Deda shook his neat gray head. “Exactly—seventeen. They’ll take him.”

The look of trapped fear slid across Papa’s face and was gone. “They won’t take him, Papochka,” said Papa hoarsely. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” He was clearly unable to say what he felt: everyone stop talking and let me save my son the only way I know how. Deda sat back against the sofa cushions.

Feeling bad for her father and wanting to be helpful, Tatiana began to say, “We’re not yet—” but Mama cut in with, “Pashechka, take a sweater, darling.”

“I’m not taking a sweater, Mama,” he exclaimed. “It’s the middle of summer!”

“We had frost two weeks ago.”

“And now it’s hot. I’m not taking it.”

“Listen to your mother, Pavel,” said Papa. “The nights will be cold in Tolmachevo. Take the sweater.” Pasha sighed deeply, rebelliously, but took the sweater and threw it inside the suitcase. Papa closed it and locked it. “Everyone, listen. Here’s my plan…”

“What plan?” Tatiana said with mild frustration. “I hope this plan includes some food. Because—”

“I know why,” Papa snapped. “Now, be quiet and listen. This concerns you, too.” He started telling them what he needed them to do.

Tatiana fell back on the bed. If they weren’t evacuating this instant, she didn’t want to hear any more.

Pasha went to boys’ camp every summer, in Tolmachevo, Luga, or Gatchina. Pasha preferred Luga because it had the best river for swimming. Tatiana preferred Pasha in Luga because he was close to their dacha, their summer house, and she could go and visit him. The Luga camp was only five kilometers from their dacha straight through the woods. Tolmachevo, on the other hand, was twenty kilometers from Luga, and there the counselors were strict and expected you up by sunrise. Pasha said it was a bit like being in the army. Well, now it would be almost like enlisting, she thought, not listening to her father speak.

She felt Dasha pinch her hard on the leg. “Ouch!” she said, deliberately loudly, hoping her sister would get into trouble for hurting her. No one cared. No one said anything. They didn’t even look her way. All eyes were on Pasha as he stood—reedy and awkward in his brown trousers and frayed beige shirt—in the middle of the room, in the half bloom of late adolescence, so beloved. And he knew it.

He was everyone’s favorite child, favorite grandchild, favorite brother.

Because he was the only son.

Tatiana lifted herself off the bed and came to stand by Pasha. Putting her arm around him, she said, “Cheer up. You’re so lucky. You’re going to camp. I’m not going anywhere.”

He stepped slightly away from her, but only slightly; stepped away not because he was uncomfortable with her, Tatiana knew, but because he did not feel himself to be lucky. She knew that her brother wanted to become a soldier more than anything. He didn’t want to be in some silly camp. “Pasha,” she said cheerfully, “first you have to beat me in war. Then you can enlist and fight the Germans.”

“Shut up, Tania,” said Pasha.

“Shut up, Tania,” said Papa.

“Papa,” said Tatiana, “can I pack my suitcase? I want to go to camp, too.”

“Pasha, are you ready? Let’s go,” said Papa, not even replying to Tatiana. There were no girls’ camps.

“I have a joke for you, dear Pasha,” said Tatiana, not wanting to give up and not put off by her brother’s reluctance.

“Don’t want to hear your stupid jokes, dear Tania.”

“You’ll like this one.”

“Why do I doubt it?”

Papa said, “Tatiana! This is no time for jokes.”

Deda intervened on Tatiana’s behalf. “Georg, let the girl speak.”

Nodding at Deda, Tatiana said, “A soldier is being led to his execution. ‘Some bad weather we’re having,’ he says to his convoy. ‘Look who’s complaining,’ they say. ‘We have to go back.’ ”

Nobody moved. No one even smiled.

Pasha raised his eyebrows, pinched her, and whispered, “Nice going, Tania.”

She sighed. Someday her spirit would soar, she thought, but not this day.

2

“Tatiana, no long good-byes. You’ll see your brother in a month. Come downstairs and hold the front door open for us. Your mother’s back is bothering her,” Papa told her as they got ready to carry Pasha’s things along with bags of extra food for camp.

“All right, Papa.”

The apartment was laid out like a train—a long corridor with nine rooms attached. There were two kitchens, one at the front of the apartment, one at the back. The bathrooms and the toilets were attached to the kitchens. In the nine rooms lived twenty-five people. Five years ago there were thirty-three people in the apartment, but eight people had moved or died or—

Tatiana’s family lived in the back. It was better to live in the back. The rear kitchen was the bigger of the two, and it had stairs leading up to the roof and down to the courtyard; Tatiana liked taking the rear stairs because she could sneak out without passing crazy Slavin’s room.

The rear kitchen had a bigger stove than the front kitchen and a bigger bath. And only three other families shared the rear kitchen and bathroom with the Metanovs—the Petrovs, the Sarkovs, and crazy Slavin, who never cooked and never bathed.

Slavin was not in the hall at the moment. Good.

As Tatiana walked down the corridor to the front door, she passed the shared telephone. Petr Petrov was using it, and Tatiana had time to think how lucky they were that their telephone worked. Tatiana’s cousin Marina lived in an apartment where the telephone was broken all the time—faulty wiring. It was difficult to get in touch with her, unless Tatiana wrote or went to see her personally, which she did not do often, since Marina lived on the other side of town, across the river Neva.

As Tatiana neared Petr, she saw that he was very agitated. He was obviously waiting for a connection, and though the cord was too short to allow him to pace, he was pacing with his whole body while standing in one place. Petr got his connection just as Tatiana was passing him in the narrow corridor; Tatiana knew this because he screamed into the phone. “Luba! Is that you? Is that you, Luba?”

So unexpected and sharp was his cry that Tatiana jumped away from him, knocking into the wall. Getting her bearings, she passed him quickly and then slowed down to listen.

“Luba, can you hear me? We have a bad connection. Everyone is trying to get through. Luba, come back to Leningrad! Did you hear? War has started. Take whatever you can, leave the rest, and get the next train. Luba! No, not in an hour, not tomorrow—now, do you understand? Come back immediately!” Short pause. “Forget our things, I tell you! Are you listening to me, woman?”

Turning around, Tatiana caught a glimpse of Petr’s stiff back.

“Tatiana!” Papa was glaring at her with an expression that said, if you don’t come here right now…

But Tatiana dawdled to hear more. Her father yelled across the corridor, “Tatiana Georgievna! Come here and help.” Like her mother, her father said her full name only when he wanted Tatiana to know how serious he was. Tatiana hurried, wondering about Petr Petrov and about why her brother couldn’t open the front door himself.

Volodya Iglenko, who was Pasha’s age and was going to the Tolmachevo camp with him, walked downstairs with the Metanovs, holding his own suitcase and opening his own door. He was one of four brothers. He had to do things for himself. “Pasha, let me show you,” Tatiana said quietly. “It’s like this. You put your hand on the handle, and you pull. The door opens. You walk outside. It shuts behind you. Let’s see if you can do it.”

“Just open the door, Tania,” said Pasha. “Can’t you see I’m carrying my suitcase?”

Out on the street they stood still for a moment.

“Tania,” said Papa. “Take the hundred and fifty rubles I gave you and go and buy us some food. But don’t dawdle, like always. Go immediately. Do you hear?”