Lana Kortchik - The Story of Us - The sweeping historical debut of 2018 that you will never forget

‘I am Russian,’ she whispered. She could swear her heart stopped for one whole minute. She wondered what it would feel like to feel his lips on hers. He kissed her forehead, opened the door and waved.

If it wasn’t for her mother’s shoes pinching her toes, Natasha would have skipped all the way home.

*

Olga had heard from a neighbour that one of the stores on Proreznaya Street had sugar and butter. She told Natasha, and the two girls, who hadn’t seen butter since June, rushed to the store and joined the line, shivering in the rain. The girls were the only ones talking in the sea of gloomy and mute faces.

Natasha desperately needed to confide in someone. If she didn’t share her feelings with another living soul, she wasn’t going to make it through her day. How could she, when she couldn’t breathe for the burning inside her chest and all she could hear in her head was his name? Never having been in love before, she wanted to climb to the top of the tallest building in Kiev and shout his name for everyone to hear. ‘It’s so good to see you, Olga,’ she said. ‘I have so much to tell you.’

‘That’s lucky because this could take a while.’ Olga pointed at the queue stretching for what seemed like a mile in front of them. ‘What do you want to tell me? Something good?’

‘Something wonderful.’

‘Tell me, quick. I need good news to take my mind off things.’

Natasha peered into her friend’s face. Olga had lost weight and when she moved, it was in slow motion, as if every step drained what little energy she had. ‘Is everything okay? You don’t look so good.’

‘I’m just worried, Natasha. I keep hearing rumours—’

‘Rumours of what?’

‘Just the things the Nazis are doing to the Jewish people in Europe. Haven’t you heard?’

‘I haven’t heard, no,’ said Natasha, instantly feeling guilty for thinking only of herself. And of Mark.

‘Ever since they’ve come here, I haven’t been able to sleep. What are they going to do to me and my mama once they find out we are Jewish?’

Natasha squeezed Olga’s hand, trying to reassure her. ‘There are hundreds of thousands of Jewish people in Kiev. What can they possibly do to all of you?’

‘I’ve heard of ghettos in Poland and… I don’t know if it’s true, but someone told me they’ve shot thousands in Kovno in July.’

‘That’s impossible! It’s just a rumour, Olga, nothing else. Why would they kill so many people? They need someone to work for them, to man their factories, to bake bread and make munitions.’

Olga’s face looked lighter, not as grim. ‘You think so? I hope you’re right.’

‘Of course I am. They want us to see them as liberators. How will they keep up the pretence if they do something so terrible?’

‘Like they care what we think.’ Olga shrugged.

‘We’ll be okay. We’ll get through this.’ More than anything Natasha wanted to believe her own words but how could she, when all she saw around her was misery and despair? And judging by Olga’s face, she didn’t believe her either.

‘Tell me your wonderful news. It will cheer me up.’

Natasha took a deep breath and told Olga everything. She told her what happened in the park and about her secret meeting with Mark. ‘Wait till you see him. You are going to love him. He’s kind and attentive and handsome.’

Olga watched her intently, her own predicament seemingly forgotten. ‘You sound so happy,’ she said, but her face remained dull, as if anyone sounding happy in the face of the Nazi occupation was something to worry about.

‘He does make me happy. When I see him, nothing else matters. Not the Germans in Kiev, not the war, nothing.’

‘You said he’s Hungarian. Natasha, they’re allied with the Nazis.’

‘Don’t you think I know that? But he had no choice. He was forced to enlist and fight for Hitler.’

‘I’m not saying this to upset you. And I am happy for you. I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all. You only have one heart. Don’t give it away too freely. What future could you possibly have together?’

The queue wasn’t moving. There were no arguments and no confrontations to distract Natasha from Olga’s words. The same words that echoed in her head ever since she met Mark. ‘It’s war, Olga. What future do any of us have?’

‘You say Mark is here against his will. But he’s still here. He’s still our enemy.’

‘It’s not like that,’ protested Natasha. ‘He helps people. He saved me and my babushka. He can do more good here than anywhere else.’

‘He’s still on Hitler’s side. He didn’t jump off the truck bound for Ukraine and join a partisan battalion fighting against the Nazis. He didn’t risk his life and his family’s lives to avoid mobilisation.’ Natasha felt tears perilously close. She clasped her fists to stave them off. Olga added, ‘All I’m saying is, people all over the world are risking their lives to fight Hitler. If Mark didn’t want to be here, he wouldn’t be here. How long have you known him? What makes you think you can trust him?’

Telling Olga had been a mistake. Underneath her friendly concern, Natasha could sense something she didn’t like. A current of disapproval and incomprehension. ‘He’s a good person,’ she said. ‘Kind, caring, supportive. He saved my life. He’s good person,’ she repeated softly, as if it wasn’t Olga she was trying to convince but herself.

After they queued for an hour, the store manager came out and said there was no sugar or butter left in the store. Nothing left in the store at all. A hundred hungry and disgruntled Kievans left empty-handed. Olga seemed preoccupied, and Natasha didn’t want to talk about her fears anymore because talking about them made them seem real. The girls walked five blocks to Tarasovskaya Street in silence.

*

When Natasha returned home, she saw two Gestapo officers smoking outside her building. Autumn sun reflected off the silver buttons of their uniforms, and their left sleeves were adorned with swastikas. Natasha couldn’t bear the sight of the frightening symbol. She lowered her gaze. The two of them scared her so much that she forgot all about Mark for the few seconds it took her to cross the yard. She sped up, wishing she had dressed down like Olga.

In the kitchen, she opened Mark’s bag and placed everything on the table. In their hiding place in the garden they still had a few cans of fish and some barley. There was plenty of tea in the cupboard but no more salt or sugar.

‘Natasha! Where did you get all this?’ exclaimed Mother. Startled, Natasha turned around. A look of confused disbelief was on Mother’s face.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be at work?’ asked Natasha. She fidgeted under her mother’s glare.

‘There was no one there, so I came home.’

Natasha wished she had a plausible explanation for what seemed like a feast set out on the kitchen table. She couldn’t think straight, and blurted out the first thing that came to her mind, vaguely aware that it would be all too easy for Mother to check her story. ‘Olga’s mama sent the food. She went to the village this morning.’ She felt her face burn.