Feeling a little embarrassed, Yuri said ‘yes’, while giving Peter a warning look to mind his manners.
The women grinned at one another, taking no offence at Peter’s precociousness. ‘So’, said the taller of the two, ‘at least I know what to call you two, Yuri and Peter. My name is Isabella and this is Sarah.’
Yuri nodded, shook her hand and said, ‘Pleased to meet you.’
Peter watched him and then copied him, word for word, making Isabella smile.
While waiting impatiently for their bread, the boys took the opportunity to have a peek at their surroundings. It was an odd room, slightly smaller than their basement, with lots of drawings, books and lit candles. In the middle of the table was a small jar filled with flowers which had started to droop. Someone had been drawing pictures of the flowers. Yuri could see them on a chair in the corner, and it must have been when the flowers were fresh because of how straight they stood in the paintings.
Isabella saw him looking at the artwork and said, ‘We have to try and remember the important things, and keep them alive in our mind’. Her sister smiled in agreement.
‘You have a lot of books and things,’ Yuri said. ‘All we have are chairs and blankets where we live.’
Isabella followed his greedy looks at the books in towering piles that leant precariously against one another. ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘But they’re not ours.’
There was a gasp from Peter, and before Yuri could stop him he blurted out, ‘You stole them?’
The women laughed heartily while Sarah managed to say, ‘Goodness, no! We’re not thieves.’
Yuri wanted to put his head in his hands. Isabella continued on from her sister’s cheery denial, ‘They’re from one of the libraries. We’re just minding them until the war is over.’ She picked up one and blew the dust off its cover. ‘When we found this nice place to live, we used to go out looking for things to rescue: books, flowers, pictures or whatever we could find.’
‘Why?’ asked Peter.
‘Well, one day the soldiers will leave and it will be time to build Stalingrad back up again.’
‘Why?’ asked Peter again.
Isabella gave him a gentle smile. ‘Don’t you want things to go back to normal?’
Peter scrunched up his nose. ‘What do you mean “normal”’?
‘Oh, now,’ said Sarah. ‘Isn’t that a good question!’
Peter’s reply was one of genuine surprise, ‘It is?’
Isabella was enjoying the conversation. ‘Tell me, pet, wouldn’t you like the houses to be fixed up, along with the roads, the shops and the schools, you know, for the city to go back to how it used to be before the bombs?’
Peter looked as if he was hearing the most fantastic story. ‘Really, can somebody do that?’
Isabella put the book back in its place. ‘Well, the war can’t last forever and that has to mean that things will get better again. So, we can all look forward to that, can’t we?’
Yuri had guessed what was coming next.
Peter whispered, ‘Do you mean I’ll be able to go home and Mama will be there, like before?’
Yuri quickly opened his mouth to explain, but Isabella shook her head, letting him know that she had guessed it all. Taking one of Peter’s hands, she said, ‘No, my dear. I am afraid that the people we have lost – like your mother and my sister Maria – won’t be coming back after the war but they will always be with us in our hearts.’
Peter cried softly for just a minute or two. It was the first time that Yuri had seen Peter cry about his mother, and he had to dig his nails into his thighs to stop himself from doing the same thing.
Finally, four thin slices were cut from the first loaf and barely touched with the butter knife. Sarah laid them gently on their plates and then fetched two small glasses of brownish water. Bread and water, it was a banquet. Silence reigned as Peter and Yuri ate and drank, both of them taking their time, wanting to make the meal last for as long as possible. The two women busied themselves as the boys ate. Isabella produced knitting, which must have been in her apron pocket, while Sarah moved the paintings out of the armchair and sat down. She picked up a tin box which was at her feet, and taking one of the paintings, she turned it over. Next, she opened the box and took out a pencil and, with that, began to make marks on the blank side. It only occurred to Yuri what she was doing when he saw her study himself and Peter in turn and then go back to the page, over and over again. So, she was the artist and, apparently, they were her next picture. He pretended not to notice; it was a little embarrassing to have her stare at him. Anyway, he was thoroughly enjoying the bread, the nicest he had ever tasted.
Perhaps to distract them from her drawing, she began talking about her sister, Maria, ‘She was a bit older than us. We called her “Mother” because she went out every day no matter how loud the guns were, carrying a bucket of soup to feed whoever was hungry. She wasn’t afraid of anything, was she Isabella?’
Isabella broke off from counting stitches. ‘No, indeed. We couldn’t stop her. In her mind it was the least she could do for those defending the city.’
Peter asked the question on Yuri’s lips, ‘What happened to her?’
Sarah didn’t hesitate to answer, ‘We think the Germans began to recognise her since they would have seen her so often, going from building to building, in search of the people who had come to rely on her. And I suppose they disliked the idea of our soldiers’ strength being helped by a cup of watery soup.’
Peter waited for her to finish.
Rubbing away at something on the page, she glanced up at her listeners, with raised eyebrows, wondering if they had guessed the ending.
Yuri rose to the occasion. ‘They killed her for helping our soldiers?’
Sarah began sketching again. ‘I don’t think any of us expected them to bother with a harmless old woman, but they must have felt she was a threat. Anyway, that’s why you two are here. We’re continuing on her work, feeding those who stumble across us.’
Peter looked to be doing his best to control his emotions. Finally, he asked in a shaky voice, ‘Are you very sad?’
Sarah paused, the pencil in her hand hovering over the paper. ‘Well, Isabella and I miss her, of course. But Maria wouldn’t have wanted it any other way; she died helping others on the streets of the city she loved.’
Peter’s downcast expression immediately upturned itself into a blazing smile as he said, ‘Oh, well, that’s alright then.’ Having no more to say on the subject, he turned his attention back to his meal, leaving a thoroughly mortified Yuri to squirm in his seat; please let him keep his mouth shut until we leave.
Peter did stay quiet for the next few minutes, as did everyone else, which was how they eventually heard the voices in the distance. They weren’t that far away since the women and the boys could hear what they were saying – and it wasn’t Russian.
Isabella put her fingers to her lips. Yuri stopped chewing, his hand holding onto his last bite of bread. Peter, however, greedily pushed the rest of his slice into his mouth, determined to let nothing get in the way of his finishing it. He eyed up Yuri’s last piece, clearly hoping Yuri’d hand it over to him, but he didn’t.
The women continued doing what they were doing, though Yuri noticed Isabella’s hands tremble a little, causing her to drop her ball of wool on the floor. Peter made a move to retrieve it. Yuri expected one of the sisters to tell him to stay put, but they didn’t. The ball of dark green wool unravelled to the other side of the room. Peter followed it, bent down to pick it up and, with Isabella’s nod of permission, began to slowly wind the loose strand around the remaining little bundle. So absorbed was he in this task, he didn’t seem too interested in the sound of approaching footsteps. In a desperate effort to stop whatever was going to happen, Yuri closed his eyes and counted to ten. When he opened them again, three German soldiers were standing in the doorway. Peter hardly glanced at them, and of course didn’t recognise their uniform, so enthralled was he in making that ball of wool as perfectly round as he could. Yuri, on the other hand, quickly scanned his surroundings for another way out, should they have to make a run for it. Unfortunately, the Germans were blocking the only point of exit. Yuri tried his best to ignore the urge to shout, We’re trapped!