Sisters of War. Lana Kortchik

she smiled back – and felt her cheeks burning. She thought he was the most handsome young man she had ever seen. ‘Thank you so much.’

      ‘You are welcome. Shall I send a doctor to look at your grandmother?’

      Natasha shook her head. ‘Our family doctor lives nearby.’

      The soldier saluted Natasha.

      She watched him go, her eyes wide, her mouth open, as if she was about to say something. When he disappeared down the stairs, she realised she hadn’t even asked his name.

      *

      Petr Nikolaev, the Smirnovs’ family doctor, lived in a six-storey building across the road. After she told the family what had happened, Natasha and Mother set out in search of the doctor, leaving Grandmother in Grandfather’s loving care. The two of them crossed the road, walked through the front door of the doctor’s building and up the stairs, finally stopping outside Petr’s apartment.

      The smell of roast chicken permeated the communal corridor. Natasha could hear the high-pitched chords of a guitar and a rowdy song. ‘Ein, zwei, drei,’ came slurred words from behind the solid oak door. Natasha hesitated, but Mother shrugged and knocked on the door, a determined expression on her face. A German soldier, bare-chested and inebriated, opened the door. He stretched his hand out as if for a handshake, but before he had a chance to touch them, the two women turned on their heels and flew down the stairs, taking two steps at a time.

      Natasha and her mother walked all the way to Podol, searching for another doctor they knew, but they were as unsuccessful there as they were on Tarasovskaya. Exhausted, they hurried back. Natasha prayed that her grandmother hadn’t taken a turn for the worse.

      Lisa was by Grandmother’s side, crying softly into her hands, while a bedraggled looking Olga Kolenova was stroking her back and telling her everything would be alright.

      Natasha sat next to her sister, her face wet from tears, her eyes sore. The Germans had only been here one day, and already someone she loved dearly was hurt. Was it a sign of things to come? A chilling thought ran through her mind, paralysing her. It was the same thought she hadn’t been able to shake ever since the incident in the park. What if something happened to her grandmother? What if she didn’t get better? What would it do to Grandfather, to all of them? Natasha couldn’t imagine a life without her beloved Babushka, who had always been there, taking her to kindergarten and to school, cooking for her and teaching her how to cook, reading to her and teaching her how to read. One day, when a four-year-old Natasha had begged her to read more – one more paragraph, one more page, one more chapter – Grandmother had said, ‘Why don’t I just show you how to do it yourself?’ And then she had shared her favourite books with Natasha, and they’d become Natasha’s favourite books. Everything she was, Natasha realised, was thanks to the people she loved. How did she go on with her life and not feel her grandmother’s soft hand on her forehead, and not see her reassuring smile? Natasha’s heart was heavy with fear. And something else, too. A blinding, scorching anger. How dare that despicable Nazi try to take her grandmother away from her, in a split second, with a careless movement of his hand, as if her life meant nothing, when to Natasha it meant everything?

      ‘How is Babushka?’ asked Natasha, placing her hand on Grandmother’s forehead. It felt warm and clammy.

      ‘Your Babushka is not too good. She’s burning up. Don’t worry, a doctor is on his way,’ said Olga.

      Olga was Natasha’s best friend in the whole world. They had met at kindergarten when they were three and had been inseparable ever since. They had read the same books, passionately discussing the love life of Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina and the incredible adventures of Dumas’ musketeers. They had learned to play piano together and joined the chess club together. And because Natasha and her sister were so close in age, Olga was Lisa’s friend, too, even though Lisa couldn’t play the piano, had no interest in chess and was incessantly bored by Tolstoy.

      ‘You found a doctor? Oh, thank God.’ Natasha looked her friend up and down. Olga was wearing what looked like an old sack, her head was covered with a tattered kerchief, and there were smudges of something dark all over her face. Soot, decided Natasha. Soot or dirt. ‘Olga, why are you dressed like that?’

      ‘I’m just trying to make myself less noticeable,’ said Olga. ‘The Germans won’t leave me alone. Can’t walk down the street without getting harassed.’

      ‘Good thinking,’ said Lisa, wiping her face and sniffling. ‘No one in their right mind would approach you looking like this. You scared me when I first saw you.’

      ‘You’d be surprised,’ said Olga. ‘Every time there’s a knock on the door, Mama makes me hide in the wardrobe. This morning I was in the wardrobe for an hour.’

      ‘That’s your own fault for being gorgeous,’ said Natasha, hugging her friend. Olga was strikingly beautiful with her heart-shaped face, dark hair that ran all the way down her back and large brown eyes. ‘I’m glad you came.’

      For a few moments the girls were silent. Finally, Olga said, ‘I’m sorry about your babushka. She’ll feel better soon, you’ll see.’

      ‘I hope so,’ said Natasha quietly.

      Lisa interrupted, pulling her sister by the sleeve. ‘Natasha, I haven’t told her yet! I was waiting for you.’

      ‘Told her what?’

      ‘About me and Alexei!’

      Natasha pushed her sister’s hands away and said, ‘Lisa, honestly. I have other things on my mind right now.’ Lisa’s eyes filled with tears, and Natasha felt bad. ‘Tell her now,’ she said softly.

      ‘Tell me what?’ Olga demanded.

      But before Lisa had a chance to say anything, the girls heard voices in the corridor. The loud sounds were unmistakably German.

      ‘Oh no,’ whispered Lisa. ‘What do they want now?’

      ‘Don’t worry,’ said Olga. ‘It’s probably the doctor.’

      ‘Olga! Is he German?’ asked Natasha, horrified.

      ‘Yes, but he’s not so bad. He moved in with us yesterday, took my cousin’s room. He’s quiet and polite. Keeps giving me biscuits.’

      A short, chubby German doctor soon appeared in the doorway, trailed by Mother, who hopped around him, trying to push him out of the way. ‘You can’t just march in here. Leave us alone. You aren’t welcome here.’ The doctor swatted her hands away and muttered something in German.

      Olga looked flustered at the commotion in the room. She waved her hands at Mother. ‘Don’t worry, Zoya Alexeevna. This is Hans. He’s the doctor for the German regiment who is living with us.’

      ‘Let the man look at Larisa,’ demanded Grandfather, gently pulling Mother away.

      Mother left the room but came back two minutes later, carrying a thick candle. ‘Borrowed it from Zina,’ she explained.

      All eyes on him, the doctor examined his patient in the flickering light of the candle. He said something in German, and Olga translated. ‘Your grandmother is very lucky. The bullet got lodged in her shoulder. She’s lost a lot of blood and has a fever. She needs plenty of fluids and rest.’

      The doctor removed the bullet, administered something for the pain and bandaged Grandmother’s shoulder, covering her with a blanket. Grandmother looked whiter than the pillow she was resting on.

      ‘I’ll come back to check on her tomorrow,’ said the doctor.

      Mother embraced him and shook his hand, tears streaming down her face. ‘Thank you, thank you so much,’ she repeated.

      Later that evening, after everyone had gone to bed, Natasha curled up on a small folding bed in her grandparents’ room, watching the candle that was living out its last seconds on Grandmother’s bedside table. ‘Dedushka,’ she whispered to her grandfather. ‘Why did the German doctor