“What did he say to you?”
“It went well tonight—” They spoke at the same time, not looking at one another, the usual tension of being out in the city after dark magnified by a new awkwardness neither could identify or explain.
“Not bad—” and “Nothing much—” they said together again, their eyes meeting this time. Both laughed spontaneously, relieved and suddenly happy.
“Papiere, bitte.” The sentry had stepped out of the shadows, catching the young pair by surprise, blocking their way. They produced the necessary documents at once. No one ventured out without their identity papers; it was now as natural as breathing. They stood meekly side by side, but not too close together, while the middle-aged soldier examined the papers, lifting his gaze to rest brazenly on Galina’s features for several interminable moments. She pulled at her head scarf, shielding her face from the now steadily falling rain as much as from the penetrating intrusion of his stare.
He pushed his cap back, laid one finger along her cheek, moving her face from side to side like a photographer looking for a subject’s best angle. Galina froze. Filip! The name filled her head, but her mouth, dry with dread, made no sound. She felt her friend at her side, wooden, useless, dumb. What did she want from him? Any heroic rescue attempt was likely to end badly for them both. They were entirely at the man’s mercy, helpless against his superior strength, and the power evidenced by the pistol at his side. He could do anything he wanted to, with absolute impunity, here on this deserted street corner.
“Ja…,” he said, drawing out the syllable with palpable menace. She closed her eyes against the sight of her tormentor’s unshaven jowls, holding her breath against the stale, nauseating smell of cigarette smoke and wet wool, hoping he had not seen her fear. Knowing, too, that fear was the one thing she could not conceal, that it was written indelibly on her and that the soldier fed on it, violating her even if he released her unharmed.
“How old are you, boy?” The soldier addressed them in a hodgepodge of German and Russian so clumsy it might have been comical under different circumstances. He shifted his eyes to Filip without moving his head, his hand now resting heavily on Galina’s shoulder. “Wait… I can work it out… 1925… May… so, seventeen, ja? Almost ready to serve der Führer. You don’t look like you could do much work, though, skinny kid like you.” He made a strange sound, something between a snort, a laugh, and a whinny, something animal and chilling.
Perhaps it was the weather that saved them, the sky now lit with intermittent lightning, the rain hard and cold. Or maybe the presence of the boy, who, though clearly unable to protect his companion against the older man, could have been enough of a nuisance to make the enterprise not worth the trouble. The soldier could have shot him, of course, but just this week the Kommandant had impressed on the men in his unit the need to supply the fatherland with a steady stream of “recruits” to work in factories and mines—labor essential to Germany’s war effort. This kid was no Hercules, but even he could be made useful, soon enough. Besides, the new austerity measures extended to munitions; every bullet had to be accounted for.
He let them go, but not before the back of his hand brushed against Galina’s neck and slithered over her breast, coming to rest for several interminable heartbeats at her waist. “Forty minutes to curfew,” he said curtly, shooing them away like bothersome flies. “Vierzig Minuten.”
They hurried on, Galina in front now, her head down, arms wrapped tightly around herself.
“Galya, I—I—” Filip stuttered, running to catch up to her.
“What?” She turned on him, feet planted wide, the icy fury in her eyes catching the weak reflection of a single ineffectual streetlight. “You what?”
They stopped talking to let an old woman by, her net shopping bag distended with several small paper-wrapped parcels, scuffed house slippers slapping against her bare heels. She eyed the young people with guarded curiosity. “Make peace with one another, children,” she muttered in passing. “For God’s sake, make peace.”
Filip looked away. “I was afraid,” he confessed once the woman was out of earshot. How to begin to explain his failure even to make a sound while the person he cared about most in the world faced imminent danger? And what about the threat to himself? He had no words to describe the utter paralysis that had gripped his every muscle, a paralysis now released with spasms of violent shivering. He jammed his fists into his pockets to hide the trembling of his fingers.
Galina looked at him, seeing the boy, the sheltered child that he was. Her stance relaxed a bit, her voice softened. “I know,” she said.
They did not speak again until they turned onto Galina’s street. There was nothing to say; it had been the first direct threat to their safety, but surely, in this city crawling with invading troops, not the last.
“My friend Vova, you remember him from school?” Filip asked.
“Vova the joker, who put toads into Leonid Petrovich’s briefcase?” she recalled, her tone lighter but still strained.
Filip nodded. “He ran off yesterday, looking for a Red Army unit to join.”
“Vova’s eighteen? It doesn’t seem possible.” Galina shook her head. “But the Reds are retreating. How will he find them?”
“Papa says they are north of here, heading toward Moscow.”
“What will he do? Vova, I mean.”
“Fly. He said he would rather die in a blaze of glory from the sky than be shot like a rat in a muddy maze of trenches. And anything is better than working for the Germans.”
“Ai,” she exclaimed softly. “Is no one safe?”
“Men under eighteen and over forty-five, and some university students, though I hear they will be next. And married men are exempt for now, I think.”
The rain had all but stopped. Galina took off her kerchief and shook it briskly, the wet cloth flapping sharp as a gunshot in the stillness of the night. “I know several families whose fathers are at the front.”
“So do I. But I don’t understand why they went.”
“And you a Young Pioneer! Have you forgotten your lessons? Patriotism, defending the motherland, doing your part? A Pioneer honors the memory of those who gave their lives in battle for the freedom and glory of the Soviet homeland.” She recited the slogan so solemnly that he could not be sure she didn’t believe it. “Some went for the pay, too. You know there’s practically no work here.”
“Not much sense in it if they are killed. Or worse, captured. The Nazis are not known for humane treatment of prisoners. I was never a model Pioneer. You know I’m no good at informing on family and neighbors. I can’t even sing properly.” They turned into the alley leading to Galina’s courtyard, walking quickly now, aware of the passing time.
“I will be eighteen in two months.” Filip stopped at the door to Galina’s flat, speaking in an urgent whisper. “There is no university exam until the end of May.”
“What will you do?” She leaned into him, her breath sending a shiver down his spine.
“I cannot fight. It’s just not in me. I can do something, ‘my part,’ as you say. But not fight. And the thought of working in Germany makes me sick.” He looked up, watching the turbid sky clear to reveal its wintry arrangement of stars, the rain clouds moving south in the direction of the Black Sea.