Marina Cramer - Roads

“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.

“Then we must marry.” She kissed him, quick as a bird, and disappeared behind the door, shutting it rapidly behind her.

Filip ran. Was it possible for so many monumental things to happen at one time? He was grateful for the night’s cover, hiding his confusion, his delight overshadowed with uncertainty and fear. It was overwhelming—the young officer’s gallant advances to Galina, followed by the ugly threat to their personal safety, the frightening prospect of forced service in Germany. His cowardice. No other word would do. He had been tested, and failed to behave with courage or even simple dignity. How could he be expected to defend his country, to fight and kill, if he could not even protect his dearest friend from danger?

His mind shifted tracks, like a streetcar jolting off in an unexpected direction, heedless of its beleaguered passengers. If he secured his ticket for the university exam before his birthday, he might be able to defer his German labor obligation. No war lasts forever. Things could change.

And if he did not pass the exam? The new entrance requirements were more rigorous than ever, making a student exemption from service nearly impossible to come by.

Could marriage save him? The thought was so bold, so completely new, it stunned him just to consider it. He tried to picture life wedded to Galina, setting up a household, scrounging for scarce commodities, sipping tea together in the evening before retiring to the murky mysteries of the bedroom. It was almost too much to think about. But she kissed me , he thought, reaching the entrance to his apartment building with a few minutes to spare before the siren blast announcing curfew. “Galya kissed me, a coward,” he said aloud, dizzy at the wonder of it.

Galina turned off the little tabletop lamp her mother had lit in expectation of her arrival, and leaned her back against the closed street door. She liked the dark, liked the softer outlines of her familiar surroundings; things took on a comforting presence while concealing some of their blatant daylight shabbiness.

She could hear muted voices in the kitchen. She knew her father was on the road, following the warmer weather along the coast, selling his wares. When he returned, he was sure to bring something—a little money, some fresh fruit, a piece of clothing to use, alter, or trade. Tonight, Mama and their neighbor, Nina Mihailovna, would be having their evening tea together.