Мария Кузнецова - Something Unbelievable

We carried our luggage toward the train, approaching the fray. As the sun crept above the horizon, hinting at the sweltering day to come, the station swarmed with engineers and their frantic families trying to shove onto the cars, and workers who shoved metal equipment into the cars in the back of the train. Police officers attempted to keep people in line with their batons, shouting into the void. Our greetings with the Orlovs were brief and businesslike, though when Misha nodded and said, “Larissa,” I felt a bit faint. “Mikhail,” I answered stupidly.

“Ladies,” said Bogdan, tipping his head toward me and my sister, and we dully repeated his name.

Mama and Papa and even Baba were stony, while Polya was on the brink of tears, and I mimicked the adults instead of my weak baby sister.

Uncle Konstantin arranged for us to have the first car, closest to the conductor, which was a privilege, though it meant dragging our things through the hordes all the way to the other side of the station. Mama and Papa followed him and his wife inside the car. My parents had much in common, but physically they made an odd couple. Mama was a tall, handsome, plump, and broad-shouldered woman with thick brows, and my father was a thin-haired man of average build who was quite good-looking in spite of the thick frames covering his sparkling green eyes.

Our families were joined by the Garanins, the other family that would be sharing the car with us, which consisted of Uncle Nikita, Uncle Konstantin’s third in command, his pretty wife, Aunt Yulia, and their sweet four-year-old blond, pigtailed daughter, Yaroslava. I did not much care for children, but this girl was an exception. She was exceedingly sweet and curious, gazing about her like she was on a carnival ride instead of fleeing a war. “So many people!” she kept saying, hopefully, like it was a blessing.

I only encountered the girl and her parents during Institute celebrations, and my parents were always friendly to them, though once, I heard them whisper that they found them dull, and I had to wonder if Mama’s true aversion to Aunt Yulia came from the fact that, though the woman dressed modestly and kept her hair pinned back, she was a dark, Mongolian beauty. Mama distrusted any woman with good looks, though this did not mean she was any kinder to me or any more cruel to Polya as a result.

The parents moved ahead of the children, while Baba Tonya stayed by Polya’s side, muttering that her dress was getting trampled. My sister managed to attract attention even under duress; a man in front of us turned back to admire her until his wife yanked him ahead. The crowd swelled as we lurched forward and I grabbed my sister’s delicate hand and squeezed hard.

“You’re hurting me,” she said.

“Good,” I said, moving away from her, reminding myself what happened whenever I tried to be nice to the girl. Why bother?

“It is important to remain calm,” shouted Uncle Konstantin as we followed him through the chaos.

“I’m about as calm as a rabbit on fire,” said his wife, shaking her head, and for once, I agreed with her.

“I am exhausted,” muttered my grandmother, to no one.

The car where our three families attempted to settle was meant for cargo, all right. Slabs of wood that would serve as bunk beds jutted out of the walls, and there were only two small windows in the entire car; I knew I would go mad without a view and jumped on the bottom bunk near the window, which left Polya to take the top. Everyone else coupled off, and Baba splayed out on her very own bed, her boa feathers fluttering on either side of her like defeated wings. The brothers chose the bed next to ours, and I was not disappointed. Misha was on the bottom bunk just as I was, so he and I would be sleeping only centimeters apart; perhaps, late into the night, if we were turned toward each other, I would feel his hot breath on my face, a more welcome intrusion than the stinky sister breath I was accustomed to. Bogdan had collapsed on the bed on top of his with a smug little grin, arms crossed behind his head like we were taking a trip to the country and this was all a grand adventure.

Mama snuck me and Polya some bread and honey she had packed up from the apartment, and it tasted heavenly. After I ate, I glued myself to the window as the train chugged away from the station, watching my city recede. I caught one last glimpse of the Dnieper. In the morning light, the river where I learned to swim and picnicked with my family looked majestic and whole. I wished I could run to it one last time, to bathe in its loving waters. The maple trees lining the embankment were in full glory, and I would not see them shedding their leaves. I loved walking by them after school in the fall, watching their propellers spin to the ground. Would there be maple trees in Lower Turinsk? Would there be trees at all? I had never been so far east. From my books, I imagined it to be a beautiful, terrifying, barren place. I wondered if I would die in it.

After a so-called lunch consisting of black bread and black tea was served and the train made its first stop, Mama and Papa left us to see if they could be of use. Papa found a cloth to bundle a baby and some valerian root for a hysterical woman and Mama found work in the kitchen, which meant she would prepare food and frantically serve it whenever the train stopped. Papa also rushed around, helping out factory workers, many of them complete strangers to him, his old orphanage-help-others-at-all-costs instincts kicking right in.

Just once, in the evening, Papa found time for us. He crouched down and kissed Polina and me on our foreheads. It had been a draining day, the air in the car as thick as butter, melting all of us.

“My strong young women,” he said, stroking our hair like we were children. “How proud you make me.”

“If we make you so proud, Papa, then why don’t you stay with us?” said my sister.

“Because there are many people here who need more help than you. There’s a newborn who is so scared she refuses to eat,” he told her, but she was not convinced. He tousled her hair again and left to speak solemnly with Uncle Konstantin, plotting his next move the next time the train stopped. When I felt a hand on my shoulder a little while later, I hoped it was Papa returning, but I was not disappointed to find Misha hovering above us.

“Do you girls need anything?” he asked. His hair was slick and resolute, like the rest of him.

I looked around the compartment, with everyone rustling about and trying to unpack and create some order to face this unknowable day and the ones that would come after it. We were as beaten down and sunless as mushrooms stocked away deep in a forest.

“What more could we need?” I said, and this got him to smile.

“Of course,” he said, giving me a nod as he walked toward his father and Uncle Nikita. “Well, you know where to find me.”

The boy was more handsome than his father, but he had the same imposing nose and broad shoulders; I could see him one day manning a factory, a tank, a platoon. Our situation had hardened his jaw and he was even more appealing under duress. And now he was hoping the men would let him into the adult sphere as they conferenced about the bombs falling on Leningrad, speculating that the worst would come for the city once winter set in because the Germans had surrounded it; even if its people didn’t run out of food, they could freeze to death.

When he was just out of earshot, my sister batted her eyes at me and lowered her voice. “ Do you need anything? ” she said, imitating Misha in a husky voice and giggling at herself. She had teased me about Misha before, but I did not mind it until that moment. Normally, I enjoyed the flattery, even if I did not quite believe her. Not many boys had paid attention to me the way they did to Polya and it did not hurt to have it pointed out. But her joking around just then was downright inappropriate.