City of Fate (21 page)

He ran for Peter, the little boy the only thing he
concentrated
on. As some of his captors rushed to save the tank, they knocked Peter over. He lay on his side, crying properly now. Grabbing the front of his coat, Yuri dragged him to his feet. He felt so light and cold. Yuri tore the blindfold away.

The shooting started in earnest. It was deafening and also blinding in the way that stray bullets sent puffs of snow into the air. Yuri crouched to the ground, holding Peter by the wrist. The small boy was babbling away, but Yuri couldn't
listen to him. Who was shooting at whom, it was hard to say. Peter yelped as a burly German soldier caught his other arm. Yuri held on, his teeth gritted in rage, and it became a
horrible
tug-of-war. The man bent Peter's arm all the way back. Peter screamed, and Yuri was sure he'd hear the bone snap.

‘Let go of him!' he roared, ready to let go himself if the German would only stop hurting Peter.

However, before Yuri could do anything else, the German collapsed to his knees, the side of his head gone. His helmet was now too big for the bit that was left. As he toppled
forward
, Yuri found himself staring at the man's brain. He had seen pictures of brains before – his father had them in his study – and he had always thought that the brain looked a lot like a tortoise's shell. For a few seconds he marvelled at the man's gaping head – a real, live brain. Well, no, it wasn't live anymore, was it? The soldier twitched. Yuri understood he was watching him die, whoever he was. Well, he was the one who'd hurt Peter the most so he got what was coming to him.
He is lucky,
Yuri thought,
that I don't have a gun or I'd shoot holes into the rest of him.

Peter.

Yuri reached for the boy, felt nothing and swung around to find he was alone with the dead German. Bullets whizzed over his head into the snow in front of him. It was impossible to know how to stay safe. Yuri called Peter's name over and over again, twisting his body left and right.
He couldn't have
gone far. He just couldn't have.
He heard someone else scream Peter's name; it was Tanya. She was looking past him, her eyes wild, her face distorted in terror. Moving more slowly than he should, Yuri turned all the way around and saw Peter, a tiny, solitary figure walking in a straight line, through
running
men and clouds of snow stirred up by yet more bullets. Oblivious to his surroundings, he passed right in front of a large gun that was being manoeuvred by two Germans, to follow him as he continued to make his way to those
children
on the clothes line.

Yuri started to run, but his legs felt heavy and the snow seemed to swallow his feet, not wanting to give them back.

‘Peter! No!'

That gun loomed large, growing before his eyes as Peter grew smaller and smaller, with the distance he put between them.

‘No!' Yuri knew what was happening, what was going to happen. But, no! ‘Stop!' he yelled at the soldiers. He couldn't see their faces, only their bowl-shaped helmets. ‘It's too big, don't you dare hurt him with that!'
Why wasn't he getting any closer to Peter
?

Something ripped into Yuri then. It was the oddest
feeling
. He never saw what hit him, but it was strong enough to knock him to the ground, strong enough to pierce his clothing, causing red blood to ooze out onto the white snow as he tried to get up again.
Why weren't his legs doing what
they were meant to do
? Nothing seemed to be working. It was growing dark inside him. Slowly, he shook his head to clear it, to fight the darkness that beckoned. The sky above him was shimmering and he could hear someone singing. He stopped fighting to listen.

Tanya and her mother screamed. Stunned, they
permitted
seconds to tick by before running towards Yuri, though Tanya continued to chant Peter's name in desperation.

He didn't hear her, and neither did he notice the big gun or the Germans behind it, bawling curses at him. He was just a scared five-year-old who wanted to talk to the other children. It baffled him that they didn't look up to watch his approach.
Why didn't they smile to show him he was
welcome
, since he was one of them after all. Maybe they were playing a game too. Yes, that was it.
Peter recognised it was just a game. Because, see how they were all looking at him now, their arms wide open, the smallest girl clapping her hands and singing, ‘Come on, Peter. Come play with us!'

The gun blasted forth, RAT-A-TAT-TAT.

Anton saw it happen and then saw the girl dash forward, howling like a she-wolf, intending to reach the little body just as it hit the ground. The gun swung towards her as if
curious
about her role in the proceedings. It seemed to Anton that all hell was breaking out. Making sure his pocket still held the grenade that Sergeant Pavlov had given him, Anton leapt from the building and ran towards the machine, daring
the two soldiers to point it at him. Bearing his teeth in fury, he shrieked and roared in a successful effort to capture their attention. They did what he wanted them to do, shifting the gun from the girl to him. Just before reaching them, he made the most graceful jump, befitting of any dancer. Hearing Leo yell out in protest – ANTON, NO! – made him smile in gratitude, as he pulled out the pin of the grenade, blowing himself and the gun's operators into a messy pile of bloodied parts.

Tanya reached Peter safely, though she had little
understanding
that lives had just been lost for their sake. Peter's coat was splattered with blood while his scarf had fallen down from his neck, leaving it exposed to the cold. ‘Oh, now, Yuri won't be pleased, will he? Here, let me fix it.'

Peter did not – could not – say a word as Tanya pulled the scarf up to its rightful place before wrapping it twice around him. ‘You have to keep warm, little one.' Stopping to bite her lip, she accidentally gazed upon his face, before lifting up his two hands to hold them between her own.
No
, she thought,
it's not enough.
So she leant over him to protect him with her body, from what she couldn't have imagined. Not now. Nothing else could harm him now.

NEW YEAR'S EVE

I
t was New Year's Eve, the end of 1942 and the beginning of a brand new year, 1943. There was much to celebrate. The war wasn't over yet, but it was widely agreed that it nearly was and, by now, it was also clear who the winners would be. Thousands of German soldiers were stranded in the city, forsaken by Hitler who would not allow them to surrender nor come home. Worse than this, he refused to admit to the German population that his army in Stalingrad was on the verge of collapse. Therefore, the army, or what was left of it, fought on because they were forbidden to stop. They were cold, starving and running out of ammunition, yet they kept resisting their hosts' pleading to put down their guns and put up their hands.

Leo and Vlad had moved out onto the streets now. There
was no more need to guard the building which had been nicknamed forevermore as
Dom Pavlov,
Pavlov's House. It was in no danger of being taken by the German soldiers that were left. The fighting continued but it did not affect the atmosphere of hope that was reborn throughout the city.

Along the shores of the Volga, senior Russian officers were holding parties for the singers, musicians, ballerinas and actors who came to Stalingrad to entertain the soldiers. The sense of a positive ending was very real.

A small group of people stood in front of the statue of the dancing children and snapping crocodile to remember their fallen. Leo and Vlad had brought a little vodka in order to make a toast. Leo poured it into the four cups, while Vlad asked the women, ‘Did they really come here every day?'

Both Tanya and her mother smiled, her mother
answering
, ‘Oh, yes. Peter told me all about it. He must have driven poor Yuri mad.'

Glancing around at the devastated buildings, Leo was impressed. ‘It is strange how the statue managed to escape all the bombs and the fires.'

Vlad was thoughtful. ‘The children never stopped
laughing
and dancing, no matter how bad things got. I suppose that's what brought them to look at it as much as they could.'

Tanya joked through tears. ‘Or else it was just Peter
annoying
Yuri so much that he had no choice.'

Leo moved closer to her. She didn't look at him but was grateful all the same.

Mrs Karmanova asked, ‘And what about your friend Anton?' Gesturing to her daughter, she said, ‘I have much to thank him for. In fact, I should like to write to his mother, if that's possible?'

Vlad nodded. ‘Of course. Leo and I have already written to her, but I'm sure she would be honoured to hear from you.'

Tanya agreed, ‘Yes, Mama. We'll both write to her. Her son saved my life. I am ashamed that I never knew him. Why would he save a stranger's life?'

Leo and Vlad looked at one another, at least one of them stifling a smirk, until Leo spoke up, ‘Well, the truth is he was no saint. Back home he was infamous as the local bully. You might not have liked him much, I know I never did.'

Tanya was surprised at this. ‘But he was a friend of yours? And what he did was courageous!'

Leo laughed. ‘Oh, I know. From the time we left home, he was determined to be the best soldier ever.' Tilting his head, he added, ‘He had to walk faster than the rest of us, talk louder and be the first to carry out any orders going.'

Vlad laughed too. ‘Do you remember him pretending to read the newspaper on the train to Lensk, taking up the whole seat?'

‘I might not have liked him then,' said Leo, ‘but I will always love him now for what he did.' Giving Tanya a look
beyond words, he continued, ‘That fool made the bravest, most unselfish decision of his life. It was one pure act; the most that one person can do for another. He was
glorious
in those few moments, and nothing can take that away from him. All these soldiers and citizens, including Vlad and I, fought to save their county, while Anton gave his life to save two people he didn't even know. Who can say which is the greater act?' To Leo's surprise, tears welled up, but he didn't wipe them away. ‘I can't believe how much I miss him.'

Vlad shrugged. ‘Nothing wrong with that!'

A few seconds passed as each of them thought about the friends that were gone forever. Tanya shivered. ‘It must be nearly midnight now.' A lot of people were already
celebrating
, wanting to rush in the New Year and be rid of the old one. From the shouting and singing it was safe to assume that plenty of vodka was being consumed by plenty of soldiers.

Vlad looked at his watch. ‘Two minutes to go!'

Tanya asked the boys, ‘You'll come back to the basement for coffee, won't you?'

Leo assured her, ‘Of course!'

Mrs Karmanova sighed. ‘I still feel those boys around me when I'm there. This morning, just as I was waking up, I was sure I heard Peter asking Yuri to bring him out for a walk.' Lifting her glass to her lips, she addressed the sky, ‘Well, boys, if you can hear me, I am going to make a promise right here
that I will walk to this statue every single day and I hope you will both come with me.' She unfolded a hankie and blew noisily into it.

With that, there was a cheer from the four corners of the city, and a bell rang out somewhere: 1942 was gone forever. The group raised their glasses and together they wished for a Happy New Year.

‘Come now, it's getting cold. Will you lend me your arm, Vlad?'

Vlad held out his right arm for Mrs Karmanova to hold onto as they ground their way through the snow, a step ahead of the others.

Leo put his around Tanya's waist. She leant her head against him for a second before exclaiming, ‘I can look after myself, you know!'

Leo grinned. ‘I know, I am holding onto you so I don't fall!'

As they walked, they saw in the distance a man carrying a violin case. He was striding purposefully, despite the snow, towards the part of the city where the fighting was still
carrying
on.

‘Who on earth is he?' Tanya asked.

Leo strained his eyes, saying, ‘I don't believe it. I mean, he looks like Misha Goldstein but can it really be him?'

Vlad admitted, ‘I've never heard of him.'

‘Neither have I,' added Tanya.

Leo quickened his step, pulling Tanya with him. ‘He's one of our greatest musicians. I knew he was here for the parties tonight, but where can he be going to? Come on, let's follow him!'

It didn't occur to the other three to say no. Keeping a respectful distance, they took off after the man. A few
minutes
later, he stopped and placed his violin case gently on the snow. Kneeling down, he opened it up and carefully removed the instrument. There was some shooting here and there but not enough to distract him from placing the violin under his chin, to begin to play. All around him was the evidence of the last few months: the skeletons of horses and tanks, yards of twisted barbed wire, along with pile upon pile of debris, although the snow did its best to hide it all. The officers of the NKVD stood between the city and the frozen Volga, checking everyone's papers, searching for Germans and Russian deserters. It was a strange scene. Mr Goldstein's bow raced across the strings, lending the ugliness of the torn landscape dignity and meaning; it had all been for something and the end was in sight.

Leo hugged Tanya in delight. ‘He's playing Bach! He's not allowed to, but he doesn't care. And who would stop him on New Year's Eve?'

As Mr Goldstein played on, the gunfire stopped. The only sound now was of the melodies that were carried along the night air, to caress the broken buildings, the corpses, the
barbed wire, and the men on either side who still fought on. The music also paid tribute to thousands of lives that had been lost: those village toddlers and babies that had been orphaned on a summer's day, just before being martyred themselves; Mr Belov and his constant need to teach more than was permitted; soldiers, both Germans and Russians, who were, after all, fathers or sons who had had to leave their families and ordinary comforts to kill at the express wish of their leaders; Yuri and Peter who had meant nobody harm; Misha, and Anton who had given more than anyone could have expected.

Mr Goldstein finished what he was playing, and the silence was shocking. Nobody moved, not even to applaud. Then, over the loudspeaker, from the German trenches, a shaky voice spoke in Russian, ‘Please, play some more Bach. We won't shoot.'

Before anyone could say another word, Mr Goldstein accepted the request without a smile and did exactly what was asked of him.

‘Wow!' whispered Vlad. He asked Leo, ‘What is it about this music that the Germans like?'

Leo took a moment, as he listened to the violin, before answering, ‘It reminds them of home.'

The others thought about this, Vlad saying, ‘I suppose that's what we all were fighting for, to be able to go home again.'

An anxious look flitted across Tanya's face as she glanced at Leo. He shook his head slightly, saying, ‘Or at least to have the freedom to go wherever we choose.'

Vlad grinned. ‘Even if that means staying in Stalingrad … assuming, of course, one would wish to?'

Leo refused to answer him, only closing his eyes to savour the rest of the concert.