into a shape of a swastika. We will kick Hitler back all the way to Germany, the posters declared. On every corner, loudspeakers yelled out Soviet propaganda and occasional news from the front. Natasha wished the news were as optimistic as the posters, but it was rarely the case.
As she tried to keep up with her sister and Alexei, Natasha thought of the first time the bombs had fallen on Kiev, on Sunday 22nd June. She thought of the shock and the fear and the disbelief. Nearly three months on, they had become accustomed to the shelling, to the regular din of machine-gun fire, like a soundtrack to their daily lives. With dismay, she realised it had almost become normal. The realisation scared her more than the Nazi planes drifting overhead. She didn’t want to accept the unacceptable, to get used to the unthinkable. But she knew she wasn’t the only one feeling this way because there were more and more people on the streets during the bombings. Yes, they made an effort to walk closer to the buildings to avoid being hit, but they no longer slowed down, or sought shelter, or interrupted their quest for food. Even now, as explosions sounded, the queue outside the shop didn’t disperse. As if nothing was happening, people continued to wait for their bread and their sausages and their flour, for all the things they needed to survive and stave off the war. What was happening to their city now, what had happened three months ago when Hitler attacked the Soviet Union, seemed like a nightmare that would never end. Natasha felt as if at any moment she would wake up only to find the streets of Kiev peaceful and quiet.
Since the day her city was first bombed in June, Natasha had waited impatiently to wake up.
In Taras Shevchenko Park, the ground was littered with shells that had once carried death but now lay peacefully at their feet. Natasha could feel their sharp edges through the soles of her boots. One of her favourite places in Kiev, the park was unrecognisable. Anywhere not covered by pavement was excavated. In the last three months, it had transformed into what seemed like the habitat of a giant mole, full of holes and burrows. All the trenches that the Kievans had dug, all the barricades they had built, enthusiastically at the end of June, habitually in July and sporadically in August, now stood empty and abandoned. How meaningless it all seemed, how futile.
Uncertainly Lisa muttered, ‘The Germans aren’t coming here. Haven’t you heard the radio?’ Like clockwork every few hours, the radio and the loudspeakers outside screeched, ‘Kiev was, is and will be Soviet.’
How ironic, thought Natasha. As if anyone believed it now.
‘The Red Army will soon push Hitler back,’ added Lisa.
‘What Red Army?’ muttered Natasha.
Suddenly, on the corner of Lva Tolstogo and Vladimirovskaya, Lisa came to an abrupt halt. Natasha, who was only a couple of steps behind, bumped straight into her sister. ‘What—’ she started saying and then stopped. Her mouth assumed the shape of an astonished ‘O’ but no sound escaped. All she could do was stare. From the direction of the river, hundreds of soldiers in grey were marching towards them.
Wide-eyed, the sisters and Alexei backed into the park and hid behind its tall fence, watching in fear.
The wait was finally over. The enemy were no longer at the gates. Surrounded by crowds of confused men, women and children and accompanied by barking dogs, the enemy were right there, inside their city, their grey uniforms a perfect fit, their green helmets sparkling, their motorbikes roaring, their footsteps echoing in the tranquil autumn air.
*
When they thought it was safe, the girls and Alexei ventured cautiously from behind the fence. The streets that were busy only moments earlier were now deserted. The silence was tense, expectant. And only occasionally, as they walked down Tarasovskaya Street, did Natasha hear loud voices coming from Lva Tolstogo Boulevard. Natasha felt a chill run through her body because they were not Russian voices but German. The unfamiliar sounds spoken so assertively on the streets of Kiev seemed to defy the natural order of things.
At the entrance to their building, Alexei tried to say goodbye but Lisa grabbed his hand. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘Home,’ he said, making a half-hearted attempt to break free.
‘It’s too far. And too dangerous.’ Alexei lived three short tram stops away. Since the tram was no longer running, it was a twenty-minute walk.
‘I’d rather face the Nazis than your father.’
But Lisa was adamant. ‘Don’t go back to an empty house. Come home with us.’
Together the three of them climbed eight flights of stairs to the sisters’ apartment. Natasha dawdled on the stairs, taking forever to find her key. She realised she didn’t want to be the one to give the terrifying news to her family.
‘Girls, is that you? We’re in the kitchen.’ Mother’s voice sounded unusually shrill. Natasha took her time removing her shoes, hesitating before walking down the long corridor. Would Mother cry when she heard? And what would Father say when he realised that, despite his specific instructions, they were out when the Germans entered Kiev? A captain in the militia, he ruled the household just like he did his subordinates at work. He was strict, brusque, devoid of emotion, and everyone who came into contact with him was in awe of him. Everyone, that was, except her mother, who with a couple of well-chosen words could defuse even the biggest storm.
It was dim in the kitchen. The radio was playing Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake, Natasha’s favourite. The familiar chords never failed to make her smile, but today the music was accompanied by German shouts coming from the window, as platoon after platoon of soldiers in grey marched through the city. Lisa hid behind Natasha, all her earlier bravado forgotten. But Father barely glanced in their direction. His face ashen, he was bent over the table, every now and then barking short sentences into the telephone receiver that he cradled with his shoulder. ‘Heavy losses? Southwestern Front destroyed?’
Natasha shivered.
‘We saw—’ Lisa started saying, her eyes wide.
‘Have something to eat,’ said Mother. She looked as if she had just stepped out of bed. Her hands, her long musician’s fingers were fidgeting, picking up cups, wiping the table that was already clean. ‘Alexei, please, come in. Would you like some soup?’
‘We’re not hungry, Mama,’ said Lisa. ‘We saw German soldiers outside.’
Father rose to his feet and, still holding the telephone, started pacing from one wall to the other. It took him three strides to cover the distance between the two walls. His steps resonated ominously in the quietened kitchen. Finally, he reached for a cigarette, even though he already had one in his mouth, and put the phone down.
‘Bad news?’ asked Mother.
Father didn’t seem to hear. ‘They’re finally here. There are thousands of them in the city.’
Lisa nodded. Mother gasped. Alexei collapsed into a chair and said, ‘Thousands?’
‘I hope Stanislav is okay, wherever he is,’ exclaimed Mother. Natasha’s older brother Stanislav had been drafted into the Red Army in June. The family hadn’t heard from him since.
Natasha whispered, ‘What’s going to happen to us? Papa, what are we going to do?’
Father startled as if her words woke him from an unpleasant dream. He narrowed his eyes on Natasha and said, ‘It won’t be for long. We just need to sit tight and wait for the Red Army to come back.’ As usual, his
