‘Oh,’ said Yuri, a little puzzled. ‘I thought you were telling us we needed a bath.’
She put her hands on her hips and asked, ‘Well, am I wrong? You’re both filthy. You both need a bath. But, there’s no water.’
‘There’s just a bath?’ offered Peter, wanting to be clear about the situation.
Mrs Karmanova nodded in triumph, pleased that someone understood what she meant.
Both of them now stared at Yuri who said the only thing he could think of, ‘Right, I think I’ll just take Peter out for a walk.’
VOLGA MATUSHKA
Ordinarily the pale moonlight tiptoeing across the Volga Matushka, Mother Volga, made for a delightful picture. However, although the moon was out, this was no ordinary night. Hundreds of nervous and excited Russian soldiers lined the river’s edge. Only God knew how many of them would make it across to the other side.
On seeing the tattered city in the distance, Leyosha’s curse was instant, and he said to no one in particular, ‘This used to be one of the most beautiful sights. You could stand here on this very spot and see gleaming white office and apartment blocks reaching for the sky.’
It was hard for the others to believe this thanks to a great big, dirty fog that hung in the air, like a burial shroud over the smouldering remains of a city that had once been praised for being as beautiful as Paris.
‘I didn’t expect this, not the whole place to be like… this.’ Leyosha wiped the tears from his eyes, telling himself it was the smoke that made his eyes water so.
There was a group of wounded soldiers nearby. Leyosha called out to them, ‘What went on over there?’
One man was cradling a limp broken arm, he alone replied, ‘Trust me, you cannot make sense of what happened. Look for yourself.’ He pointed over at Stalingrad with his good arm. ‘The whole town was on fire.’
Leyosha’s eyes politely followed the direction of the man’s hand, yet he persisted in his quest for information, ‘But why did it burn for so long? How can so much be gone?’
The wounded soldier looked Leyosha in the eye and said slowly, as if talking to a small child, ‘Everything was on fire, comrade: the houses, the factories, the trees, the metal, the wood, the bricks… things melted or were burnt to dust.’
Leo asked, ‘What about the people?’
The soldier smiled. ‘That’s the thing. The animals were seen jumping into the Volga to escape the heat of the flames, but the people stayed. They stood and fought.’
They weren’t allowed to stand there for more than a few moments before their captain was shouting at everyone to get into the nearest boat, ‘Hurry up, hurry up, you mongrels!’
The boys stumbled on top of one another trying to catch their breath, while doing their best to make sense of what was going on and what was expected of them. Misha, who had followed his friends closely every step of the way, up to now, found himself pushed into a group that swarmed the first few boats. With neither time nor space to realise he was surrounded by strangers, he took his place in a small, creaky fishing boat. No seats available, he squashed himself up against the side of the boat before turning to find Vlad and Leo.
He fought panic as he saw only strange faces around him. Who were these men, these Russians? Peering back at the crowds of soldiers still on land, he caught sight of Vlad waving at him. Too embarrassed to wave back, he smiled through his fright, nodding his head to convince himself that everything was alright, reassuring himself he would meet up with them when they reached the other side.
His back to Stalingrad, he watched his friends being pushed forward towards the next batch of boats that arrived to ferry soldiers across the river. There was a lot of shouting, orders being roared and accepted, over the noise of engines, the trucks and boats, and something else.
‘This is exciting, isn’t it?’ Misha turned his head to face the speaker, a boy who looked the same age as himself but who was doing his utmost to appear older and braver than he actually was. Nevertheless, Misha felt immediately calmer. He hated not having someone to talk to, especially at a time like this. The two boys became firm friends on the spot, smiling at one another in relief as the packed boat slid away from the bank, allowing their flushed faces to be cooled by the late evening air. Misha would have liked to turn around to see Stalingrad, or even inspect the water for fish, but there were too many on board to allow for much movement.
His brand new best friend introduced himself as Oleg, before asking, ‘Can you swim?’
‘No. I never learned. In fact, I don’t like water much,’ admitted Misha.
He forgot to look out for Vlad and the others until it was too late. He had just been about to ask Oleg where he was from when he was rudely interrupted by too much noise overhead. German planes swarmed in the sky above, to attack the boats, needing to kill as many fighting Russians as they could before they could do any damage to their colleagues in the city. Big Russian anti-aircraft guns opened up, on both sides of the Volga, sending deadly fluorescent streams of bullets, streaking through the darkness, desperate to damage those planes in order to keep their soldiers alive long enough to make a difference. That was the best one could hope for.
In between bullets it was too dark to see who was in what boat, but then, during the shooting, it was as if the gateway to Hell opened, the whole scene was garishly lit up with the most unnatural light. Misha was momentarily distracted by the rainbow of colours – the oranges, reds and yellows of gun-fire. There was a frantic dance in the night sky as the Luftwaffe planes dodged the stream of Russian bullets.
‘It’s like a firework display!’ Misha said, aloud, though no one heard him. Then he dully repeated something he had already said, ‘No, I can’t swim,’ while wondering at Oleg’s strange question in the middle of all this: Why ask about swimming?
A whistle, that screamed louder and louder, caused all the occupants in Misha’s boat to look up, in wonder. Misha and Oleg imitated their companions and stared at the sky directly above their heads. Some bewildered seconds passed until it dawned on them what the whistle meant. Misha fancied he could see the German pilot, an actual Nazi. They had hardly seemed real, up to now. And there, on the side of the plane, was the terrifying Swastika, a little ancient symbol that had been hijacked by Adolf Hitler to strike fear into the heart of the whole world.
Oh, thought Misha, as he watched the plane open its belly and release its cargo. Now I understand about the swimming.
Oddly enough, it was Anton who screamed as Misha’s boat exploded into absolutely nothing: not a splinter or a limb was left – just a few waves bumping together, trying to decide which direction to fold in. ‘Did you see? Did you see?’ His eyes were wild, and he seemed quite mad, almost as if he was laughing, making his remaining classmates recoil from him in disgust.
‘Just shut up, will you!’ said Leo, the only words he uttered as their boat remained untouched while many others around them met Misha’s fate.
Vlad recited some long poem to himself. He couldn’t remember its name but managed to retrieve it from his memory, one sentence after another, mouthing the words, trying desperately not to think of anything else.
There was no sign of Leyosha or Maksim, although there were plenty of men in the water, begging to be rescued, but it was much too dangerous to stop and fish them out. The officers in charge could only shout at them to start swimming to Stalingrad or else hold on for another boat on its way back to the other bank. Besides, all the boats were overcrowded; there was no room for anyone else – no, that wasn’t exactly true now. Yes, the boats were crammed full at the beginning of the crossing, but, then, as dozens of men were shot dead by the pilots their slumped bodies were simply tossed into the river, making more room for everyone else.