12

Leningrad, Russia

Tanya fingered the coins in her pocket, listening to the quiet jingle as she gazed across the park and over the Neva River. She tried her best not to think about what she would do when those last few coins were gone.

Her money was running out quickly. As was her hope.

Even as she willed her grief to stay hidden and not to crash down on her, the crushing pain of regret, disappointment, and loss overwhelmed her spirit. After three days of searching for a decent place to live, she had finally plunked down her last four hundred rubles to buy two months at the Azov Sanatoria, a grungy hovel in the worst part of town that she wouldn't have considered if she hadn't been beyond desperate.

A despicable place, really. The Azoz family lived on the first floor in what Tanya would have considered squalor had she never seen the attic rooms they rented out to forlorn boarders. A tiny, low-ceilinged attic room that they dared called "boarding space" stood just up a rickety staircase from the owner's living quarters. In that room, they had placed fifteen stained and wobbly cots into rows with less than six inches of space between them. And, for a mere two hundred rubles a month, an unlucky lodger could rent one of those cots and all the space underneath to store their possessions.

Oh, and rent included round-the-clock access to the Azoz family's sole outhouse.

The Azoz Sanatoria with its rats and dirt and grime was the only barrier standing between Tanya and the streets, but her time there was quickly running out.

With a deep sigh, Tanya wondered what would've happened if she had stayed in Moscow. She didn't have many friends left—the war had scattered them—but she did have a few. Surely living with Uncle Boris and Aunt Katya would have been better than this. At least they tolerated her. Unlike the people here in Leningrad who seemed to detest her.

With a scowl, Tanya remembered her latest attempt to find a job. She had waited outside the office of a plant that manufactured ammunition for the war. Surely, they would have a need for workers right now.

"Excuse me, sir. I'm Tanya Egerov." She’d thrust out her hand in cheerful greeting as the plant manager came up the walkway toward the building. "I'm fresh off the train from Moscow, and I'm here to inquire about a job. I can read. I can type. I can file. I would make a great office manager."

The man scowled and rolled his eyes. "Not hiring. Not now, not ever." His words were tinged with acid, as if she carried a disease that threatened to overtake his shiny, clean office. "Now get out!"

Times were tough, but why was everyone being so mean about it? They acted as if she was asking them to hand over their businesses and the keys to their houses as well. Would it really hurt if she typed or filed for them?

Every single person she’d talked to about a job in the last three weeks had scoffed at her.

It was high time for a pity party. Shoveling the coins out of her threadbare pocket, she ran her fingers over each coin. She missed Nicolai. He had been her rock for as long as she could remember—and now when she needed him most, he was gone.

"Oh, Nicolai, why did you do this to me?" She screamed the question out loud, her voice echoing over the water. Tears came, flooding down her cheeks and onto her sweater, and for the first time in weeks, she allowed them.

She needed a good cry. And then a good kick in the pants.

Choking back a last blubbering sob, Tanya wiped her tears and stood. Time to figure things out. She had to get a job or she wouldn’t survive.

Staring at those last few coins in her hand, she made some mental calculations. She had enough to buy herself two, maybe three loaves of bread. Maybe, if she was really careful and allowed herself just a few bites every day, she could make that last for a week or two. Maybe. It was better than nothing.

Tanya hoisted up off of the park bench and walked back toward the sanatoria, stopping at the corner bakery to buy one small loaf. Taking in a deep breath, she breathed heavily in the yeasty air, hoping a waft of baking bread would satisfy her rumbling stomach. Anything to quell the temptation to rip open the bag and devour the whole loaf in one sitting.

She tore off a tiny bite and savored her meal for the day. Warm. Chewy.Moist. She kept it in her mouth as long as possible, chewing slowly with her eyes closed. "Mmm…."

The shop keeper stared at her with concerned eyes. Had she really just moaned out loud while taking a bite of bread? She hurried out the bakery door and down the street to the Azoz Sanatoria, where she would at least have a modicum of privacy as she enjoyed her feast. Racing up the stairs, Tanya plunked down on her cot, kicking a stray tin cup away from her foot. She hugged Nicolai's satchel to her stomach as she sank onto the creaking frame.

At least she still had Nicolai's satchel and violin.

The other residents stored their possessions—old boots, books, cups, and photos—under their cots, but not her. She didn't dare lose her last few fragments of Nicolai. She carried the old satchel with her wedding quilt and his violin everywhere she went. It was exhausting, but she wouldn’t lose the few last remnants she possessed.

Maybe a nap would settle the hunger pains?

Hobbling feet and bubbly laughter echoed up the creaking stairs. By the sound of it, her next-door neighbor—if one could call the person who slept on the cot next to her a neighbor—Feodora Yezhof was home.

Tanya had been trying to avoid Feodora ever since she'd moved into the boarding house, doing her best to steer clear of the woman with a foul mouth, boisterous laughter, and vodka-tinged breath. The other residents seemed to like her although she was constantly drunk and loud, but Tanya couldn't see why. Five minutes with her in the room often sent Tanya scurrying outside for peace and quiet.

Feodora burst into the room and scanned the cots, scoping out who was home and who wasn't. Her eyes settled on Tanya and she grinned wildly, showing the gap between her crooked front teeth.

"You! You've been here three weeks and have hardly said a word." Stumbling over, Feodora fell onto her own cot, holding a paper bag that smelled of fresh bread.

Tanya groaned. Could this day get any worse?

Tanya tucked the rest of the loaf she was hoarding under her pillow and forcing a smile. "Hello. I'm Tanya."

Feodora winced as if Tanya had told her she had the plague. Why did everyone hate her so much?

"I'm from Moscow."

"I know. Your accent gives you away."

Her lips parted. Was that why Feodora winced? Did people in Leningrad hate her because she was from the capitol? Stalin's regime came from Moscow, and in the last ten years, their government had wreaked terror on the people of Russia. Good men had been killed for no reason, and the country had been thrown into chaos and war. The people of Leningrad were notoriously freethinking, and most didn't hesitate to admit that they hated Stalin.

Could it be that the people here hated her by association?

"I'm from right here in Leningrad,” Feodora continued.

"Do you have family?" Tanya asked, already knowing the answer. Anyone who had a family wouldn't be living in the Azoz Sanatoria.

"Nope. My husband was sent to the gulag back in '34 and I haven't seen him since…" Her voice drifted off, causing Tanya to shudder. She'd heard about the gulag, a forced labor camp where opponents of Stalin's economic policy were sent and often tortured. There was little hope Feodora's husband was still alive, and even if he was, there was no hope of him getting out of prison.

Feodora tore open the bag and ripped hefty chunks off of the loaf, stuffing them into her mouth and chewing loudly.

Tanya turned her head away, unable to watch.

"Do you want some?" Feodora ripped the loaf in half and held out a steaming hunk. "I have a whole loaf. It'll go stale by tomorrow."

"I couldn't." The instant the words slipped out, she wished she could grab them and stuff them back into her mouth. What was she thinking turning down an offering of bread? She was hungry and Feodora was offering, yet a tiny bubble of pride stuck in her throat, blocking her from the one thing she needed to survive.

"No, I insist." Feodora set it gingerly in Tanya's lap. "Eat up!"

Tears stung her eyes. Could this really be happening? Her first kind interlude in weeks, and from the most unlikely of places. Feodora, the boardinghouse drunk, the woman she had avoided for weeks was giving her bread. "Thank you Lord for something to eat," Tanya's heart prayed out of habit. She’d almost forgotten she didn't believe in God anymore. "Thank you, Feodora. This really means a lot."

"You look half-starved the way you're downing that."

Tanya let out a sob. All semblance of pride now gone, she might as well spill it. "I'm out of money! I thought I'd find a job by now, but…" Tanya trailed off, swallowing a huge chunk of bread while eyeing the dirty pitcher of water that sat on the table at the edge of the room. Grabbing her own tin cup, she stood to pour a drink.

Feodora sighed loudly, the cloudy look in her eyes revealing her own sadness and fear. "It's a tough time in Leningrad, Tanya."

How had she been so stupid? Most of the country hated Stalin after the great purge. Why had she been so naïve to think she could waltz into town and land a great job to start over?

Feodora took a deep breath and looked Tanya in the eye. "There are jobs out there for girls like us, Tanya. You have to know where to look."

A glimmer of hope?

"Oh, please, I will do anything. Tell me what to do!"

"I'm not talking about an office job."

Tanya stared at her expectantly. Did she mean a factory job? She could do that too. Sure, it would be boring…Oh. That kind of job.

She slumped back onto her bed and dropped her cup, the clattering of tin on the hard floor drowning out the thoughts racing through her mind. She could never do that. Not ever. "Oh, Feodora, I couldn't. I can't."

"I said the same thing once." Her eyes were distant, pensive, as if she relived the choice she’d made years ago.

Tanya gave her new friend a once over. Frizzy blonde hair hung loosely over her shoulders, framing a pale face that was probably beautiful at one time. But now, with dull, gray eyes and sagging cheeks, she simply looked tired. Old.

Tanya bit her bottom lip. She didn't want to judge Feodora—especially since she was the only friend she had—but she had to wonder how anyone could stoop that low. Tanya reached out to Feodora and gave her a tentative smile. "Thanks for the bread, friend."

And as she turned around to sleep, Tanya told herself that even if she were about to be thrown onto the streets where she would starve to death, she would never, ever do that.

Never.