October, 1941
Moscow
It was near dusk when Stephen reached the capital. The city was in chaos. Along the way he had learned that the Germans had broken through the Red Army’s defensive lines and were approaching from three directions, that Stalin himself had fled. He had passed thousands of people fleeing east in panic carrying whatever they could manage on their backs.
Stephen was shocked by the open state of anarchy. Stores were looted openly by roving gangs; the police had ceased to function. He would never have believed it possible for the Russian people, so docile before their rulers, to act like beasts. Yet there it was for him to see in the fading daylight: men, women, and children grabbing whatever they could in the way of provisions from looted stores.
Dusk fell quickly as the western sky was crisscrossed with blood red streaks. He walked down Leningradsky Prospect, staring at the shattered windows and ransacked interiors. He circled around the Byelorussian and Kiev stations, taking side streets toward the Paveletsky station; he knew he was near it when he heard the din. Every street leading to the station was packed; he saw at a glance that it would be impossible to reach it on foot. He decided to go to their apartment; they might turn up there if they couldn’t get to the station.
As he moved away from the area of the station, a figure ran at him from shadows, slipped and grabbed hold of his leg. Stephen kicked him off, but he was suddenly surrounded by looters wielding bats, boards, and sticks. He whirled about, screaming that he had no money, nothing of value. He eluded his assailants and ran through streets filled with the sound of breaking glass and buildings on fire.
He reached the bend in the river at Kutuzovsky Prospect. It was too dangerous to try and find Lily’s apartment tonight. Better to wait until dawn when the rioters were sleeping off their hangovers. Finding a place in the shadows, he slipped to the ground. Near at hand was the river and he fell asleep to the sound of the water moving slowly past.
He was awakened by daylight. The wind whipped off the water, too cold for October. He started to get up and then stopped, remembering what had happened yesterday. This time he rolled onto his belly and pushed himself slowly up onto his knees. His whole body ached, but he had escape without any injuries. He looked up at the sky, the thick cloud cover allowing only a glimmer of the sun to shine through.
It was dawn and he saw no one. He retraced his steps back into the city.
He could have been walking through a dream except for the smell of smoke that filled the air. The silence that had overwhelmed the streets was juxtaposed against the incessant rumble of artillery fire, a roar that he thought at times was inside his head. Entrances to apartment buildings completely emptied of their residents stood open; he could have walked into any of a dozen of them, found an empty room, and hidden. Yet he was drawn to Lily’s room because he hadn’t given up hope that she might still be there waiting for him.
He found her building vacated like the others and entered the front door. He took the stairs a half-step at a time, resting after each, hanging onto the banister like an elderly man fearful of tumbling backwards.
There was absolute silence. Upon reaching Lily’s floor he envisioned her waiting alone, hearing his footsteps and rushing out to greet him. He passed open doors leading into abandoned apartments, some with half-filled dishes on the tables. At last he came to hers and he uttered her name as he crossed the threshold. “Lily,” he called, seeing her before him; but it was only a mirage and he walked through it into the bedroom.
There he felt her presence. He touched the rumpled sheets and her arms were around him. He lay down and buried his face in her scent, sobbing her name again and again . . .