aghast.
‘Believe me, comrades, Chernigov is in German hands,’ said the man, enjoying the attention. ‘I heard it from my cousin, a captain in the Red Army.’
‘My daughter is in Chernigov,’ cried the old woman, wrenching her arms.
The queue fell quiet. Chernigov was only a hundred kilometres from Kiev. If Chernigov fell, was Kiev next?
‘Let’s go home,’ said Natasha dejectedly. ‘We won’t get anything here. The queue is not even moving. Let’s just go home.’ She regretted stopping at the store and overhearing the conversation. Dread like liquid mercury spread inside her, heavy and paralysing.
The three of them made their way through the crowds towards Taras Shevchenko Park, wide-eyed at the commotion around them. Those who weren’t busy queuing for food occupied themselves by looting and robbing. The Red Army had retreated in July, and the government evacuated in August. In the absence of any form of authority, no shop, library, museum or warehouse was safe. Men, women, even children, moved from store to store, laden with sacks and boxes, searching for something valuable, preferably edible, to steal. Outside the entrance to the park, two men carried a piano and a woman struggled with a potted plant and a typewriter. Eventually, she placed the typewriter on the ground and took off with the plant. ‘It’s a palm tree,’ said Natasha, watching the woman with a bemused expression on her face. ‘I wonder what she’s going to do with it. I’d take the typewriter if I were her.’ When she didn’t receive an acknowledgement from the redhead, she added, ‘Lisa, will you look at that?’
‘Who knows what she’ll do?’ replied Lisa, shrugging. ‘Grow bananas? Barricade the door from the invading Germans?’ She chuckled but her eyes remained serious.
When the woman disappeared around the corner, Natasha turned to Lisa. ‘We should get going. If Papa realises we’ve left, we’ll be in so much trouble.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Lisa. ‘He’s too busy searching his newspapers for news from the front to think about us. He won’t even notice we’re not there.’
Pulling Lisa by the arm, Natasha replied, ‘He’ll notice all right, especially if you don’t get a move on.’ At nineteen, she was only a year older than her sister but she was always the serious one, the more responsible one. Sometimes she admired Lisa’s impulsive character, but not today. Not on the day when the Nazis were perilously close and their father was going to kill them.
Lisa turned her back on her sister, her long red hair swinging out to whip Natasha across the face. ‘Alexei, are you coming?’ Her voice was too loud for the muted street, and several passers-by glared in her direction.
Alexei Antonov, a blond, broad-shouldered boy, had stopped at what seemed like the only market stall in Kiev that was still standing. The stall boasted a great selection of combat knives, and Alexei was in deep conversation with the owner.
‘Alexei!’ Lisa called again. Her voice quivered.
Alexei handed the stall owner some money and pocketed a knife. ‘Wait up!’ he cried, breaking into a run.
‘Dillydallying as always,’ said Lisa, her plump lips pursed together in a pout. ‘Keep this up, and we’ll leave you here.’
‘Nagging already? And we’re not even married yet.’ Pecking Lisa on the cheek, Alexei adjusted his glasses, his face a picture of mock suffering and distress.
‘Get used to it,’ said Lisa, pinching the soft skin above his elbow. He attempted a frown but failed, smiling into Lisa’s freckled face.
They paused in the middle of the road and kissed deeply. A van swerved around them. The two lovers didn’t move. They barely looked up.
‘And this is why I walk five metres behind you. It’s too embarrassing.’ Natasha stared at the ground, her face flaming. Wishing she could run home but not wanting to abandon Lisa and Alexei in the middle of the street, she was practically jogging on the spot. ‘You heard Papa this morning. Under no circumstances were we to leave the house.’
‘We had to leave the house,’ said Lisa. ‘You know we did. It was a question of life and death.’
Natasha raised her eyebrows. ‘A wedding dress fitting is a question of life and death?’
Lisa nodded. ‘Not just any fitting. The final fitting.’
‘The final fitting,’ mimicked Alexei, rolling his eyes. ‘I had to wait for you for an hour! An hour in the dark corridor.’
Lisa pulled away from him. ‘You know you can’t see me in my wedding dress before the wedding. It’s bad luck.’ She whispered the last two words as if the mere mention of bad luck was enough somehow to summon it.
‘It’s bad luck to be outside at a time like this,’ murmured Natasha.
Lisa said, ‘Don’t worry. The streets are perfectly safe. And Papa will understand.’
‘I doubt it. Just yesterday he said you were too young to marry.’
Lisa laughed as if it was the most preposterous thing she had ever heard. ‘And I reminded him that Mama was younger than me when they got married. And Grandma was only sixteen when she married Grandpa. When Mama was pregnant with Stanislav, she was the same age as you.’
Exasperated, Natasha shook her head.
Lisa continued, ‘Did you hear the dressmaker? Apparently, I have the perfect figure. Mind you, I still have time to lose a few pounds before the big day.’
Alexei ran his hands over her tiny frame. ‘Don’t lose a few pounds, Lisa. There won’t be any of you left to marry.’
His words were interrupted by a distant rumble. Half a city away, the horizon lit up in red and yellow.
An explosion followed.
And another.
And another.
For a few breathtaking seconds, the ground vibrated. Somewhere in the distance, machine guns barked and people shouted. And then, as if nothing had happened, all was quiet again. On the outskirts of town, fires smouldered and smoke rose in a gloomy mist.
‘Don’t be scared,’ said Alexei, pulling Lisa tightly to his side. ‘There won’t be much bombing today.’
‘How do you know?’ demanded Natasha.
‘Just something I’ve heard. The Nazis don’t want to destroy our city. They’re saving it.’
‘Saving it for what?’ Lisa wanted to know.
‘For themselves, silly,’ said Natasha.
Lisa gasped and didn’t reply. Natasha could tell her sister was scared because she no longer dawdled. Racing one another, they turned onto Taras Shevchenko Boulevard. It was sunny and warm, as if summer had decided to stay a little bit longer and wait – for what? The Nazis in the Soviet Union? The daily bombing? The sheer joy of nature in late bloom and its unrestrained abundance seemed out of place in the face of the German invasion. The blue skies, the whites and reds of the flowers, contrasted sharply with distant gunfire and burning buildings.
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