too.’
‘What are you going to teach?’
‘Well, I was supposed to start my literature degree at the Taras Shevchenko University this month. If the Germans hadn’t…’ Suddenly she was too sad to continue. She changed the subject. ‘So what’s your favourite book?’
He took her hand and smiled. Her heart beat faster and she no longer wanted to cry. ‘I can’t decide between The Count of Monte Cristo and The Three Musketeers.’
‘Dumas, really? I read the whole collection of his works when I helped out at the university library before the war.’
Mark watched her, and she watched the ground under her feet. He asked, ‘Would it have been your first year at university? How old are you, Natasha?’
Her face red, she whispered, ‘Nineteen.’ Raising her eyes to him, she tried to guess how old he was. He looked young, like Alexei, but unlike Alexei’s, his eyes seemed older, more serious, almost grown up. ‘What about you?’
‘Twenty-two.’ He smiled. ‘I have something for you.’ He rummaged in his rucksack and handed her an object made of glass and metal.
She examined it. ‘Is— is it…’ she stammered. ‘You brought me a kerosene lamp?’ She blinked.
‘Now you’ll have enough light to read and look after your grandmother in the evenings.’
‘Thank you so much,’ she whispered, touched. There was a sudden tension between them, a tension she didn’t know how to break. The door to their building opened and a neighbour marched outside, glaring in their direction. Natasha was grateful that Mark wasn’t wearing his Hungarian uniform. She said, ‘Well, I’d better go. It’s getting late.’
But she was reluctant to leave. She stepped from foot to foot and finally said, ‘Mark, I saw a notice near the gendarmerie. They are looking for those responsible for the murder in the park.’
‘Of course they are. That’s to be expected.’
She looked around, making sure no one was there to overhear. ‘What if they find out it was us? I’m so afraid.’
‘Don’t be. No one saw us. There was no one around.’
‘Are you sure?’ She tried to think of what happened that evening but couldn’t remember anything beyond her terror and Grandmother’s motionless body on the ground.
‘Positive.’
‘But what do they mean, the whole population of Kiev will pay for the murder?’
‘Threat and intimidation are their favourite techniques. That’s how they operate. Don’t worry. You are safe, as long as you don’t tell anyone you were in the park that day.’
‘I won’t tell anyone,’ she murmured. But she didn’t feel safe.
He smiled nervously, clenching his rucksack. ‘If it’s okay, I’d like to see you again.’
Her face brightened. ‘I’d like that.’
‘How about if we meet at the same spot on Kreshchatyk tomorrow? Around eleven?’
Natasha nodded, grinning despite her best efforts not to. She waved and walked towards her building. When she reached the front door, she turned around and found him still in the same spot, looking at her. ‘Mark,’ she called out. ‘Thanks again for helping us last night.’ Then she disappeared inside, running up one flight of stairs and pausing at the grimy communal window, so she could watch him cross the yard and disappear around the corner.
*
When Natasha returned home, she found the whole family gathered in the living room and Mother cooking in the kitchen. ‘Where have you been?’ asked Mother, and Natasha avoided her eyes when she told her about her visit to Olga and her conversation with the doctor.
‘I’m glad you’re back. Lunch is almost ready,’ said Mother, opening a can of fish and stirring something on the stove.
‘This looks like potato peel,’ said Natasha. ‘Fried potato peel.’ She picked one up, examined it, placed it in her mouth. It was crunchy and a little bitter. It would have been better with some butter but they didn’t have any.
‘I got half a kilo of potato peel at work,’ said Mother. Every day she had to report to school, even though there were no classes and no pupils. Mother and five other teachers spent their mornings reading, talking and playing cards at the empty school cafeteria. ‘I was lucky to get any. There wasn’t enough for everyone.’
‘They taste nice, Mama,’ Natasha said uncertainly.
‘We hardly have any food left. Almost no food left at all.’
It was true. They didn’t have much to begin with, and now with seven mouths to feed, their supplies were dwindling. There were only a few cans of fish, a jar of pickled tomatoes, some flour, barley and carrots. ‘Don’t worry, Mama. We have enough for another week. We’ll figure something out.’
‘Maybe the Germans will start feeding us soon,’ said Mother.
‘I’ll believe it when I see it,’ Grandfather muttered from behind his book.
‘You never know, they might,’ said Mother. ‘After all, they don’t want us to starve. They want us to work.’
Father marched into the kitchen, followed by Lisa. In his hands he was holding an old book, which he placed on the kitchen table with a loud bang. He narrowed his eyes on Natasha and demanded, ‘What is this?’
Natasha picked up the book. It was Tolstoy’s War and Peace, but not a copy she recognised. ‘I’ve never seen it before in my life. Where did it come from?’
‘That’s what I want to know,’ bellowed Father.
‘It’s War and Peace, Papa, can’t you see that?’ piped in Lisa, hiding behind Natasha.
‘Not just any War and Peace. The first edition. Do you know how much it costs? And I found it under the table in the living room, collecting dust. Now you need to tell me where it came from and don’t pretend that you don’t know.’
Lisa lowered her gaze. ‘It’s from the library, Papa. Before the Germans got here, everyone was taking books, so I thought Natasha would be pleased because it’s her favourite—’
‘You stole this? From our library?’ he asked, sounding incredulous. When Lisa didn’t answer, Father raised his voice a touch louder. ‘No daughter of mine is going to act like a thief, war or no war.’
‘You got it for me?’ Natasha was touched and thrilled to be in possession of the first edition. ‘Thank you.’ Reverently she examined the book. She wanted to hug her sister, but Father was glaring at her with anger, and she quickly returned the book to the table.
Mother said, ‘Don’t be upset, Vasili. It’s socialist property. The Nazis could never appreciate it. We can keep it safe until the war is over. Besides, it’s only a book. Last week I saw one of the neighbours return home with three
