“Do you believe in war, Papa?”
“What a silly question,” he said, putting an arm around me. “Do I love the thought of using these machines to end the lives of men not much older than Misha or Bogdan, men who did nothing but get born in the wrong country? Of course not. But do I believe in doing what I can to keep my family safe, which means keeping my country as safe as possible? Of course I do.” He ran a hand over the tank again and then led me back outside, out of the factory, our white breath escaping into the cold air.
“Family is everything,” he said, his eyes filling as he put an arm around me. “Everything else is just wind through the trees. One day, you’ll see.”
I knew he was right: that one day I would have a family of my own. But I had to admit that my one example of solitary life, Papa’s brother, Uncle Pasha, made it quite appealing. When he visited us in Kiev, he always seemed more like a carefree older brother than an uncle. With his feathery hair, slighter frame, and narrow shoulders, it was difficult to see him as an adult, as my father’s near peer, especially when he slung me over his back and cried, “I’ve saved the princess! I’ve saved the princess! Back to her castle she goes….” before depositing me on the balcony. Uncle Pasha had no family to speak of and didn’t seem to want one. But this didn’t seem to be the time to bring this up.
“I am trying my best to take care of you all—your mother, your grandmother, your sister…” he said, and when he mentioned Polina, his voice cracked. I was also struggling, but I was older and appeared sturdier, so no one pitied me the way they pitied her. And now here was my father, getting emotional because there wasn’t enough he could do for all of us.
“You’re taking good care of us,” I told him. “Polya and I would have frozen to death without the coats you brought back for us,” I said, running a hand along my furry shuba, reminding him that he rode a horse to a distant village just to keep us fed and clothed, but this rolled right off him, and he just nodded vaguely. “Are you all right, Papa?”
“Perfectly fine, darling. Just a bit worn out, that’s all. We’ve been working so hard.”
“Thank you for showing me the factory, Papa,” I said, and I turned away, understanding that he needed to be left alone, though he could not stay out in the cold for very long.
I tried not to cry as I began the long walk back to our apartment. I felt sorry for my debilitated father, but I was overwhelmed primarily by self-pity. The day had been a terrible disappointment. It was far from fair. All I wanted was for Papa to take me by the hand and show me his man’s world, one of drama and violence and machinations against the Nazis, filled with elements of far greater interest than my stinky school, and what I got was watching the grown man I loved more than anyone crying like a child.
One morning, my sister and I had a chance to remedy some of our pain. When the adults were out, we checked Madame Renata’s door again and saw that she had left it unlocked. It was a weekend. The women were at the market and the men were conferencing at Uncle Ivan’s. It was so quiet I could hear the distant drip of a faucet downstairs. We crept down the dark hallway, which felt endless, a plank over a raging sea. I knew the penalty: if we were caught, it would mean the end of Aunt Yulia’s supplementary parcels.
“My God,” my sister said, when we stepped inside. “All this time…”
“And we were so grateful for her sacks of onion and moldy bread.”
The place was a veritable grocery store. I could not believe its bounties. She seemed to possess everything: sausages, batons of bread, potatoes, onions, tomatoes, bunches of dill, bowls of individually wrapped chocolates and even chocolate bars. I never had much of a sweet tooth, but in that moment I would have died for chocolate. I looked at Polya and saw that this was what had also caught her eye.
“We’re starving under the woman’s nose. And she doesn’t care for us at all!” she said.
“I don’t know how she can live with herself,” I said, reaching a trembling hand toward the chocolate. I didn’t care that the woman’s daughter and husband had died. If she had walked in at that moment, I might have tried to end her life as well.
“Lara,” Polya whispered. “There is so much chocolate in there. They will hardly miss it….”
“Stealing is wrong,” I said uncertainly. “We could get in trouble. What if she stops giving us extra food?”
“There are no rules during war.”
My sister said it so stonily that the words sounded utterly right, making me feel like she was the older one, though she was likely echoing something she had heard Bogdan say.
Wherever her words came from, it was hard to argue with them. There was an unconscionable amount of chocolate in that apartment.
We grabbed two pieces of chocolate from the bowl, and then we carried them to the main apartment and ate them slowly, luxuriously, like careful birds. When we finished, smacking our lips and smiling like lovesick fools, I briefly adored my little sister. She wasn’t perfect, but who was? We were blood, after all. We fell asleep holding each other, but this sweet moment did not last, because I woke up to screaming.
“They are thieves! Thieves! They stole my chocolate. I know they did! There were twelve pieces in that bowl when I left—now there are only ten!”
Aunt Yulia’s eyes were filled with venom; she had run in from outside and brought the chill with her, her cheeks still rosy. This angry woman had nothing in common with the soft woman I remembered guiding her daughter onto the train, yet there she was. Apparently Polya and I were not the most sophisticated criminals; we had left her door open. Mama and Papa stood beside her, looking troubled, while the Orlovs were near the balcony, gazing at the floor. Bogdan looked particularly upset by this turn of events, since he was the closest to Aunt Yulia on account of her daughter. Misha stood beside him, his hands by his sides, and I wanted him to rush over to protect me, but he didn’t do a thing.
“Is this true?” Papa asked us. I could hardly look at him.
I said nothing. Polya began to cry, instantly giving us away like the dimwit that she was. Once she nodded, I saw no use in denying it.
“We are starving, and you have all the food in the world. Have you no shame?” I said to Aunt Yulia.
Mama smacked me across the face, my cheek stinging wildly. “Are you mad, child? If it were not for Aunt Yulia’s generosity, we would be cold in the ground by now!”
“Thieves! Thieves!” the woman kept crying, ignoring my accusation.
Polya tried giving her the expression that predated our stay in the mountains, a certain batting of the eyes and pouting of the lips that typically worked like magic.
“Don’t look at me that way,” Aunt Yulia said to her, shaking her head. “I have seen you give that look to every man in your path. But you know what, child? Look in the mirror. That doesn’t work here. You don’t have your looks to fall back on anymore—none of us do. You need your brains, child, and you have not used them!”
Baba Tonya gasped. No one else had dared mention my sister’s waning appearance directly up to that moment. Aunt Yulia had diagnosed my sister perfectly. Polina could not forget the fawning gaze of Dimitrev senior, of her schoolboy walking companions, and she hadn’t yet accepted that she was just another starving girl. Bogdan was the only boy who noticed her, but their relationship was not romantic.