Frozen

2011-10-06T05:43:00.000-07:00

Ivan shut the thick,oak doors of the Hermitage. He steppedoutside, still under the awning, watching the sailors leave their footprintsacross the snow and ice covered plaza, back to their boat. They had come to fix the heater for themuseum curator, Orbeli, after they had hooked up a line from their ship, togive a few rooms light. The artists wereall thankful enough, but Ivan didn’t understand what anyone expected them to dowith the light. It was long since thetemperature had gotten so cold that no one’s fingers could hold a paintbrush ora pen. He had resorted to doing works ofcharcoal, works that looked like they were done by a kindergarten student.

He was glad to get outof the museum. In the great halls of theWinter Palace, it had become colder than it was outside, and even in theoutside the air bit into what was left uncovered by his face, and quickly frozethe moisture coming from his mouth, leaving ice crystals on the outside of hismask. A walk would warm him up, if hehad the energy to walk. The rations wereso small these days. The Nazis had longsince stopped shelling the city, knowing that hunger would kill them all soonenough and empty the city of Leningraders. Living Leningraders, at least. Who knew what ghosts would remain to haunt the canals at night,hopefully exacting revenge upon their German besiegers.

The wind wasquiet. The air was quiet. Everything was quiet. Ivan heard only his own heavy boots,crunching against the snow. He walkedtowards the Summer Gardens, crossing a bridge over a frozen canal, stoppingmomentarily to light a cigarette. It wasmidday, but clouds hung low across the entire sky, appearing as frozen and coldas the land before it. When he came toan intersection, he saw two people talking. One was a woman, her cheeks rosy, her eyes crystal blue. She was dressed in a green greatcoat of anNKVD police officer, though it was a bit too big for her and the fur hat withthe shining star kept slipping over her eyes.

The NKVD woman wastalking to an older woman, who was thin and frail. The skin that Ivan could see barely hung on toher skull, her eyes so deep set that he wondered if he could see her brainthrough them. Her lips were drawn in andher teeth were almost black. But therags she wore made her look thick and healthy – had he seen her from adistance. “You have to find him,” shewas telling the officer while holding onto her arm. “That boy took my card. My card. Can’t you get me another card?”

“I can’t,” the officersaid. “They stopped giving replacements. I can look for the boy. What did he look like?” She looked up as she saw Ivan approach,rolling her eyes towards Ivan and sighing heavily, a puff of steam coming outof her mouth.

Ivan looked ather. Looked at her face. He knew her, but from where?

The NKVD woman came upto him. “Can I help you?”

“I’m sorry, excuse me?”

“You’ve been staringat me for ten minutes now.”

“No, it couldn’t havebeen so long. I must have dazed off,”Ivan said, his words trailing off along with his train of thought. He wondered if she had anything to eat. She looked so healthy.

Her expressionchanged, from one that was as cold as the ice on top of the nearby canal to somethingmuch warmer, which seemed to give Ivan some heat. “Vanya?” she said. “Vanya? Is that you? Oh my God, look atyou.” She put her arm around him,rubbing his sides as though that would help warm him.

“Do you have anythingto eat?” Ivan asked.

“Vanya, don’t yourecognize me? It’s Vera. I’m Vera. I was your art student all last year.”

“Vera,” Ivan said,trying to trigger his own cognition by repeating her name. “Vera, yes, I remember you. But weren’t you a secretary?”

“They ran out ofdetectives, they sent them all to the front. So they made me a detective. It’snot bad, they feed us as much as the soldiers. When I was just a secretary, I was getting a civilian ration. Oh my god!” She reached into her jacked and pulled out a piece of bread. She held it up to Ivan.

Ivan snatched thebread and shoved it into his mouth, pushing the crumbs into his cheeks asthough he were a squirrel storing nuts. Only then, when it was all in his mouth, did he begin to chew. Vera wiped at her eyes as she watched Ivan,trying to keep them dry before any tears could freeze on her cheeks.

When Ivan at lastswallowed, he said, “They feed us, but it’s not much. They want us to keep with our work. They say our work inspires the Soviet peopleto keep on. But what work we do! How can we work when everything is socold? When we have no food? I – instead of sketching, I ate the paper andthe pencil. It tasted like candy, sweet,sweet candy.”

“Come, let’s walk,”Vera said, guiding him along. Theypassed benches where people were sitting, huddled together. Ivan could not see them very well, he kepthis eyes down on his feet, pushing them one step at a time. He didn’t want to see the people on thebenches, to see that there was no breath coming from them.

They came upon a longline of people, waiting for their rations. Each with their cards in their pockets, and their hands stuffed deep,protecting their cards. They watchedeach other warily. They all heard thestories, of people stabbing each other for cards, of stealing cards, of bestfriends turning on each other, killing each other, just to get a hold of alittle red card. The card meantfood. Not much food, but something. Vera recognized someone in the line. It was another woman her age, in her mid20s. Unlike Vera though, she wore adirty, ragged coat and her eyes were as sunken as the old woman’s. Ivan couldn’t tell what color her eyes were,they were so taken by shadows. “Olya,”Vera called out to her. “Olya, how areyou?” She put her hands on Olya’s arms,gently caressing them and she kissed Olya’s cheeks. Olya tried to kiss back, but she moved tooslowly.

“Olya, tell me, whereis your husband? They said he hasn’tbeen coming to the factory.”

“He’s so sick,Vera. I’m getting food for him now. He’s so sick, he can’t come to the factory.”

“But he has to,everyone has to work,” Vera said, her voice soft, her eyes just as soft. “How can we hope to get the Germans if no oneis reporting to their duties?”

“See for yourself, he’stoo sick to come down. All he can do iseat. I bring him bread, and he eatsit. That’s how they all are. Everyone in our apartment. I bring all their food and all they do is eatit. And Mitya, he even sometimes eats myfood! It’s just not enough. He’s barely making it, I tell you. And all night long he just talks aboutfood. He asks me if we can eat thetable. We’ve already eaten thewallpaper.”

Vera pulled hertowards herself, “Come along with me. Let’s get your rations and then I’ll check up on Dmitri Ivanovich.”

They went to the frontof the line, Vera telling some of the citizens to stand aside and let Olya goalong. Olya showed all of her rationcards to the distributer and he gave her the proper share. Olya said, “No, there should be more. That’s just not enough. There should be more.” But she didn’t say it loud enough for thedistributor. The only person who couldhear was Vera.

“No, it’s the rightamount. Come on, let’s bring this backto Mitya.”

Ivan shuffled alongbehind them, not having anything else to do. Besides, he needed Vera to take him back to the Hermitage, he hadalready forgotten his way. It was alsobetter than just standing there, as he could feel his veins beginning to freezewhen he didn’t move. They walked severalmore blocks until they arrived at Olya’s apartment complex, an old baroquebuilding that once was a palace but had long since been divided up into communalapartments, each floor housing five families. She lived on the fourthfloor.

Vera pushed open theice crusted doors. They slowly slidopen, ice and snow falling on their heads. It was dark inside, the only light from the door and from frosted overwindows in the stairwell above. They climbedthe steps, careful as not to trip. Ivan,in his weakness, held on to the rail as he ascended, behind the two women. “How old I feel,” Ivan said. “Vera, how old am I? Before the war I was only in my thirties, butnow I’m in my sixties. I just want tosit all the time, sit and rest and think.”

“Sometimes it’s bestto keep moving,” Vera said. “Especiallyin the darkness, and we are in Leningrad. Now, Leningrad is the darkness.”

“It was good for awhile, wasn’t it? We had something. Or am I just dreaming?”

They came to Olya’sdoor and pushed it open. The apartment wasquiet and still. They stepped in. “Mitya, we have visitors,” Olya calledout. “Oh, he’s right this way. He’s always in the dining room, just waitingfor me to feed him. No, Mitya, I’m nottalking about you. He’s so sensitive youknow.”

As Olya continuedtalking to Mitya in the other room, Vera looked back at Ivan. Ivan said to her, “There’s something wrong.” Neither could hear Mitya responding to Olya,though she heard him fine. Even inside,it was cold, their breath rising in clouds above them.

“Okay, okay, I’ve gotyour bread, we’re coming.” They walkeddown the corridor and pushed open the door into the communal dining room. Olya moved across the room, swiftly now. She walked behind the table to where Mityasat and she kissed him on the cheek. “Here’syour bread, sweetheart.”

Ivan and Vera stoppedat the door, Vera’s mouth dropped and her hand raised to cover it. Mitya sat with three others at a long woodtable, crusted over by ice. Mitya andthe three other men sitting around it were pale and white, frost caked overtheir hair and eyebrows. They sat,leaning back, each balanced against the backs of the chairs, though one of themen had fallen forward, his forehead now attached to the table through a bridgeof ice. Each of them were nearly as thinas skeletons, the skin pulled back and tight across their bones. Ivan whispered,“She thinks they’re alive.”

Olya set the table,putting plates for each of the men. Forthe one whose head was on the table, she put the table by his ear. “Volya is always sleeping,” she said, pattinghis head. Then she placed the dailyration on the table, an eighth of a loaf of bread.

“But where does thefood go?” Vera asked him.

“Do we want to knowthe answer?” Ivan asked her. “Look attheir hands.” They each only had halftheir fingers, most of them had been missing up to their palms. “Something’s been eating their hands.”

“Rats,” Verasaid. “She has rats.”

“Rats,” Ivan repeated,but in a different tone. His spirit wasstirring again. “You can eat rats.”

“Olya,” Vera said asIvan started peering around in the corners and behind the furniture. “Let’s have a seat.” She pulled her friend down to the bed in thecorner. “Listen, they’re not with us.”

“Of course they’rewith us, they’re right at the table.”

“No, I mean they’renot with us, anymore.” As Vera tried toexplain to Olya that her friends were dead, Ivan wandered into thekitchen. He heard some shuffling insidea cupboard. He grabbed a kitchen knifeand lifted it up. How hunger increasesthe senses, tones one’s ability! Ivanfelt like a tiger, stalking through the icy forests of Siberia, hunting a greatdeer.

A few moments later,he came back to an Olya whose spirit was gone and a Vera who was quietlycrying. “I have lunch,” he said, as hebit into the back of the rat which was speared by his knife. “Excuse my manners, would you like any?” Though with his feverish eyes, he didn’t looklike he was really prepared to share.

Vera ran into thewashroom. Olya continued to stare at thewall, ignorant of Ivan’s presence. WhenIvan finished his meal, leaving a pile of blood and bones on the table, he satnext to Olya. His preternatural senseswere clearing away and he was returning to normal Ivan, with a full belly offood. He looked at Olya. He knew what he was watching; he was watchinga woman dying. This was the same look he’dseen on so many park benches in the past. “Soon, you’ll be in a better place. No one can remain in this hell forever.”

Ivangot up and walked into the corridor, just as Vera was coming out of thewashroom. Ivan shook his head. “Don’t go back there. She’s gone.”

“Ikilled her,” Vera said.

“You’reNKVD. Isn’t that your job?”

“No,my job is to help. To stop crime. To stop fraud and theft. Not to kill. That’s not my job.”

“Shewas committing fraud. You can write areport on it,” Ivan said.

“No!”she hit Ivan’s chest and fell into him. He fell back, unable to hold her up, until he hit a wall. She cried into his coat. “I can’t take this anymore, Vanya. I can’t. How much longer can we go like this? What did we do to the Germans? I don’tunderstand.”

“Wehave to survive,” Ivan said. “We have tolive long enough to kill them. To killtheir wives, their children, their spirits, as they have killed ours. I don’t know how, but we must. I buried my child with my wife, and I paidsomeone a loaf of bread to throw my wife into a ditch. And I am so cold and so hungry – I barelyfeel human anymore. I’m not human, I’meating rats out of cupboards and shuffling around parks, and eating pencils –all I think about is food. I used tohave so many beautiful thoughts, about life and love. But now just about food. But the worst part is, is that I know what’shappening to myself. I see myself asthis vile and starved animal and I can do nothing about it. We must go on, Vera, even if it’s just tospite the Germans. The Communists toldus there is no Hell, because there is no God, but this is it, this is Hell, andthe Germans are demons sent by God.”

“You’retalking nonsense now, Vanya. Come, let’sget you home.”

“Yes,home.” They walked down the stairs andout onto the streets, Vera holding Ivan’s arm, so that he wouldn’t fall. As they walked, Ivan said, “You know Vera, Ihad always liked you. You were theprettiest in class. Before I used tothink about you, about what it would be like to make love with you.”

Verawas quiet, but she squeezed his arm.

“Butnow, I just wonder how you would taste. What does that say?”

Verasighed and forced a smile. “It says you’re hungry. I’m hungry too. We’re all hungry. But you know, if you eat the snow, it keepsyour belly full? Before my promotion, Iused to eat so much snow. And you canmix it with things to change the taste. With a little mud and dead leaves, it can spice it up.”

“Wellthen Vera,” Ivan said, trying to smile. “I’llhold off on eating you and I’ll eat some snow. Thank you for the walk, but I see we are already back to the Hermitage. I would like to see you again, Vera, but Iknow that one of us will be dead soon.”

“No,we’ve got to live, remember,” Vera said. She hugged him and kissed his cheek. “You said we have to live, to spite the Germans.”

“Yes,we must live. To spite the Germans.” Vera left him in the courtyard of theHermitage. The great column with thegolden statue of the angel holding the cross was covered in white sheets, todisguise it from the German bombers. Hesat at the feet of the great stone Atlases which held up the balconyoverhead. “But really,” he said tohimself. “I just want to sleep. I can smell shashliuk and the smell comesfrom my dreams.”

Short Stories

Frozen