread, never go out onto the roof. If you do, I will tell her everything instantly. Instantly, do you hear?”

“I hear,” Tatiana muttered, thinking that really wasn’t very fair.

“Promise me,” Alexander said, taking her hand and pulling her to him, “that you will never do any less than your best to survive.”

“All right,” she said, looking up, her eyes pouring her heart into him. “I promise.”

“Is that one of your promises or one of mine?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He took her face in his hands. “If you stay alive, then I swear to you,” Alexander whispered, pressing her to him, “I won’t break your sister’s heart.”

4

The following morning Tatiana went without him to the store. She had just gotten the family their kilo of bread, light even in her weak arms, and was about to walk out when suddenly she felt a blow to the back of her head and another blow to her right ear. She buckled and watched helplessly as a young boy of maybe fifteen grabbed her bread and before she could utter a sound, shoved it into his hyena mouth, his eyes wild and desperate. The other customers beat him with their purses, but under their blows he continued to swallow her bread until it was all gone, every last bite. One of the store managers came out and hit him with a stick. Tatiana yelled, “No!” but he fell, and his eyes from the floor were still wild, a destroyed animal’s eyes. Blood dripping out of her ear where he had hit her, Tatiana bent down to help him up, but he shoved her away, got up, and ran out the door.

The salesclerk couldn’t give her more bread. “Please,” said Tatiana. “How can I go home with nothing?”

The clerk, her eyes sympathetic, said, “I can do nothing. The NKVD will shoot me for giving away bread. You don’t know what it’s like.”

“Please,” she begged. “For my family.”

“Tanechka, I would give you bread, but I can’t. The other day they shot three women for forging ration cards. Right on the street. And left them there. Go on, honey. Come back tomorrow.”

“Come back tomorrow,” muttered Tatiana as she left the store.

She could not go home. In fact, she did not go home, but sat in the bomb shelter and then appeared at the hospital to work. Vera was gone; Tatiana’s punch card was gone; no one cared. She went and slept in one of the cold rooms, and in the cafeteria she received some clear liquid and a few spoonfuls of gruel, but there was no extra for her to take home. She looked for Vera to no avail. She sat at the nurses’ station, then went into one of the rooms and sat with a dying soldier. As she held his hand, he asked if she was a nun. She said no, not really, but you can tell me anything.

“I have nothing to tell you,” the man said. “Why are you bleeding?”

She began to explain, but really there was nothing to say, except “for the same reason you’re lying here in the hospital.”

Tatiana thought of Alexander, how he kept trying to protect her. From Leningrad, from Dimitri, from working at the hospital—the brutal, infectious, contagious place. From the bricks in Luga. From the German bombs, from the hunger. He didn’t want her to do duty on the roof. He didn’t want her to walk to Fontanka alone or without the absurd helmet he had given her, or to sleep without all her clothes. He wanted her to clean herself, even with cold water, and he wanted her to brush her teeth even though they had no food on them. He wanted just one thing.

He wanted her to live.

That brought a bit of relief.

A bit of comfort.

That would have to be good enough.

When she got home, around seven in the evening, she found her family frantic with worry. After she told them what had happened, they were upset that she hadn’t just come home. “We would have understood,” said Mama. “We don’t care about the bread.”

Dasha said she had sent Alexander out to look for her.

“You’ve got to stop doing that, Dasha,” said Tatiana wearily. “You’re bound to get him killed.”

Tatiana was surprised her family was not more upset with her. Then she found out why. Alexander had brought them some oil—and soybeans—and half an onion. Dasha had made a delicious stew, adding a tablespoon of flour and a bit of salt. “Where is this stew?” Tatiana asked.

“There wasn’t a lot, Tanechka,” said Dasha.

“We thought you’d eat wherever you were,” added Mama.

“You ate, right?” asked Babushka.

“We were so hungry,” said Marina.

“Yes,” Tatiana said, deeply discouraged. “Don’t worry about me.”

Alexander came back around eight. He had been out for three hours. The first thing he said was, “What happened to you?”

Tatiana told him.

“Where have you been all day?” he demanded, talking to her as if there were no one else in the room.

“I went to the hospital. To see if they had some food there.”

“They didn’t.”

“Not much. I did have some oatmeal.” White water.

“It’s all right,” Alexander said, taking off his coat. “There’s some stew.”

Coughs. Averted eyes.

Alexander didn’t understand. He turned to Dasha. “I brought you soybeans. Dasha? You said you were making stew.”

“We did, Alexander,” said Dasha sheepishly. “But there was so little. We ate it.”

“You ate it and didn’t leave her any?” He turned red.

“Alexander, it’s all right,” said Tatiana anxiously. “They didn’t leave you any either.”

Dasha laughed nervously. “You can eat at the barracks, and she said she ate, dear.”

“She is a liar!” he screamed.

“I did eat,” Tatiana put in.

“You’re a liar!” Alexander screamed at her. “I forbid you,” he yelled to Tatiana, “I forbid you to get their food for them. Give them back their ration cards and tell them all to get their own damn food. I never want to see you getting their bread for them if they can’t save you some of the food I bring!”

Tatiana stood quietly, her entire heart so full that for a moment she did not need any bread at all.

Turning to Dasha, Alexander said, out of breath, “Who is going to get your bread for you if she dies? Who is going to carry soup back home in a pail? Who is going to bring you porridge?”

Mama said disagreeably, “I bring porridge from the factory.”

“You eat half of it before you set foot in the house!” yelled Alexander. “What, you think I don’t understand? You think I don’t know that Marina finishes her coupons before the month is out and then demands bread from Tania, who is getting beaten up while you’re still sleeping?”

“I’m not sleeping. I sew,” said Mama. “I sew every morning.”

“Tania,” Alexander stated, glaring at her, “you are not getting them their rations again. Understand?” Again he was talking to her as if there were no one else present.

Tatiana muttered that she was going to go and wash. When she came back, Alexander was sitting at the table smoking. He was calmer. “Come here,” he said quietly.

Marina was in the other room with Mama. Babushka was down the hall with Nina Iglenko.

“Where is Dasha?” Tatiana said, moving slowly toward him. She saw his eyes.

“Getting a can opener from Nina. Come closer.”

Standing in front of him, Tatiana said quietly, “Shura, please. Where is your indifferent face? You promised me.”

He stared into her sweater.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I’ll be all right.”

“You’re making me feel worse,” Alexander said. “Don’t do it.” Reaching out, he placed his hand on her hip. A small groan of anguish escaped him. Tatiana leaned into him and pressed her forehead to his forehead.

For a moment they stood still.

She took her forehead away.

He took his hand away. “Look what I have for you, Tania.” He pulled out a small metal can from his coat.

Dasha came into the room, saying, “Here’s the can opener. What do you need it for anyway?”

Alexander used it to open the small can and, taking a knife, cut the product inside into little morsels. He passed the can to Tatiana. “Go ahead, try it.”

“What is it?” she asked, wanting to smile. It was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted. Not quite ham, not quite bologna, not quite pork, but all three, covered with lard and aspic. The can was small, maybe a hundred grams. “What is that?” she said, her eyes showing the delight that her body, her lips could not muster.

“Spam.”

“Spam? What is Spam?”

“Like ham. In Russian it’s tushonka.”

“Oh, it’s much better than ham.”

“Can I try it?” asked Dasha.

“No.” Alexander didn’t turn to Dasha. “I want your sister to eat the whole can. Dasha, you already ate. You can’t possibly want more after all that stew.”

“I just want a little bite,” said Dasha. “To taste.”

“No.”

“Tania?” Dasha said. “Please? I’m sorry I ate your stew. I know you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset, Dasha.”

“I am, though,” said Alexander, turning to her. “You’re a grown woman. I expect better from you.”

Dasha said grumpily, “I said I was sorry.”

Tatiana took another bite, and another. Half a can left. “Alexander?”

“No, Tatiana.”

She had one more bite. Two small pieces left. Tatiana licked up all the lard and the aspic, and then she took one piece out of the can and handed it to Alexander. He shook his head. “Please,” Tatiana said. “One for you, one for Dasha?”

Dasha snatched it out of Alexander’s hand. Tatiana gave him the last piece, giving it one more glance. He ate it. Nodding, she licked out the can with her tongue. “This is the most wonderful thing. Where did you get it?”

“Americans, through Lend-Lease. A case of Spam for Leningrad and two of their army trucks.”

“I’d rather have a case of this.”

“I don’t know. They’re very good trucks.” Alexander smiled.

Tatiana wanted to smile back. Looking away from him and to her sister, Tatiana said, “Dasha, honey, how is Nina holding up?”

“Terrible.”

After a few minutes Alexander left to go back to the barracks. The next morning, when Tatiana got up to get the rations, Dasha came with her.

The following morning Dasha stayed in bed, but downstairs on the street a soldier was waiting for Tatiana. “Sergeant Petrenko!” she said, managing a smile. “What are you doing here?”

“Orders of the captain.” He saluted, looking warmly at her. “He asked me to take you to the store.”

The morning after that, Petrenko wasn’t downstairs, but Alexander was waiting for Tatiana at Fontanka. He walked her home and went back to base. The next morning he came to the apartment.

On the way back from the store he had left her to help a lady struggling with two sleds that she was trying to pull by herself down Ulitsa Nekrasova. One had a body wrapped in a white sheet, and one had a bourzhuika. Alexander went to explain to the woman that she would have to come back for one or the other. He told Tatiana he was going to suggest taking the stove and coming back for the body.

Tatiana was waiting for him patiently and alone, leaning against a building, when she saw three boys approaching her with determined strides. She looked for Alexander, who was maybe a hundred meters away, with his back to Tatiana, pulling one of the sleds for the woman. “Alexander!” she yelled, but the wind was loud and her voice was weak. He didn’t hear.

Tatiana turned to the boys. One of them she recognized as the boy who had taken her bread three days earlier. The street was deserted, and the snowdrifts were piled meters high on the road. In the snowdrifts lay dead bodies. There were no cars, no buses. Just Tatiana. She sighed. She thought of running across the street, but the effort, the effort. She couldn’t move. She stood.

When they came close, she extended her and Alexander’s bread to them without a word. Two of them grabbed her and pulled her into a doorway. She struggled, but there was nothing of her to struggle with. The third boy, the hyena from before, took her bread but then looked at her with his beastly eyes and said to the other two, “Ready? Let’s go.” A shiny metal blade flashed in front of Tatiana.

Without blinking or breathing, Tatiana looked the boy in the eye and said, “Go, get away while you have time. Go on, now. He is going to kill you.”

The boy looked at her and said, “What?”

“Go!” Tatiana said, but in that instant a pistol handle came down hard on the boy’s head and he dropped to the snow. The other two didn’t have even a moment to let go of her. Alexander smashed his gun into one, then the other. In seconds they were all motionless on the ground.

Pulling Tatiana out of the doorway and behind him, he said, “Step away,” and cocked his gun, aiming it at her assailants.

Her hand came up from behind and rested on the gun. “No,” she said.

He pushed her hand away. “Tatiana, please. They are going to get up and terrorize someone else. Step back.”

“Shura, please. No. I saw their eyes. They won’t last till morning. Don’t let their deaths be at your hands.”

Alexander reluctantly put away his gun, then picked up their bag of bread off the ground and, with his arm around Tatiana, walked her back home in the blistering cold. “Do you know what would have happened to you if I hadn’t been there?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, wanting to look up at his face but not having the energy to look anywhere but down at the ground. “Same thing that’s happening to me when you are.”

The next morning Alexander brought her a gun. Not his own standard-issue Tokarev, but a P-38 self-loading German pistol he had acquired near Pulkovo two months earlier.

“Remember the boys are all cowards; they will only pick on you because they think they can. You don’t have to use the gun. Just flash it at them. They won’t come up to you again.”

“Shura, I’ve never used a—”

“It’s war, Tania!” he exclaimed. “You remember how you played war with Pasha? Did you play to win? Well, play now. Just remember the stakes are higher.”

Then he gave her a handful of rubles.

“What’s this?”

“A thousand rubles,” he said. “It’s half my monthly pay. There is no food, but you can still get something on the black market. Go, and don’t even think about the prices. Just buy what you have to. In Haymarket they’re still selling flour, maybe some other things. I’m afraid to leave you, but I have to. Colonel Stepanov wants me to go with our trucks and men to Lake Ladoga.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Alexander’s face was drawn. “The girls need to go with you to the store, Tatia. Please don’t go by yourself. I won’t be back for a week, maybe ten days. Maybe longer.” The unspoken hung in the crushing cold. “Don’t worry about me.” He paused. “Bad news is we’ve lost Tikhvin,” he said grimly. “Dimitri shot himself just in time. Tikhvin was—” He broke off. “Never mind.”

“I can imagine.”

Nodding, he continued. “There is no railroad going to the other side of the lake. The only way to bring food into Leningrad is by Ladoga, but now there’s no way to get the food to Ladoga.” He paused. “The bread you’re getting—it’s made from reserve flour. We have to get Tikhvin and the railroad back. Without them we have no realistic way of getting food into the city.”

“Oh, no,” she said.

“Oh, yes. Meanwhile, the council has issued a command that we have to build a road through the barely inhabited villages up north near Zaborye that lead to the other side of the lake. There’s never been a road there, but we have no choice. Either build the road or die.”

“How do you get food from there across a barely iced lake?” She shuddered.

Alexander’s brown eyes were sadder than a calf’s. “If we don’t get Tikhvin back, there will be no food to bring no matter how well iced the lake is. We have no chance without it,” Alexander said, not touching Tatiana. “No chance at all.” Reluctantly he added, “Hang on to whatever provisions you’ve got left. The ration is going to be reduced again.”

“There’s not much left, Shura,” she whispered.

As they were walking to the corner of Nevsky and Liteyniy where he was going to say good-bye to her, Alexander said, “Yesterday you called me Shura in front of your family. You have to be more careful. Your sister is bound to notice that.”

“Yes,” Tatiana said mournfully. “I will have to be more careful.”

On Haymarket, Tatiana bought less than half a kilo of flour for 500 rubles. Two hundred and fifty rubles a cup. She bought half a kilo of butter for 300 rubles, some soy milk, and a small package of yeast.

At home they still had a bit of sugar. She made bread.

That’s what a thousand rubles bought the Metanovs—half of Alexander’s monthly salary for defending Leningrad bought them a loaf of bread with a smear of butter. Dinner for one night. At least Alexander had gotten them some wood for the stove, and even a little kerosene.