“WHO ARE YOU?” I LAY BARELY AWAKE, GAZING BLEARY-EYED UP AT SOMEONE WHO WAS SITTING ON THE SIDE OF MY BED, STARING AT ME. DEEP-SET DARK EYES SHONE FROM A pale, smooth face, its cheeks pinched pink by the cold. Two thick dark braids almost to her waist fell from under her fur-lined hat. She looked about my age.

“I thought you’d never wake up!” She smiled as though I were a long-lost friend. “I’m Polina.”

“Ivan.” I glanced around the room for a clock, but saw none. “What time is it?”

“After eight o’clock. It will be light soon. Would you like to go sledding with me?”

I nodded yes before I could even think about it. She rushed to the door, saying, “Hurry and get dressed” as she closed it behind her.

I climbed out of bed, thinking how much fun it’d be to go sledding, wondering how big the hills would be, when I realized I should have checked with Auntie and Galina before I made any plans.

Polina started talking the minute I opened the door; we walked toward the kitchen together. “Miss Galina lets me gather eggs from her chickens. Have you met them yet? There are six. Sometimes she gives eggs to my mother, who makes —”

“Good morning!” Auntie greeted us from the kitchen table.

Galina was at the stove. “You didn’t wake him up, did you, Polina?”

“No, Miss Galina,” she answered solemnly. “He was ready to get up on his own.” I wasn’t sure how true that was, but whatever Galina was cooking smelled so good, I didn’t want to waste time contradicting Polina.

It turned out to be porridge with butter. Imagine that. Even the richest man in Leningrad couldn’t buy those things. Polina and I had two bowls each.

“Auntie,” I said, knowing that to dwell on such thoughts would only bring sadness, “what are we to do today?”

Auntie sighed and said to me, “I wish there was a way to let your mother know that you’re going to be here a few days.” But there wasn’t. We didn’t even know where exactly she was going. “Well,” she said, looking around her and then at Galina, “what can we help you with?”

Galina shrugged. “Polina collected the eggs already. I cleaned out the chicken coop yesterday. We always need wood. Maybe Polina and Ivan could chop some wood for us.”

Polina practically jumped out of her chair. “I was thinking the same thing! Only I thought we could sled first, and then chop wood. We’ll bring it back on the sled afterward.”

Galina nodded and pushed her glasses up higher on her nose. “Why don’t you show Ivan our town, Polina? Let him get his bearings, and then go sledding?”

Auntie nodded, but said, “We don’t want to be a burden on you, Galina. Please tell us how we can repay you for your hospitality.”

Galina reached out and took Auntie’s hand. “I’m just glad you’re here. It gets lonely sometimes now that so many families have fled.”

“Where have they gone?” Auntie asked.

“Different places, but mostly to Moscow.”

“Moscow?” Auntie said. “I thought the Germans weren’t that far from Moscow.”

Galina shook her head. “No one knows the best thing to do. Some people panicked. Others felt they had no choice. My neighbor over that way,” she said, motioning behind her, “left because she’s eighty-nine years old. She heard that the Germans shoot all the old people. Whether it’s true or not, I don’t know. She didn’t want to find out the hard way.”

At least that was one worry I didn’t have; I knew my mother would be safe. The factories were relocated to the Ural Mountains because they were so far east, no German planes or troops could possibly reach them.

Polina was holding the back door open. “Get your coat,” she said. She seemed anxious to be gone, so I quickly grabbed my coat and dashed out the door.

We ran down a few stairs to the snow-covered ground. The sky was clear, the light turning from a deep blue to a golden glow. I felt so alive. Maybe it was because I’d had more to eat in the last two meals than I’d eaten in a week and a half back in Leningrad. Maybe it was because I rested in a soft bed covered by warm blankets. Maybe it was because I hadn’t heard the sounds of bombs and artillery fire every moment. Maybe it was because I heard birdsong for the first time in as long as I could remember.

Polina and I walked north as she told me all about the little town. “Those two families are gone.” She pointed to houses on either side of us. “I go in them sometimes just to make sure the roof isn’t leaking and no animals have set up their homes inside.”

“Really? They let you do that?”

“Of course. They asked me to! Almost all of us know one another here. If we don’t watch out for one another, no one will.” I thought about how we tried to do the same in my apartment building, but it seemed so limited compared to an entire village looking out for one another.

“How many people live here?” I asked as Polina jumped next to the low-hanging roof of a house we passed to knock the icicles off. I did the same and felt exhilarated as they cracked and fell into the snow.

“Now? Maybe two hundred. Before, three or four hundred. Not too big, not too small. Just perfect.” She jumped again and shattered three icicles with one sweep of her arm. She turned back to me and smiled. “I love the winter best. Everything is so quiet and beautiful. Every minute of daylight is so precious. Of course, when spring comes I like that best. There’s nothing like that first bit of green on the trees and the ground. It brings the mud, but mud is so much fun!”

“Fun?” I imitated Polina as she ran on a deserted street and slid on the hard-packed snow as if it were ice.

“Yes, endlessly. Last spring I made an igloo out of mud.”

“Really? Why didn’t it collapse?”

“Because I mixed it with straw and grass. It didn’t last in the heavy rain, but still, for ten days it was my second home.”

We turned a corner and were on what was obviously Vilnov’s main street. It was just two blocks from Galina’s house, and hardly more than a block long itself. A grocery store and a general store were already open. It was shocking to see people going in and out casually, normally, almost as if there weren’t a war going on. How would I ever make anyone understand how grim life had been in Leningrad when hardly seventy miles away there weren’t even lines for food?

“A lot of stores have closed,” Polina said, pointing to the biggest building on the street, a two-story brick structure that had been painted a pale yellow. “I know how to get in the basement. There’s a long hall there, hard and slick. Good for shooting marbles. We can explore it soon, maybe tomorrow, if you want. That’s the whole town,” she said suddenly. “Now we need to go sledding.”

I couldn’t have agreed more. “And chop wood,” I added, wanting to repay Galina for her generosity.

“Yes, come this way. We’ll go to my house and get my sled and a hatchet.”

Polina lived just a block from Galina, to the west. I met her mother briefly, who was so different from Polina, I would never have guessed they were related. She barely met my eyes and seemed preoccupied and closed-up. Polina must have seen the confusion on my face, because as we descended into the small basement under the house, she said, “My brother is on the front line. She worries.”

I nodded. “Where is your father?”

“Siberia.”

“What is he doing in Siberia?”

“He’s at a labor camp.”

I didn’t understand. “Why?”

“Comrade Stalin thought his politics were faulty.” She headed up the stairs with her sled in her hands.

“I don’t know what that means.”

Polina shrugged. “Neither did my father. Neither do I, for that matter. The police came one night and he had to go with them.”

“When is he coming back?”

“We don’t know.”

She said it in a way that let me know the subject was closed. I’ll ask Auntie later, I thought. She understood political things, and I did not.

“Ivan, just inside the door you’ll see where we hang the small hatchets. Grab two for us, would you?”

On the back of the basement door in a neatly constructed rack were four hatchets, all with leather sheaths covering the cutting edges. I took two and closed the door behind me. Polina’s mother made a sort of acknowledgment when Polina told her where she was going and when to expect her back. It made me deeply sad to see her mother ignore the daughter in front of her in her concern for a son not present.

There were a few houses in back of the area where Polina lived, but only one had smoke coming from its chimney. After that was a forest of the kind that had checkered the landscape we crossed yesterday in the sleigh with Vladimir.

“Do you see those cherry trees?” Polina asked, pointing to a cluster near the last house on that edge of town.

“Yes.”

“Their branches make the best snowshoes.”

“You know how to make snowshoes?”

“Oh, yes. Give me some twine and two branches, and I’ll make you snowshoes.” She trailed her sled behind her on a rope; I followed with a hatchet in each hand.

“What else do you know how to make?”

“I know how to make snow goggles out of birch bark —”

“You do?”

“— with little slits for the eyes so you won’t go snow-blind on a bright day.”

“What else?”

“I’m good at making winter fires.”

I swung one of the hatchets in my hand, pretending I was hacking off branches as we walked. “Show me.”

“Not now. But the thing to remember is to dig all the snow away.”

I stopped, amazed, feeling like I knew so little about how to take care of myself, and Polina knew so much. “I can play the concertina,” I said, anxious to show that I had some skill to offer.

Polina laughed and turned back toward me. “I know. I saw it in your room. Better be careful with those hatchets. You don’t want to be a nine-fingered concertina player. Maybe you’ll play for me when we get back.”

“Yes. But tell me how you know all these things about … survival.”

“My brother taught me. The one in the army. Plus, I … I have a book.”

“Maybe you can show it to me.”

“Maybe,” she said noncommittally.

I looked around for the first time in a few minutes. “Polina, the land is so flat. Where will we sled?”

“You’ll see in a minute.”

She was right. All of a sudden, the earth seemed to fall away. It sloped down steeply at first, and then continued to run all the way to a stream. It was frozen nearest its banks, but still flowing in the center.

“Brilliant! But … but how do you keep from going into the stream?”

“It takes some practice,” she answered with a smile. “Let’s go down together a few times. I’ll sit up front, and then you can try it on your own. Leave the hatchets here.” I tossed them into the snow a few feet from us.

“And if we get too near the stream?” I asked, climbing on the sled in back of her and putting my arms around her waist.

“Jump off!” she cried as she pushed hard with her feet, sending us over the edge of the little cliff.

It was frightening and exhilarating and fun, and I knew I wanted to do it a hundred more times before the day was over. Even the walk back up the hill wasn’t so bad. After about an hour, we sat on the sled near the creek and decided we should begin to cut some wood.

“Where do we start?” I asked.

“First, look around you. See if there is any dry wood to pick up.” I sighed, thinking I was never going to get to use my hatchet. She must have understood, because she said, “Come this way,” and led me to an area past the creek.

“All right. Let’s start on” — she scrutinized the various trees near us — “that one.” She pointed to a tall evergreen tree.

“Really?” I was surprised because its branches were covered with rich green needles and a dusting of snow.

“Yes. Give me a hatchet and watch me. You get on your back and crawl under the tree. There are lots of dry branches near the trunk, especially at the bottom.” I watched as she disappeared under the wide apron of the evergreen. I waited for a minute or two, listening to the faint snapping sounds she made. I was ready to crawl in after her when I saw her boots emerging from the edge of the lowest tree branch as she used her heels to pull herself forward and out.

“Ta-da!” She lay on her back, and across her chest were several inch-wide, foot-long dead branches and lots of smaller branches that would make excellent kindling.

“That’s amazing!” I cried as I ran to her, then lifted the branches off her and put them on the sled. She sat up looking pleased, hatchet in hand.

“Now you try. Do that one.” She pointed to a tree about five yards away that looked similar to the one she’d been under. I ran toward it, unsheathed my hatchet, and got on my back at its edge.

“Anything else I should know?”

“Yes. Don’t drop your hatchet or you’ll hurt yourself.”

I gripped it tightly and pushed myself in, legs slightly bent, using only my heels for propulsion. It was a wonderland under there. The smell alone filled me with happiness and energy. Although there was some snow on the outer branches, there was almost none under the tree, especially near the trunk. I banged my head once on a broken branch, and some dead pine needles fell on my face. It was amazing to see how many small branches and twigs really were dead and dry enough to be snapped off. I lay my hatchet down on my right side to think for a moment and to see where I should position myself to be able to cut the most dead wood possible. Polina was right: If you dropped your hatchet in this cramped space, chances are it would land on you.

Suddenly, I heard a man’s voice and I froze. “Polina,” he said, “what are you doing out here?”

“Nothing, I just —”

“We’re having a meeting in the morning. Six A.M. Be there.”

“Petr, my friend is here with me.” Her voice sounded funny; even at that distance I could hear the distressed tone.

“Where?” The way he spoke that one word made me grasp my hatchet, hold on with my right hand to the few twigs I’d managed to cut, and begin to pull myself out with my heels. As I neared the edge of the branches, two strong hands grasped my ankles and yanked me out. I gasped in surprise and fear.

I lay there in the snow, gaping up at the bearded face of a man who looked none too happy to see me. “Who are you?” he demanded.

“Ivan Savichev from Leningrad,” I said with as much dignity as my position allowed. I got up quickly, the hatchet still in my hand. The man grasped my wrist, squeezed it, and took the hatchet from me.

“What are you doing out here?”

I glanced at Polina, who looked nervous. She answered, “He’s with me. We were sledding and chopping wood for Miss Galina.”

The man Polina had called Petr grabbed the front of my jacket near my throat. “What did you hear me say to Polina?”

I can’t explain it except to say that in a moment I understood it all. That understanding meant I had to make a decision. I knew what I had to do.

I swung my right hand up quickly and knocked his grasp loose from my coat, startling him. Looking him right in the eye, I said in a firm voice, “You said, ‘We’re having a meeting in the morning. Six A.M. Be there.’ Did I get that right?”

He didn’t answer. Polina looked distraught. I continued quietly, hoping my guess was right. “You’re partisans. Both of you. There are more, and you’re all getting together in the morning.” His face was blank, but I could see the intelligence in his eyes and the mind working quickly behind them. “I want to join you.” There was silence, and then he laughed. Loud and long.

“For all you know, we’re a hunting club, or ice fishermen. Maybe we like to knit! Partisans? Pfff. Get yourself killed fast being a partisan. And what are you, anyway, ten years old? Talking about partisans … better to shut your mouth, boy. It could get you into trouble.”

I stepped closer to him. “I said I want to join you.” I never took my eyes off of him. “I am almost thirteen years old. I’ve seen people die from starvation and sickness in Leningrad. I almost starved myself. I left my mother and my friends behind and crossed Lake Ladoga, partially on foot. I met three partisans yesterday who were on their way to Tikhvin. We pulled them with our sleigh to help them and gave them all the food we had.”

Petr was still sizing me up, but listening carefully. I could tell he hadn’t made his mind up about me.

“You think you’ve suffered out here in the country?” I continued. “Which one of you survives on four ounces of bread a day? In Leningrad we make do with pathetic rations. People are so desperate for food they’d stew a belt for soup, hoping to find some bit of nourishment in it from a long-dead cow. Or they boil wallpaper and gladly eat the paste, praying it will be enough to live another day.” My hands were balled into fists, my eyes were stinging with tears of anger at the memories. “Which one of you endures constant artillery attacks, bombs day and night? I’ve had more to eat in my two meals here than I had the entire last week and a half in Leningrad.” I let my words hang in the air, knowing that they were having an effect on a man who had a serious decision to make about whether I was friend or foe.

“Were the partisans that you helped armed?”

I could tell it was a test question. “They each had a rifle, a sleeping bag, and homemade skis.”

His expression softened a little. “And just what do you think you have to offer a group of partisans, assuming we are one?”

I thought a moment before I answered. “I’m smart. I’m observant. I hate the Germans. And I’m short and I look younger than my age, you said so yourself. People ignore children. I could act as eyes and ears.”

“Is that all?”

“No. I play the concertina.”

He laughed again, this time with a genuine smile on his face. I glanced at Polina, who looked enormously relieved.

“What do you think, Polina?” Petr asked her.

Polina stared at me. “I think he’s suffered a great deal. And he’s like me — he looks young and innocent. Although not nearly so pretty.” She smiled and let out a little laugh. “We can always use help. The Germans aren’t that far away. We’ve all heard them the last few days. If they make it much farther north …” She left the thought unspoken, but I think we all knew the implications.

“So, Ivan Savichev from Leningrad … we’ll see you in the morning.” He started to walk away.

“My hatchet, please,” I said. Petr turned slowly, walked back to me, and handed the hatchet to me, handle first.

“You know, Polina,” he said with a hint of a smile, “I think this boy has potential.”