Lost Souls of Leningrad by Suzanne Parry

Author:Suzanne Parry
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: She Writes Press

THE AIRMAN

November 1941

SOFYA SAT AT the kitchen table by weak candlelight, her mind on the struggling orchestra. Fewer than twenty musicians showed up that afternoon for rehearsal. For a number of her colleagues, it was too far to walk. Several had moved into the Radio House. Their wives and children had evacuated and it was easier to sleep on a cot than to go back and forth from their apartments. Plus, they wouldn’t be alone.

All of a sudden, the door opened and slammed shut, rattling the windows.

“You’ll never believe it!” Yelena called. Sofya heard the thunk of boots being dropped in the entry and in a moment her granddaughter was in the kitchen, eyes bright. “I got assigned to our firefighting unit. I start as soon as I get my cast off and I turn sixteen.” Her birthday was in five weeks and she’d be eligible for the job she’d coveted all along: rooftop firefighting.

Alyosha stood to one side. The little boy never complained, rarely cried, but hardly ever spoke either. Suddenly, he piped up. “Can I be a firefighter too?” It was the first time he’d expressed interest in anything.

“You are a brave boy, wanting to help,” Yelena said. “You can’t be a firefighter just now—you’re not old enough. But I’m sure you can help. Maybe it can be your job to check that the sand bucket is always full.”

A smile lit the boy’s face and he came and stood close to Yelena.

Sofya sighed. Now the two of them were set on doing something dangerous. “Are you sure you want to be in the freezing cold on the roof? At least with the Komsomol you’d be moving, easier to stay warm.”

“It won’t be too bad,” Yelena said. “I like the idea of being close to home. And I’m the only firefighter for our building. I’m supposed to work two or three shifts every day, a couple hours each, depending on the weather. Bombing raids are less likely in the extreme cold.”

“That’s one good thing about this bitter weather.” Sofya mumbled.

“You don’t seem very glad,” Yelena said.

“It’s dangerous. I’d rather you were in a shelter during air raids.”

There were hundreds of civilians in the city sitting on rooftops, watching for incendiaries. The Germans dropped the small bombs by the thousands, starting fires everywhere. Ready with buckets of sand and water, the rooftop firefighters were responsible for burying the little fire bombs in sand or plucking them with special tongs and dropping them in buckets of water.

“I could get hit by artillery walking to work or standing in line.” Yelena’s voice was soft and earnest. “Being on the roof isn’t riskier than anything else.”

Sofya looked down, staring at the wood planks of the floor, dark and smooth with wear. Why couldn’t her granddaughter do something less dangerous? Youth brigades were headed north of the city to gather wood, the perfect assignment to keep her out of harm’s way. Or was it? She sighed audibly. Yelena was right. Nothing and no one was safe anymore.

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