Miserere

By Valery Petrochenkov

Miserere is an account of World War II that focuses on the fate of Aleksey, a boy from the Volga region, as he and his beloved friends try to survive World War II and beyond.
As the story begins, the Soviet government of the thirties has just confiscated most of the grain in the Volga region, leading to the death of around 1,000,000 people. When Aleksey’s father is arrested and his family is starving, the boy seeks his best friend, Kurt. Aleksey is captured and put into a camp. The Warden notices the boy’s bravery and character, so sends him to a special orphanage school. After graduation, he attends military school and becomes a spy. The fates of Kurt in Kazakhstan, of Ilse in Berlin, of his schoolmate Sasha in Finland, and of Lyubov, a beautiful visionary in Russia, are woven together into a rich tapestry.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9781669845737

Valery Petrochenkov

Valery Petrochenkov was born in Russia in 1940. The first year of his life was spent in a Soviet military base on the Hanko Peninsula in Finland. In August of 1941 all families of military personnel were evacuated to Leningrad, right before the beginning of the Siege of Leningrad. His father died during the defense of the military base on December 3, 1941. He graduated from the Department of Journalism of Leningrad State University in 1967 and after emigration to the United States in 1974, acquired his master’s degree from the University of Colorado and his Ph.D. from Indiana University. He taught at Georgetown University for 23 years and retired in 2005 as a Professor Emeritus. He is the author of more than 10 books of poetry, prose, and literary studies. His fictional account of the Siege of Leningrad was first published in Russia in 1998.

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Copyright © 2022 by Valery Petrochenkov.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The icon on the cover of this book represents the Theotokos (Mother of God) of the Lost, which invokes the salvation for each person who is discouraged or has a burden. The icon is poignant during the time of war since at that time so many people were lost, both physically and spiritually.

This icon is owned by the author and was photographed by his wife, Margaret Petrochenkov.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 09/13/2022

Xlibris

844-714-8691

www.Xlibris.com

843740

In Memory

of L. N. B.

The century proceeds along its path of iron . . .

E. A. Baratynsky

CONTENTS

PART ONE

Twilight

Alyosha

Training Camp

Istomin

The Test

In the Baltics

Berlin

Ilse

Rudolph

Kurt

Stephanie

Seventh

Finn

The Priest

Old Petra

Beethoven

The Trap

Herr von Schramm

PART TWO

Notes by Lyubov Nikolaevna Tverskaya

Me

PART THREE

Blessing

PART ONE

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Twilight

Alyosha

T h e boys were on their way home from a fishing trip. They sang loudly, whooped, and laughed, speaking in their own invented mix of Russian and German. At the fork in the road, they said goodbye and, as was their custom, waved at each other with their feet. Kurt headed up the road to the German settlement and Alyosha descended to his village.

He was still near the top of the hill when he noticed a gathering in the square near the tilting cupola of the recently shuttered church. As he drew closer, he saw something strange. Police surrounded the square. An official stood at the church entrance, screaming loudly, stamping his feet, and motioning broadly. The crowd stood bunched together as if tied. Alyosha couldn’t distinguish the men from the women.

Alyosha listened intently. He couldn’t hear the words since the outsider’s voice was carried away by the wind. Out of curiosity, he moved forward, but at that instant, the wind changed, and he heard a wave of groans from the crowd.

Swinging his string of fish, Alyosha ran to his house in a hurry.

At home, everything was in an uproar. His father wasn’t there; his mother ran from one corner of the house to another in a frenzy, first stopping at the cradle where his little sister slept, then running to Grandmother’s bed to whisper in her ear. When she saw him arrive, his mother didn’t praise him for the fish, as would be normal. She asked no questions, accepted his catch, threw it on the table, and passed him a crust of bread: To the barn—quickly!

Unnoticed from the loft of the barn, Alyosha saw his father, head lowered, walk into the yard with two policemen and one swarthy city man with a fat face, who was wearing a military-style hat. He did not close the gate. Alyosha couldn’t hear what they said, but when the stranger waved his gun in front of his father’s face and then struck him with it, Alyosha prepared to jump down and grab an axe to defend him, but he heard his mother hoarsely whisper from outside the house. Run, son, to the Prokhorov’s! They’re taking away our grain!

While running the back way, he heard women howling behind him in the settlement. A shot echoed as he approached the river.

At the Prokhorovs, everyone was in frantic motion. The father of the family and his two sons, all strong men, were loading bags of grain from the barn onto a cart. The women ran from the house to the stable and back with packages in their hands. The third son, the thin and energetic Pokhom, sat on the side of the cart ready for departure. His godmother noticed Alyosha. Although she said nothing, she pointed toward the kitchen.

Before they reach us, we can hide it all in the ravine, loudly whispered the Prokhorovs’ only daughter, Styosha.

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Only in the morning when the men returned did they let Alyosha go home, accompanied by Pokhom.

It looked as if the village had been attacked by the cavalry. All the gates were open, the fences destroyed, and the road was crisscrossed with wheel ruts, in which chickens pecked attentively at the remainders of the grain, ground into the ruts.

In his yard he found his mother without a kerchief, her hair disheveled. Her eyelids were swollen from weeping and her face was covered by scratches. She could not focus on anything. He heard his baby sister crying in the house. Alyosha was exhausted after his sleepless night. He ran to his mother, embraced her, and asked about his father, nearly choking on the words. For the first time in his life, she didn’t respond, as if she had turned to stone and couldn’t hear him.

His father had been arrested the previous night. Alyosha never saw him again. From that day forward, the people in the village kept a low profile and avoided each other on the street. There weren’t many men in the settlement anymore, and those who remained, stayed hidden.

Their way of life changed dramatically. Mother tried to find out what had become of her husband. While she was gone, Alyosha took care of his little sister. His best friend Kurt had vanished. Grandmother spent most of her time in bed, unable to get up, and she refused to eat. They had less and less food. They ate all the chickens, then slaughtered the she-goat because they had nothing to feed her, and the day came when they had no flour at all. In late fall, Grandmother died. Pokhom helped them to bury her.

Hard times came for the Prokhorovs as well. The father and elder brothers had been arrested. Alyosha’s godmother lost her mind after being forced to stand outside and stick out her tongue at gun point for hours.

When the first snow came his mother lost her milk, so they tried to feed his little sister with a grass extract. Alyosha’s pants fell from his skinny body. His mother told him to go to the Werner’s, Kurt’s parents. We have no way to feed ourselves anymore.

Kurt’s house in the German settlement had been boarded up. According to neighbors, Richard the carpenter had moved to the city, but they didn’t know where. Alyosha was sure he could find them. There couldn’t be many craftsmen of such renown in the city.

When Alyosha got close to town, a policeman tried to capture him but he escaped. For 24 hours, he hid in an abandoned house where he nearly froze to death. On the second day, he was discovered by other boys, who also had left their villages when their families began starving. They all headed to the town in hopes of surviving the winter there. This hope was dashed. Police guarded all the roads. People were arrested and marched away. They heard that anyone who could not walk was shot. Local people wouldn’t or couldn’t help—they were all overwhelmed. Even in the city, food was hard to come by.

The boys formed gangs and chose a leader whose power was absolute. They became wild with hunger, stole whatever they could find, and sometimes attacked passers-by. They split all their gains evenly and fled from the police. The boys helped wounded brothers and remembered the fallen. They fought to the death with other gangs of homeless children but they all united when fleeing from police. After that, the gang wars recommenced. Each gang had its own territory. Crossing boundaries was punishable by death.

Alyosha forgot who he was. Once a clever boy, beloved by all, he became a merciless little beast, ready to fight at any moment with no concern for life. As time went on, he became respected among the boys and was chosen for the most dangerous tasks. He never betrayed anyone and put the past behind him. He thought with his stomach and spoke in a dirty jargon comprised of obscenities. Alyosha did not join in the conversations of talkative boys. When asked a question, he answered with few words. The past and the future no longer existed. Fill your stomach however you can. You need to stay alive for whatever comes tomorrow.

Many boys didn’t survive. They heard rumors that thousands of starving, skinny people crawled toward the city in the snow like black locusts. Soldiers collected corpses every day and dumped them into the ravine. Whether or not they believed these stories, the boys put such thoughts out of their minds and hunted for food as soon as night fell.

Boys weakened by starvation were more often caught toward spring. They were beaten mercilessly, sometimes to death. The runaways told stories about colonies where children were sent if still alive after capture. Better to die here or under a policeman’s boots than go to such places!

Then one day, the boys awoke suddenly to the sound of barking dogs. Their hideout was surrounded on all sides. Each boy tried to save himself. Alyosha climbed on the rotten roof, rolled down to the bushes, and ran, repeatedly changing directions. His ears were filled with the sound of his own heart pounding in his temples. When the roaring stopped, he heard the hoarse bark of an approaching dog. A man encouraged the dog with short commands. No escape, rushed through Alyosha’s head.

He stopped running, inhaled the cold air, and walked slowly toward the dog. This saved his life; they did not beat him. After untying his hands, they pushed him into a cell. He almost vomited when he saw his brothers lying on the floor. They smelled like shit and blood, and he could not recognize all their faces. The boy next to him, barely able to move his split lips, told him Kozyol had escaped, but Shandal’ had been ripped apart by dogs.

They passed around a rough, smelly soap. Zinc basins full of water clanked and the boys viciously scrubbed layers of dirt from their bodies.

An animated, red-headed boy, who never stopped talking, gave a uniform to each.

They beat you. Beat you horribly. Everybody—guards, teachers, and the other boys.

Do they feed you?

They beat you severely, with iron and boots, under the ribs, and sometimes on the balls.

Do they feed you? insisted the new boy.

Shut up, they feed you, feed you. You won’t die. But they beat you nearly to death.

Under escort, but this time without the dogs, the boys were led through an endless yard full of snow and pushed into the next building. There, the boys removed their smelly rags and sat on a stool in turns, while a huge man in a dirty robe shaved their heads savagely and cut into the bloody scabs that were not yet hardened.

After their hair was cut, they were taken to a real bathhouse.

The next day, after they were fed some kind of slop, they were transported to a colony that was housed in two former monasteries.

Under guard as before, the boys were led to a dormitory. They looked very funny, wearing jackets that didn’t fit them, huge hats covering their ears, and enormous felt boots. But no one laughed. Everyone assessed and memorized the surroundings—the buildings, the roofs, and the length and height of the walls. No one wanted to stay here very long.

The guard made his report to the warden, who suspiciously inspected the new boys, counted them, and marked them into a ledger.

No tricks! barked the warden.

The tricks began toward evening when the older boys returned from their light work, preparing firewood. The same talkative red-head ran into the group of new boys screaming: Hey cooties, it’s time for initiation.

The new boys exchanged glances and awaited something bad. They reluctantly followed along a stone corridor leading to a back stairway. There they stood, shoulder to shoulder against the wall, preparing to fight to the death. Across from them, nearly twenty older boys assembled and laughed while they smoked hand-rolled cigarettes. Their leader, who looked full grown, spoke with one of his handsome younger followers. Immediately one of them brought out a stool and the sound of metallic clanking could be heard behind their backs.

Who’s first? intoned the leader in a smooth, sugary tenor voice. He focused his gaze on Alyosha.

A second later, a massive stool struck the leader’s head. He slowly bent over, howling like a little girl, and fell on his side. A puddle of red liquid seeped around his squarish head. In the moment of confusion, one of the new boys grabbed a metal rod from the hands of an older boy. Shoulder to shoulder and with their backs to the wall, the new boys prepared to fight.

Guards rushed in, the taps of their shoes echoing on the rocks. For a full hour, they held the boys at gun point and waited.

The Commander finally appeared. He was a broad-shouldered man in a tight uniform, still young, with a military haircut. On his orders, the guards pulled one boy after another out of line for questioning.

Finally, it was Alyosha’s turn.

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The room had a low ceiling. Two small windows reinforced with metallic grating. White walls without any decoration. A single lamp bulb hung from a wire in the ceiling. A writing table on four heavy legs. Two chairs, one behind the table and the other in front about two meters away.

The person with the military haircut nodded to the guard to leave.

Are you the one who hit the gang leader in the head with a stool?

Alyosha did not answer.

All right. Sit down!

The Commander sat on his chair and looked through the papers.

There’s not much here. What’s your name?

Alyosha.

Last name? You don’t want to talk? Okay, don’t talk. We’ll teach you to talk later. So, you’re a tough guy, like Spartacus, tough as nails, or like Russians say, s norovym," so I’ll write down ‘Norov’.

Patronymic?

Sergeevich.

No objection then? Aleksey Sergeevich Norov. Twelve years old. Orphan. Homeless. Okay, Aleksey Sergeevich. Sit here and think, and I will return soon.

The Commander returned when it was already dark behind the windows.

Did you have a chance to think? Okay, Aleksey Sergeevich, now you follow me. I am Nikolay Pavlovich. It’s not necessary to talk now. He threw a peacoat to Alyosha. Put it on.

Alyosha spent the night in the administration building on the couch in the Commander’s office. They fed him in the evening and gave him a woolen soldier’s blanket. He fell asleep very quickly and didn’t hear when someone came in and stood over him.

Early in the morning, he woke to the strong voice of Nikolay Pavlovich: Get up!

A guard brought tea and sandwiches for two.

Okay, said the Commander while looking at Alyosha with teasing eyes, while you eat, I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. His eyes grew serious. We are sending you to an orphanage, not an ordinary one, but one of the best in the country. Study, and get stronger and smarter. The Commander’s intonation metallically intoned: If you run away, you can only blame yourself for what happens. You already know what life is like here.

The truck’s cabin was stifling. Alyosha unbuttoned his coat. From his pocket he took a piece of bread with lard, wrapped in newspaper, and started to eat.

Don’t even think about jumping out. The driver glanced at Alyosha, who had fallen asleep with his mouth full.

They arrived early in the evening. A woman led him inside and told him what to do. He responded with slurred speech and could not entirely open his eyes. He woke up in a bed with clean sheets and figured out where he was, surrounded by other orphaned boys. Look at the new guy!

Alyosha adapted to his surroundings rapidly and didn’t think about running away even once. His previous life was finished. He proved himself quickly. Like new boys everywhere, Alyosha was initiated. They asked him to play the knife game. Without a single mistake, he passed through all possible combinations and threw the knife he had won into the wall of the barn from twenty yards away. After that, he returned it to the boy who had lost. Later, in class, after he spoke German with the speed of a machine gun, they asked no more questions.

One year later he was nearly unrecognizable. He had grown tall and strong, and he wore his pioneer’s kerchief with pride. After winning the cross-country run, he was awarded a bicycle. He let everyone borrow it. He also became a good marksman and received an award pin for the best result in shooting from the hands of a famous Civil War hero. The orphanage was a showcase. Foreign delegations frequently visited during the summer. Once the Ambassador of Germany appeared in the company of Moscow dignitaries. The Ambassador asked how well the boys studied German. The nervous female teacher almost fainted from fear, but then pulled herself together and called on Alyosha. He recited Goethe’s poem, Erlkönig, from memory. The stunned Ambassador took off his wristwatch and gave it to the boy. The wristwatch was later sent to the Museum of Official Presents in Moscow, or so they said, but Alyosha basked in the glory.

Belokonev, who was in nearly every way the opposite of Alyosha, became his best friend. He was quiet and short, and hated sports and all official gatherings. He dreamed of becoming a chef and preparing great dishes. He didn’t remember his parents. Before he arrived at the orphanage, he had lived with the Samokhvalovs, the previous owners of a restaurant. The former restauranteur lost everything after the New Economic Policy went into effect. He told many stories about his past, but only Sasha listened. The man’s wife began working as a housekeeper for one of the new rulers, and his daughter and son broke off contact with their parents, hoping at all costs to prove their devotion to the new regime. From the stories of Samakhvalov, his adopted son learned some French and memorized pages from the most famous French cookbook.

The merchant was arrested and sent into exile, and Sasha, as a victim of deplorable class exploitation, was sent to an orphanage. The boy managed to save a fat book of French cooking recipes, which he kept as his dearest treasure. The book helped him get into this special orphanage, where the study of foreign languages was one of the most important disciplines.

From time to time, usually before falling asleep when the boys were bored, they asked Sasha to tell them what kind of food that French canaille fixed. He described it so well that his listeners began to salivate. For a long time, while falling asleep, the boys made smacking sounds with their lips, recalling what Sasha had said.

Alyosha bumped into his future friend by accident during his very first days in the orphanage. Much later, as a result of negotiations with the other boys, Sasha moved to the bed next to Alyosha’s, which was in the corner near the window and close to the wall. This place was considered very prime since it was possible to observe the entire dormitory from this location.

Sasha was the only person to whom Alyosha told everything that had happened in his life. Homeless? asked Sasha looking up at his friend’s clear eyes, and without waiting for an answer said, my people were exiled.

In this way, they told each other the things that they never revealed about themselves, especially in that orphanage. They were both sure that no matter what they said, all their secrets would be kept confidential to the grave.

Alyosha liked how Sasha asked questions and answered them by himself, as if thinking aloud, relieving his interlocutor from the necessity to be silent or to lie.

Sasha was loved because he was quiet and kind, and because he told amazing stories, even though no one believed that people could eat the dishes he described, nor did they believe that such wonders existed in the world. The boys decided that this was intentionally invented by the bourgeoisie to make the stomachs of poor people rumble.

Nobody bullied Sasha and he didn’t bother anyone. He was weak, as the boys knew, but in some sense, he was stronger than the strong. He could be killed, but he could not be broken. He could be insulted, but he could not be offended. They all left him alone when he stood next to Alyosha.

In addition to everything else, both friends were united by their love for travel and exploration books. The librarian Antonina Ivanovna, always put aside books on exploration for them. Whenever they received these tomes, there were always two names at once on the library card. First one would read and then the other. The one who read first never started another book until his friend finished reading so they could discuss the details with greater happiness.

Aside from the two friends, no one else read these books—Otto von Kotzebue, Vasco de Gama, and Fridtjof Nunsen. Everybody talked about Ivan Popanin, and the Chelyuskins, but this was all transmitted by radio. People sang songs about them, emulated these heroes, and applauded them throughout the country. Who wanted to read some strange book on Kotzebue? And who could believe that Nicholas Miklouho-Maclay was Russian? How could you find any Russian with such a name?

Later, other circumstances drew Sasha and Alyosha closer together. When they had exhausted their foreign language study with the local teachers in the orphanage, the boys got permission to attend classes at the local pedagogical institute. Sasha’s talent for languages was not as brilliant as Alyosha’s, but he had also made great progress, and in Sasha’s French there were fewer phonetical mistakes. His English was all right, but he had no interest in German, even though he got high grades in class.

Students at the Institute met them with a condescending smirk. Ha! Two little clowns—snot-nosed kids—we’ll just see what they can do! But their abilities turned out to be significant. Very soon, when preparing homework, those same students said to each other, we better ask the kids—they usually know the answer.

When Alyosha participated in track and field competitions, Sasha liked to sit on a bench in the shade and observe how his friend won. He also admired Alyosha’s good sportsmanship when he lost—other boys blamed the coaches, their shoes, and the surface of the stadium.

Only once did the boys witness Sasha’s culinary skills, but stories about this event remained in the folklore of the orphanage. The kids were sent to a nearby kolkhoz to help with the harvest. They were housed in a long barracks and slept on hay mattresses close to each other. The girls’ side was separated by sheets hung on a rope. All was fine, except the barracks had only one door. The kids decided the girls would leave by the door and the boys by the window. The window was not far from the ground and it was easy to jump out and climb back in. Later, the girls decided that the boys were lucky. In the girls’ half, a teacher-chaperone slept on a metal bed, and everyone who entered and left the room was under her surveillance. The girls made an agreement with the boys. They crawled to the other half of the barracks and also left through the window.

The summer kitchen was organized in the yard under the awning. Each day supplies arrived on a carriage and the orphanage cook, Tyotya Manya, prepared the meals. One of the boys was assigned to help her chop wood, start the stove, bring water, and peel the potatoes. That day was Sasha’s turn.

It was unseasonably cold and rainy. Everyone came from the field cold, dirty, and angry. They quickly washed with cold water, changed into dry clothes, and sat at the tables under the awning. As was customary, one of the boys teased the cook as he had done many times before, Manya Man’, how will you feed the orphans today?

I will not feed you. Today I’m going to town. Sasha will feed you.

And how he fed them! From the same simple ingredients available to Manya, Sasha created something better than words can describe. As if in a race, clanking their spoons, they silently ate everything at once. The fastest ran to the pot for seconds. It was empty. Empty, they exclaimed with a disenchanted sigh. But now life will be marvelous. Sasha will feed us.

But Sasha didn’t feed them anymore. He contracted a cold, lay down with a high temperature, coughed, sneezed, and barely spoke. He lay in the barracks for two days. On the third day, the chaperone went to the kolkhoz center and returned with a car, and he was taken to the town.

Some thought that Sasha was Alyosha’s brother. Others made up a true story about their relationship. Both were blonde with blue eyes, but the fact that one was very tall and the other short as a pencil happened in some families. Sasha and Alyosha did not deny these stories since orphaned children fabricated any number of legends.

In the final year, the students had to decide what to do after graduation. Sasha declared that he would go to cooking school. Only a few children knew exactly what they wanted to do. The majority hoped that the teachers or members of the Board would suggest something. Sasha was advised to go to the Institute of Food Manufacturing, but he refused. First of all, he wanted to graduate from cooking school and then he would see.

The two-year cooking school was located in the same town not far from the orphanage. One day, under a pretext, the boys came into the yard of the school, talked to a few girls, became acquainted, and started to visit regularly. The children in the orphanage made jokes about them. Oh, they’re clever boys, visiting the girls in the cooking school.

Sasha fell in love with one of these aspiring cooks, a girl with plump rosy cheeks named Katya. They both talked about preparing meals with the same joy. Katya was also short and blonde, but was more energetic than he. She knew how to defend herself and, if necessary, her boyfriend.

After graduation, the friends’ paths went in different directions. Sasha could not write to Alyosha because it was forbidden, and for a long time, he didn’t have a permanent address. Later, through acquaintances, Alyosha learned that Sasha and Katya graduated from the cooking school, got married, and were assigned jobs on an ocean liner.

Alyosha often thought about his tow-headed friend, and in time, these memories mixed with his memories of Kurt. The two boys resembled each other only superficially, but in his mind, they merged into one person, who could laugh unstoppably, speak in a mixture of Russian and German, use delicious French words, and describe in detail the ingredients and procedure for making the world’s greatest twelve-layer Napoleon.

Training Camp

H e was prepared for nearly anything. The pictures in his imagination almost became real. The small, hungry boy, who was not afraid of anyone or anything, woke in him once more. He laughed at his future torturers. They would not kill him; they might wound him and heal him in order to put him in a fight with someone else. They would try to force him to tell his secrets, but they would not succeed. No matter what, he would not be easy prey.

He arrived on time. Reported to his superiors. For three days, he memorized the cover provided to him. He was examined suddenly, and each time by a different person. On the fourth day, in the middle of the night, after thirty minutes to prepare, they took him to an unknown location. The driver in the front seat was separated from him by a glass partition, so he could barely see the outline of the driver’s head. Next to Alyosha (whose name had become Rudy), was a silent man in civilian clothing. The headlights illuminated the houses they passed. Empty fields followed, and then the forest. Suddenly, oncoming traffic disappeared together. They drove about four hours and stopped twice at checkpoints.

Still in darkness, they turned onto a narrow road on which branches of the trees scraped the sides of the car.

The drone of the engine disappeared in the distance, and he was left standing in the fog, shuddering in the cold. He stamped his feet to warm them. He could not think clearly anymore and wanted to sleep. His light suitcase grew heavier and heavier and he felt a cold shiver from the top to the bottom of his spine. While he knew that he must mobilize himself, he had no energy left. What a nightmare! Where was he? They hadn’t warned him or given him any hint. Maybe he needed to stay there until dawn.

Suddenly light appeared from the right side. A few steps and he was in front of an open door. A woman appeared in silhouette in the door frame. Hurry up, Rudy! I have gotten cold waiting for you. Where did you disappear for so long? You are probably hungry.

Chattering nonstop, the woman embraced him, her body as warm as if she had just arisen from bed. She moved her wet lips to his face, his neck, along his body, unbuttoning and throwing away his clothes. He helped her undress him, answered questions without knowing what he was saying, followed her, caught her mouth en route, and breathed into it, Ellie, Ellie, oh Ellie!

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He awoke when he heard the high-pitched sound of a bird that chirruped loudly as if calling to another. Another replied first from the distance, then closer, until an entire chorus of birds performed nearby. How could one stay asleep after that?

In the pale light of dawn, he discovered a beautiful and defenseless female face close to his shoulder beneath a cascade of hair. She seemed to be having a good dream. The corners of her lips trembled in a smile and her eyelids fluttered. Afraid to move, he looked at her features, memorized them, and inserted them into his imaginary past during the first days of their honeymoon, when powerless from passion, they could not believe their happiness.

The woman dreamily stretched, pulled her arms from under the blanket, embraced him, whispered tender words in his ear, and snuggled up.

Alyosha woke in the late morning as Rudolf. He threw off the blanket, ready to arise from the bed from which wafted the dense odors of love. On the night stand he noticed a photograph in a shell frame—Rudolph and Eleanora, hand in hand, happy, attractive, and young. Near the bed he noticed slippers on the ottoman, a fuzzy bathrobe, and a towel of the same color.

For a second, he hesitated about how he should appear. With a towel around his thighs and with the robe over his arm, he moved to the corridor. From the slightly open door of the bathroom, he perceived steam.

From another part of the house, he heard the clink of dishes. A voice called out: After you take a shower, don’t change—come to drink coffee in your robe. Meanwhile, I will make French toast.

A stack of French toast—his favorite. Real coffee. A pitcher with cream. A fresh issue of a Berlin newspaper. Ellie’s sweet face. Dense dark blonde hair upswept with combs. From the opening of her light brown robe appeared her tender neck. He admired her. Ellie caught his glance and answered with a quiet smile.

She had already eaten breakfast and was now sitting in front of him impatiently.

Rudolf moved his glance from the newspaper and enjoyed the sight of her smile, and her naked arms. She answered him with her eyes, sipped coffee, and announced in precise detail what needed to be done that day.

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A week passed. He became really attached to her. He pushed away thoughts about whether she really liked him or not. He learned to not think about it, and taught himself not to concentrate too much on his own feelings. There was no time for such things. During the day was a strict schedule. Ellie was a merciless instructor. Rudy had to be able to find every small item in the house, and know its origin. Looking at pictures of relatives, he needed to know not only their biographies, but their habits, their peculiarities, and the eccentricities of their mutual relations, including their favorite words and jokes known to the family circle, their addresses, places of work and study, illnesses, and many other nonsensical details. They might deal with Aunt Klara’s constipation and her constant talk about enemas, or about Hans, who fell from a tree and tore his trousers and how he was punished. The poor restless boy was forced to sit among the adults and patch all the holes in his trousers by himself. He was not given a thimble and thus pricked his fingers with the needle.

Then Ellie left for a time and during her absence, Rudy studied the topography of Berlin, read and memorized excerpts from Mein Kampf, prepared food, washed, ironed, cleaned the house, memorized German poems, and read the Bible, printed in Gothic letters. At night, he hardly kept himself from masturbating.

Ellie returned suddenly, refreshed, and after he embraced her, an Opel came to pick him up. He was taken to a barracks where it was very cold and the food was badly prepared. He had to sleep on nearly naked planks. The instructors were very rough and the soldier’s uniform did not agree with his body. But he enjoyed the driving lessons, changing tires, and simple repairs. He practiced tricks such as jumping out of an overturning car, shooting at high speed, and jumping from an open door, with great enthusiasm.

As soon as he became accustomed to these rough, manly games, he was moved again. This time, he was given fresh garments, a good suit, a new car, and in accordance with the map, was supposed to drive to an unknown location. As soon as he came to the highway, he could see a woman with a raised arm on the shoulder of the road. He stopped; Gott sei Dank—Ellie!

The hunting lodge was given to their disposal. In the morning was horseback riding. Here he could give anyone a run for their money. From his earliest years, he dragged hay on horseback on a sled, took the horses to night pasture, harnessed and unharnessed them, and even taught Kurt how to do these same things. The saddles here were different but well made. You have to give the Germans credit. Some might call them slow, but no matter what they manufactured, it always was better than the original.

During the day—newspapers, brochures of Nazi propaganda, the history of their party, study of the biography of party bosses, their families, habits, jargon, and relationships.

Ellie was cruel. If you made a mistake, you had to repeat the answer again and again. And suddenly, without any pretext, she would ask how many buttons are on a military uniform, how the uniform fits, about the markings of rank, decorations, and monograms on her kerchief. How did she remember all of this herself?

In the afternoon, what a joke—he had to cook. He had very little experience, but for some recipes, he recalled Sasha’s lessons. They laughed together, learning silly songs from vinyl records, humming the music of the marches, memorizing speeches. They relaxed while studying dances. At the beginning Ellie played the man’s role but later they changed places. It took him a while to grasp the rhythm. From time to time, he stepped on her toes, and bumped his forehead against hers. She offered him a shot of schnapps. After that, it was easier to dance—she even praised him.

They returned home separately, Ellie first, and he the next day. When he arrived, she was not at home. She left a note. I am at the tailor’s. I will return with a smoking jacket for you. We’ll have a party tomorrow.

There were about ten people. Some were in civilian clothes, others in military uniforms. Everything that he expected—a well-staged spectacle. During supper, Ellie sat across from him and talked animatedly to her neighbor on the right side, a young-looking fat man, and from time to time, participated in everyone else’s conversation, but he felt that she was keeping him under control.

They raised their glasses to the health of the Führer, the great task of resurrecting Germany, the nation, the party, and the ladies. A skinny old woman from the right side tortured him with questions, asking if he was the relative of one person or a neighbor of another. Her daughter, sitting on the left side, did the same thing. Did you study together with him? Is it true that a cute girl she knew was his first love?

After dinner, they danced, smoked cigars, gossiped, and played a few card games. When they left, they were tired and satisfied.

He had to admit that he had gotten drunk. In the middle of the night, he woke up with a raging thirst. It took him a while to notice that Ellie was not in bed. She probably was reading. Whenever she got too tired, she found it difficult to sleep. He fell into a heavy, restless dream. His inner thoughts warned him, it is time to learn to drink, my friend!

He awoke in a fog, his throat burning. He walked with difficulty to the kitchen, bumping into the furniture. After a large gulp of water, the burning sensation increased. No, this is not a hangover . . .

Two figures in white robes, their faces out of focus. They talked in turns, looked under his eyelids, pushing and moving them down, and forced him to open his mouth wide, while they used a tongue depressor. He could not say anything, or even move a single muscle. His hands, which were upraised, fell down freely. His legs, bent at the knee, stretched out. The light noise in his head replaced all thought.

He woke up in the middle of the night. The dream, like a dirty rag, stuck to his face, preventing him from breathing. He tried to shake it off but couldn’t. A second later, he understood that he could now raise his head and turn his neck, and he did so several times. After that he began to recall his dream. Someone asked questions, someone answered, someone insistently asked about Grandmother Inge. Something about her life was very interesting for some reason. There in his dream, he could not understand what it was they wanted him to recall. In a calm, insistent voice, one person tried to pull threads from his memory.

A traditional family holiday, always celebrated after moving into the summer house. It’s not yet the middle of May. Young leaves on the trees, tender and transparent. Still cool during the night. So, it was necessary to sleep under warm blankets. If one went deep into the forest, it was possible to find little islands of compressed snow. But during the day it got warm and the windows in the house were open.

They barely managed to unpack, take the covers from the furniture, unroll and clean the carpets, when relatives arrived, and along with them, their friends, whom they hadn’t met before. The first days after arrival, the house was filled with noise and there were many small misunderstandings. It was hard to remember who was who, and who was the relative of whom. There was some charm in it.

The head of the mistress of the house was spinning. She found a place for everyone, tried not to offend anyone, or fall into some funny or, God forbid, scandalous story.

Once, when they made the bed for a family pair, it turned out that the two hardly knew each other. It was very embarrassing, but the guests, particularly the young people, liked to joke about such things so that it was hard to distinguish truth from fabrication.

Even so, the youngsters managed to outwit her. In the library, which had a door directly into Inge’s bedroom, she put a young man, not a young woman as had been planned. Luckily, he was well-behaved. But it was not so bad, since the door was locked and hung by carpets on two sides, and the doors had not been opened for a very long time. Nevertheless, the door was opened and they became very well acquainted.

Until fall, Inge hid her pregnancy very satisfactorily. It wasn’t a big deal that she gained some weight. During the summer, everyone gained weight in the fresh air with such an abundance of food. But as soon as they returned to the city, everything became obvious. Maybe it was funny, but how does one escape public judgment? They sent Inge to distant relatives under a pretext and the poor girl returned without her baby. They looked after her, and in a year, she got married.

At this point there was a hole in the story. Somewhere in the world, existed an unknown nephew of an uncle, also unknown to him.

Rudy quickly recovered. Months later, he still did not understand the kind of torture he had undergone, but the medical examiners who had been involved, decided that he was ready. The last word was supposed to come from his mentor. The time came and the mentor approved. The last word, as they joked without smiling, was on behalf of the accused.

The exact time was not revealed to him—they said no longer than a month. He was returned to the same barracks under the supervision of the same instructor. But this time, the instructor played the role of an older friend and comrade.

He didn’t need to decide anything. Everything was already decided. He was afraid of one thing only—losing track of reality. It is hard to imagine how difficult it is to wait without knowing how long. Maybe for his whole life. He was instructed not to wait, but to live, and to become the person in his IDs. If he simulated this role, he could only fail. He needed to become Rudy. He was supposed to be himself and yet change into someone else simultaneously. Sometimes, he might have a split personality or a double personality, or exchange one for the other, whenever necessary.

His continuing study was supposed to make everything easier, and so he would need to develop further among the group that was also studying. They had concluded that he would study history. The rest would come naturally. Many Russians will be there, so he should remain unnoticed among them, particularly at the beginning.

He asked for permission to retake the exam he had already passed, to go through another 24-hour session of questions and answers, where not only precision but speed, intonation, facial expression, gestures, endurance, and readiness for the examiners’ unpredictable reactions would be tested.

His request was denied. They proposed something different. Attend an interrogation with torture, in disguise.

He attended. He imagined himself both in the place of the bloodied prisoner and of the interrogator, to whom he could not look without feeling disgust. He was not afraid but what he had seen made him very uncomfortable, a feeling that he found difficult to overcome. This experience did not change his convictions, however, and afterwards he was called to his mentor.

Nikolay Pavlovich, as always, did not talk about the problems that were discussed by others. He was not interested in political orthodoxy or lists of achievements. The psychological test was not interesting for him either. He spoke as a father, ready to send his son into the world. His advice was very general and simple—no matter what happens, you must remember that you are a good person and you must never surrender to anyone or anything. Rely on yourself alone, and above all, never lie to yourself.

Yes, they will watch you. Yes, they will know your every step. Yes, you can be betrayed if necessary. Yes, they might forget about you for a year or two, and maybe for your whole life. Everything changes constantly and predictions cannot be made. In some situations, you might receive instructions, but you may have to make your own decisions. The