chewed their meatballs and vegetable salad, the girls and their mother and even Nikolai cried quietly into their plates.
September 1941
After breakfast the next morning, Natasha read to her grandmother, a little bit from The Three Musketeers and a little bit from The Count of Monte Cristo. And as she read Mark’s favourite books, she imagined his smile. Only two hours to go till she saw him again. Finally, when Grandmother nodded off to sleep, Natasha closed the door to her bedroom, got dressed and brushed her hair.
She wished she had some make-up, some perfume, anything to make her more attractive to him. She peered at her reflection in the mirror. Peered at her light-green eyes, at her pale skin, pale eyelashes, pale everything. She longed for some colour in her face, a shade of red for her lips, some pink for her cheeks. She rummaged in her sister’s drawer and found some lipstick and mascara.
When she was ready, she locked the door behind her and practically ran downstairs. She was afraid that the sound of her beating heart would wake her grandmother and alert her father to the fact that something remarkable was happening on this unremarkable Monday morning.
She was almost at the bottom of the stairs when she bumped into her sister. Lisa sang tonelessly as she walked through the front door of their building. If Natasha wasn’t in such a hurry, she would have recognised Lisa’s voice in time to hide behind a pillar. But as it was, she was moving with such a speed, she almost knocked her sister off her feet.
Lisa stopped singing. ‘Ouch,’ she said. ‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘Sorry, I was just leaving.’
Lisa peered at Natasha suspiciously. ‘Going somewhere special?’
‘Not really. Just to see Olga.’
Natasha made a move to get past her sister, but Lisa grabbed her by the arm, blinking and staring.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Natasha.
Lisa said, ‘Come here for a moment. Under this window.’ After a second or two of incredulous observation, she exclaimed, ‘I knew it.’
‘What?’ Natasha wondered how long it would take to get around Lisa and to the front door, but her sister was clutching her arm so tightly, it was impossible to move. ‘Let go, you’re hurting me.’
‘What is going on?’ demanded Lisa.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Tell me right now where you’re going.’
‘I told you. To see Olga.’ What time was it? Natasha didn’t want Mark to wait for her. What if he thought she didn’t want to see him?
‘And what’s that on your face?’
‘Don’t know what you mean.’
‘Do you wear make-up for Olga now? Natasha, I’ve known you all my life and never, not once, did I see you with mascara on. Just look at your eyelashes!’ Lisa examined Natasha’s face as if she had never seen it before.
‘I wear make-up sometimes. You just never noticed.’
‘Never noticed? You don’t even own make-up. You say mascara makes your eyes water. Hang on a second, is that my make-up you’re wearing? Did you take it out of my drawer without even asking?’ Lisa put her hands on her hips, letting go of Natasha.
Once again Natasha tried to get past Lisa, but her sister was too fast. She blocked the way. ‘So what? Like you didn’t take that scarf without asking? It’s Mama’s favourite,’ said Natasha, pulling at the silky shawl that was skilfully arranged around Lisa’s neck.
Lisa ignored her, sniffing the air around her. ‘And what’s that smell? Is it Mama’s perfume?’
‘Lisa, what do you want?’ Natasha wished she had left a minute earlier. Had she done that, she would have been halfway to Kreshchatyk by now.
A neighbour walked past, glaring at the girls. The sisters fell quiet, waiting for him to pass. When he was gone, Lisa said, ‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on or do I have to follow you?’
‘You’re going to have to follow me,’ said Natasha, shaking with impatience.
‘Fine. Keep your secret. Won’t be the first time,’ said Lisa, moving sideways and letting her sister go.
Natasha breathed out in relief and opened the door. Only when she was outside did she realise that Lisa was close behind her. ‘What are you doing?’ asked Natasha.
‘What does it look like I’m doing? Going to see Olga, of course,’ said Lisa, sniggering.
Natasha watched Lisa for a mute moment and then said, ‘You know what, Lisa? I don’t feel so good. Why don’t you go to Olga without me? Tell her I said hi.’
Not waiting for her sister to reply, Natasha turned on her heels and disappeared through the front door of their building. She ran up one flight of stairs to the window, just in time to see Lisa vanish around the corner.
*
When Natasha thought it was safe, she emerged from her hiding place. Looking around cautiously, half expecting her sister to jump out from behind the next tree, she set off in the direction of Kreshchatyk. Her hands trembled in fear, in excitement. What if he wasn’t there? Or worse – what if he had given up on her and left? Although she didn’t own a watch, she knew she must be quite late.
Natasha almost sprinted down the street, despite the shoes that were half a size too small and pinched her feet mercilessly. And there, on a bench under a golden-brown chestnut tree basking in timid autumn sunlight, was Mark.
Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. And then it struck her: He’s not wearing civilian clothes today, he’s wearing his uniform. What would people think when they saw her strolling hand in hand with a Hungarian soldier? What if someone she knew recognised her? Would they tell her parents? Would they call her names and spread awful rumours? Would they think she was betraying her country, just like the women she’d seen welcoming the Nazis to Kiev? She shuddered.
But he was here, waiting for her, and at that moment in time, it was the only thing that mattered.
He stood up to greet her, and suddenly she didn’t know what to do. Did she hug him? Did she shake his hand? What was the acceptable protocol for a Soviet girl meeting a Hungarian soldier on the streets of occupied Kiev? He was so tall, she couldn’t raise her eyes high enough to see his face. She stared at the buttons of his tunic instead. ‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ she blurted out. ‘My sister… She wouldn’t let me out of her sight. Have you been waiting long?’
‘Not too long. Do you want to walk to Taras Shevchenko Park?’ Natasha happily agreed. She knew there were only a handful of warm days left before winter arrived, bringing with it the icy cold and the gloomy skies. It was a beautiful sunny day and the park was bathed in autumn colours. The ground hid under a thick carpet of leaves, and Natasha enjoyed the soft feeling under her feet.
The trenches stood empty, their mocking mouths agape.
They ambled side by side, not looking at each other. ‘I come here all the time when I’m off duty,’ said Mark. ‘I love the park.’
Natasha wanted to tell him that she loved the park, too, but then she glanced at the spot where three days ago a German officer shot her grandmother. And she didn’t say anything.
‘I’m sorry about your grandmother,’ said Mark, as if he could read her mind. ‘Is she feeling any better?’
‘Not better. Not worse. Just… the