‘No. She’s just too weak to do anything. Poor baby needs to eat.’ His mother’s cheerful tone clashed with what she was saying. Anna was far too light in his arms.
He pressed ahead with another question, while she dodged his pleading looks, ‘And Papa is going to come back?’
‘Of course!’
He had no reason to doubt her. The loudspeaker sounded again, calling for all Stalingrad citizens to gather in the centre immediately, bringing no more than one bag each.
His mother’s tone was brisk. ‘Right, I just want to make sure I have everything. Can you put her clothes back on her? Her hat and coat are beside your foot and use my scarf to wrap her up tight.’
Before the bombing, Yuri had had little to do with the baby. In fact, it would be true to say that he had taken little interest in his sister. For years it had just been his mother and himself. His real father died when he was a baby and his mother used to wonder why Yuri never asked about him. However, Yuri was perfectly happy having his mother all to himself. Then his world was upturned when his mother fell in love, married his stepfather and had a baby, all in the space of one year. It was a lot for any boy to put up with. Perhaps he might even have grudgingly admitted to experiencing jealousy as he watched his mother coo over the precious new born, having no way of knowing whether she had cooed over him in the same way.
But war changes everything, doesn’t it? It knocks ordinary living on its head and challenges a person to understand what is really important. Accordingly, both he and his mother had taken turns to do their best to look after Anna, cradling her for hours as she bawled in terror.
Spreading her coat on the ground, Yuri gently laid his sister on top of it. She sighed a little, fretting that he was leaving her alone. After all she had been through she could no longer settle by herself, needing to be in their arms.
‘It’s okay, Anna. I’m still here. I’m just putting on your coat. See? Hold my hand, and this is one sleeve.’
She didn’t squirm at all, making it an easier job than he expected. Taking her other hand, he fed it through the second sleeve of her now grimy coat. She never took her eyes off him once, the complete opposite of his mother who was far too busy peering into the old carpet bag.
‘Now, I’m going to fasten your buttons. There’s one, there’s two and there’s three. Look, all done now!’
He sat her up, leaning her back against his knees as he gradually fitted her cap over her head. She couldn’t sit up by herself yet so he had to use his elbows to keep her from sliding over, while he did his best to force the hat down without hurting her.
‘Don’t forget her shoes and stockings.’
Mrs Bogdanov’s voice was hoarse, as if she had a sore throat. Anna’s feet felt cold as he folded on her socks, one by one, before slipping on the tiny slippers knitted by their mother.
Anna turned her head upwards to make sure he was still there and then pointed to her feet, making the smallest sound, ‘Ooh?’
‘What? Yes, they’re your feet, your stockings and your shoes.’
She rubbed her nose grumpily and looked at her mother who was putting on her own coat. Yuri picked her up and, maybe for the first time, kissed her cheek.
Reaching for his nose, she tried to stick her finger into it.
‘Anna!’ he giggled, ‘Stop, that’s dirty!’
Then, as if exhausted from getting dressed, she snuggled up against her brother and pressed the right side of her face flat against his shoulder. Her breath on his neck felt wonderful, and it was with great reluctance that he released her to his mother who suddenly seemed impatient to leave.
‘Come here, baby.’ Anna assumed the same position against her mother’s shoulder.
‘Okay, Yuri. Stay here until it’s completely quiet outside. Do your best to keep clean, look after your clothes. It could be a while before you get new ones.’ She was talking very quickly.
Hoisting the strap of the bag onto her other shoulder, his mother turned to leave, taking a few steps forward before Yuri thought to ask, ‘But, where are you going?’
Anna’s eyes were now closed. He didn’t know what he envied more, his sister’s spot at their mother’s shoulder, or his mother’s firm clasp of the sleeping baby.
His mother looked surprised by his question and, for a couple of seconds, he thought she wasn’t going to answer it, but then she shrugged and said, ‘I don’t know, Yuri, wherever they take us, I suppose.’
PETER
About two weeks later, summer had bowed out of Stalingrad. The nights grew chilly, the temperature contributing to the grim atmosphere throughout the city. Yuri was doing his best to sound as if he was fast asleep but it was no use; a small boy was leaning over him, whispering his name as loudly as he dared, ‘Yuri. Yuri, I need to go to the toilet!’
Pretending to be thoroughly absorbed in sleep and pleasant dreams, Yuri turned on his side, with his back to the boy, silently begging the child to leave him alone.
‘Please, Yuri, I have to go now!’
Making a face that no one could see, Yuri sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his bleary eyes, ‘Are you sure, Peter? You only went a while ago. You can’t need to go again already.’
Peter nodded that he could need to go again; in fact he did need to go again, though Yuri could not have seen that. It was too dark in the tunnel, the night air thick and musky with the sweet and sour smell of farting and the sweating bodies of the twenty or so that were squashed together in sleep.
In any case, Yuri assumed from the silence that there was no point in arguing further, ‘Oh, come on, then. Don’t trip on anyone.’ Even before Yuri got fully to his feet, Peter’s hand was already in his, reminding him why he didn’t leave the boy to wet himself. He used to have a mother and father, but that was all changed now. Now he just had Yuri, who just had him.
They carefully made their way to the front of the tunnel, where Peter instinctively huddled against his friend as they stopped to listen for anything at all, footsteps, voices, gunfire. The fog hadn’t cleared for days now, maybe it never would. Although maybe it wasn’t even fog, only cold, wet smoke from the shattered buildings; there wasn’t many of them left burning at this stage.
The city had been on fire all summer. Bloody Germans! Now that it was almost winter, the once scorching buildings stood silent, cold and empty as shadows, thanks to missing roofs, windows, doors and even walls. It was creepy really. This wasn’t a city anymore, not Stalingrad; it was nothing, a big pile of nothing, apart from miles of broken and burnt bricks.
Peter’s elbow dug into Yuri’s side, making him jump.
‘Sorry!’ The small boy began to scratch his head through his wool cap.
Knowing that the child was capable of scratching for ten minutes or more, Yuri swiftly issued an order, ‘Stop that. Will you just go and pee?’
Peter was surprised to have to explain the obvious. ‘But it’s itchy!’
Yuri felt a need to lead by example and was therefore obliged to ignore the maddening itchiness of his own lice-ridden scalp, assuring both himself and the little boy, ‘They’ll stop moving around when they feel the cold.’
There was a tiny patch of grass nearby, with two bushes covered in dust and ashes; they had been christened many times over by Yuri and Peter. They found it vaguely comforting to see the bit of green; even if it was blackened and faded. Most of the city’s trees were gone now, having been torched during those awful weeks when the German planes dropped their bombs.
‘Yuri, can we go for a walk?’
Honestly, Yuri thought to himself, where did he get his ideas? ‘Don’t be daft, and I thought you were dying to go?’