“You went out onto the roof?” Alexander said quietly.

“Just for an hour,” she said, trying to be jovial, shrugging a little, managing a smile. “It was really nothing. There was a small fire. I used the sand, and in five minutes put it out. Kostia is a hysteric.” She glared at Marina. “And he’s not the only one.”

“Really, Tania?” Dasha exclaimed. “Don’t keep giving Marina the evil eye. A hysteric? Why don’t you take off your gloves and show Alexander your hands.”

Alexander was mute.

Tatiana moved toward the door with her load. “Like he wants to see my hands.”

“You know what?” Alexander said, standing up. “I don’t want to see anything. I’m leaving. I’m late.”

He grabbed his rifle, his coat, his rucksack and was out the door without even brushing past Tatiana.

After he left, Dasha looked at Tatiana, at Marina, at Mama, at Babushka. “What was wrong with him?” she asked wearily.

No one spoke for a moment.

From the couch Babushka said, “Much, much fear.”

“Marinka,” said Tatiana, “why? You know he worries about all of us endlessly. Why worry him further with nonsense? I’m fine on that roof, and my hands will be fine, too.”

“Tania is right! And what did you mean by ‘your’ Tanechka anyway?” Dasha demanded, whirling round to Marina.

“Yes, Marina, what did you mean?” asked Tatiana, looking angrily at her cousin, who replied that it was just a figure of speech.

“Yes, a stupid figure of speech,” said Dasha.

3

That night Tatiana dreamed that she did not sleep, that the night lasted all year, and that in the dark his fingers found her.

In the early morning there was a knock on the door as she was getting up. It was Alexander. He had brought them two kilos of black bread and a cupful of buckwheat kernels. Everyone besides Tatiana was still in bed. He waited for her in the kitchen with his arms crossed and his eyes cold while she brushed her teeth over the kitchen sink. He mentioned that the toilet smelled worse than ever. Tatiana was beyond noticing.

She was already dressed. She slept dressed.

“Shura,” Tatiana said, “don’t go out now. It’s so cold. I can carry a kilo of bread. I think I can still do that. Give me your ration card, I’ll get yours, too.”

“Oh, Tatiana,” Alexander said, “the day has not come when you’ll be getting my rations.”

“Really?” she snapped, moving toward him so quickly that he actually backed away a step. “If you can go to the front, Alexander—”

“Like I have any choice—”

“Like I have any choice. I can get your rations for you. Now, give me your card.”

“No,” he said. “Let me get your coat. How are your hands?”

“They’re fine,” she said, showing them. She wanted him to take hold of them, to touch them, but he didn’t. He just stared at her with the same cold eyes.

They went out into the bitterness together. It was minus ten degrees. At seven o’clock the skies were still dark, and there was a shrieking wind that got underneath Tatiana’s coat and into her ears, whistling its Arctic lament for ten blocks to the store. Inside the store was better, and there were only thirty people ahead of them. It might take only forty minutes this time, Tatiana thought.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Alexander said, his voice tinged with barely suppressed anger. “That here it is November, and you’re still doing this by yourself.”

Tatiana didn’t reply. She was too sleepy to reply. She shrugged, pulling her scarf tighter around her head.

Alexander said, “Why do you do this? Dasha is perfectly capable of going. At the very least she can come with you. Marina, too. Why do you continue to go alone?”

Tatiana didn’t know what to say. First she was too cold, and her teeth were chattering. After a few minutes she warmed up, but her teeth were still chattering, and she thought, why do I go on my own, during air raids, and cold, and dark? Why don’t we ever switch? “Because if Marina goes, she eats the rations on the way home. Because Mama sews every morning. Because Dasha does laundry. Who am I going to send? Babushka?”

Alexander didn’t reply, but the anger didn’t leave his face.

Tatiana touched his coat. He moved away. “Why are you upset with me?” she asked. “Because I went out onto the roof?”

“Because you don’t—” He broke off. “Because you don’t listen to me.” He sighed. “I’m not upset with you, Tatia. I’m angry at them.”

“Don’t be,” she said. “It all just happened this way. I’d rather be out here than washing laundry.”

“Oh, because Dasha is washing laundry so often? You could be sleeping late six days a week like she is.”

“Listen, she is having a hard time with all this. I started going—”

“You started going because they told you to, and you said all right. They said, oh, and can you cook for us, too, and you said all right, broken leg and all.”

“Alexander, what are you upset about? That I do what they tell me to? I also do what you tell me to.”

Gritting his teeth, he said, “You do what I tell you to? Are you off the fucking roof? Are you in the shelter? Have you stopped giving your food to Nina? Yes, you do what I tell you.”

“You think I listen to them more?” Tatiana said incredulously. It wasn’t their turn yet. A dozen people still ahead of them in line. A dozen people listening to them. “I thought you said you weren’t upset with me?”

“I’m not upset about that. You want to know what I’m upset about?”

“Yes,” she said tiredly. She didn’t really.

“Everything they ask of you, you do.”

“So?”

“Everything,” he said. “They say, go, you say, all right. They say, give me, you say, how much? They say, go away, you say, fine. They hit you, you defend them. They say, I want your bread, I want your milk, I want your tea, I want your—”

Suddenly seeing where he was going, Tatiana tried to stop him. “No, no,” she said, shaking her head. “No, don’t.”

Through clamped teeth, trying to keep his voice quiet, Alexander continued. “They say, he’s mine, and you say, all right, all right, he’s yours, of course, take him. Nothing matters to me at all. Not me, not my food, not my bread, not my life, and not him either, nothing matters to me.” He brought his face very close to hers and whispered angrily, “I, Tatiana, fight for nothing.”

“Oh, Alexander,” Tatiana said, looking at him with intense reproach.

They fell silent until they got their rations. Alexander received potatoes, carrots, bread, soya milk and butter. And sour cream.

On the street he carried the bag with the food, and she walked mutely beside him. He was walking too fast; she couldn’t keep up. First Tatiana slowed down, and when she saw that he did not shorten his stride, she stopped.

Turning around, Alexander barked, “What?”

“You go ahead,” Tatiana said. “Go ahead home. I can’t walk that fast. I’ll be along.”

He came back and gave her his arm. “Let’s go,” he said. “To celebrate our Russian Revolution, the Germans are going to start bombing in a few minutes, and mark my words, they will not end until late tonight.”

Tatiana took his arm. She wanted to cry, and she wanted to keep up, and she wanted not to be cold. Snow seeped inside her ripped boots that were tied together with twine. Sorrow seeped inside her ripped heart that was tied together with twine.

They trod through the snow looking at their feet.

“I didn’t give you away, Shura,” Tatiana said finally.

“No?” There was so much bitterness in his voice.

“How can you do that? How can you turn the right thing I did for my sister into a tragic flaw on my part? You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“I am ashamed of myself,” he said.

She held on tighter to his arm. “You’re supposed to be the strong one. I don’t see you fighting for me.”

“I fight for you every day,” said Alexander, walking faster again.