6
“How many cans of ham do we have left?” Mama asked.
“One,” Tatiana replied.
“That can’t be.”
“Mama, we’ve been eating it every night.”
“But it can’t be,” said Mama. “We had ten just a few days ago.”
“About nine days ago.”
The next day Mama asked, “Have we got any flour left?”
“Yes, we have about another kilo. I’ve been making pancakes with it every evening.”
“Is that what those are? Pancakes?” Dasha said. “Tastes like flour and water to me.”
“It is flour and water.” Tatiana paused. “Alexander calls them sea biscuits.”
“Can you make bread out of it?” demanded Mama. “Instead of silly pancakes?”
“Mama, bread? Out of what? We have no milk. We have no yeast. We have no butter. And we certainly have no more eggs.”
“Just mix it with a little water. We must have some soy milk?”
“We have three tablespoons.”
“Use it. Put some sugar in it.”
“All right, Mama.” For dinner Tatiana made unleavened bread with sugar and the remaining milk. They had the last can of ham. It was October 31.
“What’s in this bread?” Tatiana asked, breaking off a piece of the black crust and looking inside. “What is this?” It was the start of November. Babushka was on the couch. Mama and Marina had already gone out for the day. Tatiana was procrastinating, trying to make her portion last. She didn’t want to go to the hospital.
Dasha leaned over from her chair and shrugged. “Who knows? Who cares? How does it taste?”
“Actually, revolting.”
“Eat it. What, maybe you’d like some white bread instead?”
Tatiana picked at a little piece of something in the bread, poked it with her fingers, then put it on her tongue. “Dash, oh my God, you know what it is?”
“I don’t care.”
“It’s sawdust.”
Dasha paused in her own chewing, but only for a second. “Sawdust?”
“Yes, and this here?” Tatiana pointed to a brown fleck between her fingers. “That’s cardboard. We’re eating paper. Three hundred grams a day, and they’re giving us paper.”
Finishing every last crumb of her piece and looking hungrily at the one Tatiana was kneading between her fingers, Dasha said, “We’re lucky to have that. Can I open the can of tomatoes?”
“No. We have only two left. Besides, Mama and Marina are not here. You know if we open it, we’ll eat it all.”
“That’s the idea.”
“We can’t. We’ll open it tonight for dinner.”
“What kind of dinner is that going to be? Tomatoes?”
“If you didn’t eat all your cardboard in the morning, you’d have some left for dinner.”
“I can’t help it.”
“I know,” said Tatiana, putting the rest of the bread in her mouth and chewing it with her eyes closed. “Listen,” she said when she had swallowed hard, “I’ve got some crackers left. Want to have some? Just three each?”
“Yes.” The girls glanced at Babushka, who was sleeping.
They ate seven each. Only small remainders were left of what used to be whole pieces of toasted bread. Broken remainders with crumbs on the bottom.
“Tania, are you still getting your monthlies?”
“What?”
“Are you?” There was anxiety in Dasha’s voice and anxiety in Tatiana’s as she answered. “No. Why do you ask?”
“I’m not either.”
“Oh.”
Dasha was quiet. The sisters breathed shallowly.
“Are you worried, Dasha?” Tatiana said at last, with great reluctance.
Dasha shook her head. “I’m not worried about that. Alexander and I—” She glanced at Tatiana. “Never mind. I’m worried I’m not getting it. That it just ceased to be.”
“Don’t worry,” said Tatiana, relieved and sad for her sister at the same time. “It’ll come back when we start to eat again.”
Dasha raised her eyes at Tatiana.
Tatiana looked away.
“Tania,” Dasha whispered, “aren’t you feeling it? Like your whole body is just shutting down?” She started to cry. “Shutting down, Tania!”
Tatiana hugged her sister. “Dearest,” she said. “my heart’s still beating. I’m not shutting down, Dasha. And you’re not either.”
The girls were silent in the cold room. Hugging Tatiana back, Dasha said, “I want that senseless hunger back. Remember last month when we were always starving?”
“I remember.”
“You don’t feel that anymore, do you?”
“No,” admitted Tatiana faintly.
“I want it back.”
“You’ll get it back. When we start eating, it will all come back.”
That night Tatiana came home with a pot of clear liquid they served in the hospital cafeteria. There was one potato floating in it.
“It’s chicken soup,” Tatiana said to her family. “With some ham hock.”
“Where is the chicken? Where is the ham hock?” Mama asked as she looked into the small pot.
“I was lucky to get this.”
“Yes, Tanechka, you were. Come, pour for us,” Mama said.
It tasted like hot water with a potato. It had no salt, and it had no oil. Tatiana divided it into five portions because Alexander was still away.
“I hope Alexander comes back soon so we can have some of his food. He’s so lucky to have such a good ration,” said Dasha.
I hope Alexander comes back soon, too, thought Tatiana. I need to lay my eyes on him.
“Look at us,” said Mama. “We’ve waited for this dinner since our one o’clock lunch. But someone has to help with the bombs, the fires, the glass, the wounded. We’re not helping. All we want to do is eat.”
“That’s exactly what the Germans want,” said Tatiana. “They want us to abandon our city, and we are ready to do it to have a potato.”
“I can’t go out there,” said Mama. “I’ve got five uniforms to sew by hand.” She glared at Babushka, who sat quietly, chewed her bread, and said nothing.
“We won’t go out there,” said Tatiana. “We will sit and work and sew. But we are not abandoning our Leningrad. No one is leaving here.”
No one else spoke.
When the air raid began, they all descended to the shelter, even Tatiana, who tripped over a woman who had died sitting up against the wall and whom no one had bothered to move. Tatiana sank down and waited out the darkness.
