Adults were adults, Danil reasoned; they were free to make their own decisions, and they should live with the consequences of those decisions. Those who disobeyed should expect to be arrested. It was no secret that free thought and free expression were illegal. One chose to flout those laws at one’s own risk. But children were different. Children were innocent. Children deserved to be protected.
Danil had grown wealthy tending to the children of Russia’s political elite. He did not charge the leaders of his country more than he would have charged a Tankograd factory worker. In fact, he could not charge more, for he practiced medicine in an economy that was State run, where prices for everything, even a medical checkup, were fixed. But he could accept gifts. In fact, Danil had to accept gifts. It would have been an insult to his very powerful clientele if he refused to accept those gifts. The political elite claimed to be running a country of socioeconomic equality. And yet somehow the rulers of the country had amassed far greater wealth than those over whom they ruled.
Danil never questioned the obvious corruption. But he did profit indirectly from it. His wealthy clientele made him wealthy through their gracious generosity. They were so grateful for his help in keeping their children healthy that they insisted he accept their extravagant rewards. Duck had been one such gift.
He was the puppy of a champion Schutzhund owned by Friedrich Werner von der Schulenberg, the German ambassador to Moscow until 1941. Von der Schulenberg’s granddaughter contracted pneumonia while visiting the ambassador in the winter of 1938. Danil successfully treated the young girl, and von der Schulenberg gave him the puppy in gratitude.
It was the first gift Danil considered refusing. After all, it came from a German statesman, not a Russian politician. He felt confident there would be no repercussions for slighting von der Schulenberg. But hardly had the ambassador presented the puppy to Danil’s three-year-old son, Maxim, before boy and dog were rolling around on the apartment floor, inseparable. Danil couldn’t deny his child anything, least of all a new puppy.
Danil didn’t know how to take care of a dog. He had lived with his father in a communal boardinghouse when he was a child. His only animal companions there were rats. But Duck wasn’t difficult to manage. He was a smart dog and eager to please, so he caught on quickly that he wasn’t supposed to urinate or defecate in the apartment, and he was remarkably vocal when he needed to be let out to relieve himself.
He was also a good watchdog, alerting them when anyone approached the apartment door, and barking when anyone knocked. He would growl if Danil’s wife, Anya, stood at the door without letting the visitor in. But whenever she stepped aside to allow a guest within, Duck would sniff the stranger’s hand and then let his guard down.
Danil believed that Duck was a mere animal, a nonsentient creature ruled by survival instinct, rather than reason or emotion. Despite that fundamental belief, he found it impossible not to project his own emotions onto the dog. Duck seemed so intelligent and seemed to love his family and Maxim, in particular, so much. Despite his best efforts, Danil had grown to love the dog, too. Duck seemed to him like a very strong and able child. And, like a child, he was innocent.
Then the Germans invaded. And Duck was drafted. Danil couldn’t say no. To do so wouldn’t just have been defying the army; it would have been defying the Communist Party. Danil knew better than that. Nonetheless, when he’d watched Duck being taken away, he’d felt like he was watching his own son marching off to war. He felt certain he would never see Duck again.
Maxim was less conflicted. He was proud of his dog and certain he’d become a war hero. Maxim still had the innocence of a child. He didn’t know what would really happen to Duck. He had saluted the dog as Duck was loaded into an army truck.
And now, against all odds, Duck was back.
He came escorted by two young soldiers who were practically children themselves. Danil was grateful to the soldiers, and not just for bringing his pet home. He was grateful to them for preserving Maxim’s innocence.
Maxim wanted to know all about Duck’s adventures, of course; and the boy soldier, who introduced himself as Petr, obliged him. Petr described how Duck saved him from a German booby trap. He even demonstrated with sticks how the nefarious Nazis had rigged the booby trap with grenades.
He told the boy how Duck had helped destroy several tanks, running back and forth and confusing their commanders long enough for the antitank riflemen to fill the panzers with holes. But he didn’t tell Maxim about the real horrors of battle. He didn’t tell him about the death, the countless defeats, and the hopelessness of the resistance.
Danil didn’t like to think about that, either, but he also didn’t like to fool himself. His position as pediatrician to the politically powerful allowed him to overhear private conversations, which included discussions of defeat.
The Russians had engineered one great victory: the winter defense of Moscow. But overall, the German invasion had been a military disaster. Few believed the Soviet Union could survive another offensive, and the more practical individuals were beginning to plan for a future under Nazi rule. But Danil wondered if there ever could be a future under Nazi rule. The Germans weren’t here to conquer; they were here to steal. And he could tell that the girl soldier agreed with him.
Her name was Inna, and there was something strange about her, something haunted. She hardly spoke, preferring to defer all questions to the more gregarious Petr. Danil had the strange feeling that this Inna girl had a better grasp of what was really happening out there than even his leaders in the Kremlin.
The time for stories had ended. It had gotten dark. Anya took Maxim to bed.
Duck hesitated, looking up at Petr for approval. Petr scratched the dog under his chin, encouraging the dog to go. “You’re home, boy, you don’t need me anymore.”
Duck lowered his snout and licked Petr’s hand, but Petr pulled it away. “Go on,” he said encouragingly.
Duck didn’t need to be told again. He trotted off, anxious to sleep at Maxim’s feet. Petr then asked Danil whether they could speak in private. Danil led Petr and Inna to his office. They sat uncomfortably on a simple sofa while he took a position behind his desk. They stared at one another for a moment in silence, and Danil wondered whether he should offer them vodka. Were they old enough? They were soldiers; of course they were.
He reached into a desk drawer and held up a bottle. Petr nodded, so Danil silently poured three glasses. They clinked them together in a toast and took a sip. Danil noticed Inna grimace. She clearly wasn’t used to strong liquor.
Petr looked down at his glass, then took another large gulp, as if for courage. He looked across at Danil, who’d retaken his seat. “I wasn’t completely honest with your son,” Petr said.
Danil nodded. He’d known that, and he was grateful for it. “I appreciate that. I’m sure you’ve seen things that I’d prefer he didn’t know about.”
“Yes, of course.” Petr nodded. “But not just that. About Duck. About what he was trained for.”
Danil hadn’t expected this. “Why? Is there something wrong? Could he hurt us, hurt Maxim?”
“No, nothing like that.”
Danil stared at the boy soldier and said, “The soldiers who took him, they warned me that he would be trained for war, trained to attack. They warned me that he wouldn’t be safe around a family afterward. They warned me I would never see him again.”
“They lied.”
Danil was shocked. This he hadn’t expected. “What do you mean?”
“He was trained for war, yes,” Petr began, searching for a way to explain, “at least in a certain manner. But not to attack.” He stumbled over the words. “I mean, he did attack, but it came naturally to him to defend me, to defend her…” He motioned toward the Inna girl. “I’m sure he’d do the same to defend your family, to defend Maxim. But that’s not what he was trained for.”
“What was he trained for?”
“He was trained to blow himself up.”
Now Danil was confused. “I don’t understand.”
“We use dogs, so-called mine dogs. We use them to destroy German tanks. We strap explosives to them and train them to run underneath a tank, where the explosives go off.”
Danil nodded. In a twisted, cruel way, it actually sounded quite brilliant. “Does it work?”
Petr shook his head. “Not that I’ve seen. The dogs get confused. They were trained on our tanks, you see. Ours run on a different type of fuel. So when they smell the German tanks, well, like I said, they get confused. Usually they just explode without really hurting anyone but themselves.”
Danil was beginning to understand. “That’s why they told me I’d never see him again. Because they expected him to explode.”
“That’s right. And that’s why we brought him back. If he goes back into the army, they’ll strap him to a bomb again. He’s better than that. He deserves more than that.”
So Duck had cast his spell over these soldiers, too. That made sense. They didn’t want the dog to die any more than Danil did. They’d grown to love the animal. “I think I understand.”
“I don’t know if you can keep him hidden, but if you don’t, you might lose him.”
Hiding Duck would mean defying official policy. Technically, it would be a crime. It would be the first and only time Danil had resisted his government. It was a dangerous risk. Men had been arrested, had been tortured, and had been sent to Gulag labor camps for less.
Danil wanted to tell the boy soldier no. He wanted to send him away and make him take Duck away with him. But he couldn’t. Much to his dismay, Danil realized he was still in love with the dog, too.
So instead, Danil just said, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Duck’s happy here. I’m glad we brought him home.”
“If there’s anything I can do for you?”
“No, nothing,” Petr said. “We’re fine—”
“You can give us clothes,” the girl cut in.
Danil glanced over at her, surprised. She had been so quiet until now, so deferential. He had somehow assumed she was meek, despite whatever smarts she might have. Now her voice was direct and commanding. Petr’s expression revealed that he hadn’t expected it, either. But, unlike Danil, he didn’t seem surprised.
“Nice clothes,” Inna continued. “Formal clothes. A dress for me and a suit for him.” She nodded toward Petr. “They don’t have to be new. They don’t have to be nice. They just have to be clean and presentable.”
Danil nodded. He had an old suit he hardly wore anymore, and he was sure Anya could give up one dress. It was the least they could do, hardly a just reward for the return of their pet. “May I ask why?”
“I’d prefer if you didn’t,” Inna replied. And she left it at that.