Chapter 20
Author's note: The poem 'Wait For Me' by Konstantin Simonov (1915-1979), correspondent for the military newspaper Krasnaya Zvezda (Red Star), was published in the same paper in 1941. He wrote of his visit to Stalingrad in September 1942;
"Stalingrad is besieged by the Germans. To locals the word "Stalingrad" has come to mean far more than the city center, Lenin Street or the outskirts - now it is being understood as the whole of the 65-kilometer strip along the Volga and the whole of the city with its suburbs, factory compounds and workers settlements… But this city is a far cry from the one we used to observe from the riverboats floating across the Volga. We can see no more of the pretty white houses happily crowding uphill, no more of the light quays on the shore. What comes before us is a smoky and gray city, enveloped in perpetual fire and wrapped in ashes…"
Thousands of women and children continued to live in the city finding shelter in the ruins of buildings, basements, underground communications and even caves they had made for themselves on the Volga slopes. Some were hiding in shell-holes on Mamaev Hill in the very heat of the battles. Many were killed, of course. As he first came to Stalingrad, Konstantin Simonov was dumbfounded. "We were crossing a bridge across a pit and I'll never forget what I saw there: riddled with dugout caves the pit looked like an anthill swarming with activity. The cave entrances had charred planks and rags serving as doors. Anything that could come handy was collected and went into use."
'Wait For Me' became the anthem of the Soviet soldier.
*******************
Lieutenant Colonel Nikolai Koulikov awoke to the smell of tea and fried bacon. He shifted, still sleep-drugged, stretching lazily like a big cat, long limbs sprawled under the quilt. He turned over, expecting to feel Rivka's warm body curled beside him, but was disappointed. He was alone. Frowning, still half-asleep, he wondered where she was. He heard a hiccuping whimper followed by a soft croon, and then he heard a sweet, humming tune, low and gentle. Opening his eyes to find out what was going on, he realised the curtains were still closed, separating the bed area from the rest of the huge cellar. He finally blinked, fully awake now, and sat up. Swinging long legs out of the bed, he slipped on his pants and socks and pulled aside the curtain.
Rivka was bent over the stove, still in her dressing gown and wearing her shoes, turning crisp bacon in the skillet. She looked up as Nikolai stood, tall and bare-chested, blue eyes still bleary with sleep. She straightened stiffly and smiled, dark eyes alive with pleasure.
"Would you like some tea, Niko? It's fresh brewed …"
Nikolai looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was after nine in the morning!! He had slept too deeply and he was late … no, he wasn't late. He was on sick leave. That was right … Oleg put him on sick leave so he could spend a day or two with his wife and son. His son! He looked about, concerned, then saw the crib sitting a couple of metres away beside his big chair, and heard a soft snuffling sound from within. Reassured, he turned back to Rivka.
"What are you doing out of bed, woman? Oleg will have your guts for garters - "
Rivka waved a dismissive hand at him, amused by his concern.
"Sha, Niko! I'm fine, and anyway, Oleg was here over an hour ago and said I was as strong as an ox and I could get out of bed if I wanted to - so here I am. Are you hungry?" She raised an eyebrow at him.
"Oleg's already been??" Nikolai was confused. "Why didn't you wake me? What on earth d'you did you think you were doing, letting me sleep? You're not to do too much, he said - "
Rivka forked some bacon onto a plate and put some margarine on two slices of bread.
"Rubbish! I feel a bit sore, but that will pass, and you looked so tired, Niko. We just decided to let you get your rest. Vasha wanted his breakfast anyway, so I got up."
She carried on pouring out tea into a mug while Nikolai padded over to the crib and leaned over to see his baby son awake and blinking back at him. Once more the big sniper felt his chest constrict. A son. He had a son!
"Hello, boy … are you hungry?" he murmured, and he was thrilled to see Vasha turn his head slightly at the sound of his papa's voice, his little hands beginning to clutch at the air. Before he knew it, Nikolai had reached into the crib and carefully gathered up the child, holding him close to his broad chest, feeling Vasha settle against him. The infant smacked rosebud lips, and Nikolai grinned. "I know how you feel, my lad! Rivka, our son's hungry!"
Rivka, setting the plate of bacon and bread on the table, sighed in mock exasperation.
"Humph!" she exclaimed, shaking her head. "Just like his Papa I see - always famished. Here Niko, come and eat. Give him to me …"
Nikolai cradled Vasha in his arms as Rivka gingerly settled down in his big chair and unbuttoned the top of her nightgown, revealing a firm, milk-laden breast. Gently he put the boy into her grasp and Rivka smiled in concentration as Vasha nuzzled for a few moments until he managed to enclose the brown nipple in his tiny mouth. Rivka gave a small sound of pleasure as he began to nurse. The gentle tug of his suckling made her milk let down and Nikolai was enchanted to see a small trickle of the rich colostrum slip down the beautiful swell of her bosom. He thought he had never seen anything so wonderful in his life as his son suckling at Rivka's bountiful breast. Lifting the quilt from the bed he tucked it around her tenderly, making sure she didn't get chilled as she fed their son. Then he brought his breakfast over to the sofa where he sat, still in nothing but pants and socks, watching Vasha and Rivka while eating the plateful of food, his eyes never straying from the child in his wife's arms. When he had finished he washed his plate, knife and fork then returned to his vigil, eyes widening as Rivka changed Vasha to her other breast, the small droplet of milk on his tiny lips bringing a little sigh of wonder from him.
He was so captivated he didn't hear Rivka's chuckle of amusement, or feel the touch of her hand on his as she tried to get his attention. She finally had to poke his forearm to distract him.
"Nikolai! Go and put on a shirt, you big oaf, before you catch your death of cold."
Even though it was the middle of a hot summer, the old cellar was still very cool in the mornings, so Nikolai reluctantly found an undershirt and put it on. Returning to Rivka's side he leaned over and kissed the top of her head and stroked Vasha's cap of dark curls, his finger straying for a moment to the swell of Rivka's full breast. She smiled and nestled her head against his arm, telling him how content she was. Nikolai grinned.
"I'll make you some tea," he said, his voice dropping to a gentle rumble so as not to disturb the child. "Then you're going to relax for the rest of the day Missus, and get your strength back." He straightened, but Rivka looked up at him, her smile now wistful.
"Thank you, love. Thank you for everything." She caught his hand and kissed it. "You were wonderful, did you know that? Absolutely wonderful, and I don't think I could have done it without you!"
Nikolai shook his head in amusement.
"Nah. All I did was hold your hand, you did all of the hard work! Now then Rivka, you just rest and let old Papa Koulikov look after you, d'you hear?"
"Yes, Niko." She said demurely.
He grinned and set to the task of making her tea and setting out a plateful of bacon and bread, then he put the plate and mug onto the small table beside the chair.
"Righto Missus, let me see you get some food into you. I see Vasha's finished … give him to me while you have something to eat. You have to keep your strength up, so tell me what to do next and I'll do it. I'm not much of a hand with babies yet but I'll learn no doubt." Nikolai watched her expectantly.
Rivka's lean face dimpled and she buttoned up her gown, Vasha lying full and sated in her arms. She gathered him up and handed the boy to his father.
"Well, if you just hold him up against your shoulder and rub his back … he'll probably have wind as he's a greedy little fellow. Then he'll need changing … d'you think you can do that? I promise I'll rest after I've had a wash … I feel grubby, love."
Nikolai hesitated for a moment. He had watched Rivka change Vasha's diaper through the night, and it didn't look too complicated. Hell, he was a Lieutenant Colonel in the Soviet Army for God's sake! He was sure he could manage. Taking Vasha he did as she told him and held the boy against his shoulder, Vasha's tiny frame nestled against his chest.
Rivka had to smile as she watched her tall, brawny husband begin to instinctively croon to his son, the child's body almost lost in his big hands. She popped the bacon between the bread slices and tucked in, surprised to discover she was ravenous, and as she ate she watched Nikolai get acquainted with fatherhood and the practicalities of having a new baby to care for.
Nikolai felt Vasha's little body hiccup and burp softly, and the boy wriggled, minuscule hands clutching at the material of Nikolai's undershirt. He was so tiny! So small and vulnerable and helpless, and Nikolai dropped the tenderest of kisses on the dark crown of curls at his shoulder. Vasha rubbed his face against his father's shoulder and shifted, hearing the beat of his papa's heart, the sound calming him. Without realising it, Nikolai began to talk. He spoke in soft, whispered tones, words of joy, sounds of such sweetness that Vasha stilled in his arms, mesmerised by the velvet baritone as the tall soldier walked slowly around the room soothing his son.
Nikolai told his son how much he loved him and how deeply he adored his Rivka. He told Vasha of how she had saved him from terrible pain and dreadful illness, and how her faith and love had kept him alive when all else failed. Nikolai told him of Rivka's devotion and how she had made him whole … how she had brought him from a dark, lonely existence where nothing but violence and death prevailed into the warmth and safety of her love for him.
Rivka could not hear what he was saying as she finished her sandwich, but as she rose and went to fetch her wash-things she had to stop for a moment, caught by the sight of Nikolai and his son. Yes, she thought. Vasha has made him young again … just look at him! I never thought I would see such joy in him …
As Rivka had a wash Nikolai carefully sat on the bed and laid Vasha beside him. Now, this diaper-changing business couldn't be that difficult, he decided. Vasha complained somewhat at being separated from the warmth and comfort of his father's chest and kicked in annoyance as Nikolai struggled a little to take off the boy's tiny nightgown. That done, he now had to face the diaper itself, and being careful of the short, drying stub of the umbilical cord, he managed to undo the safety pin and remove the soft muslin diaper. His face crinkled, although the mess wasn't as bad as he thought it would be, and remembering what Rivka had done he wrapped up the soiled material and dropped it into the small bucket Rivka had put beside the bed for that purpose. Rivka brought him a small bowl of warm water and a cloth, and Nikolai frowned with concentration as he gave Vasha a wash, afterwards drying him carefully.
"Lanolin, Niko. It stops rashes," Rivka reminded him as she changed into a clean nightgown.
"Hmmm … I never knew it was so bloody complicated, woman. Ah well. I suppose I'll get better with practise, I'm sure. Just the same as using a rifle, hey? Practice makes perfect." He dug out the tub of lanolin Oleg had given them and opened it. He wasn't too sure how much of the lanolin to put on, so he thought he'd better be generous with it just to be on the safe side. Then he had to figure out how to attach the diaper. There were a lot of 'buggers' and damns' as he folded and arranged and adjusted, and it took him nearly fifteen minutes to get the diaper as snug and as comfortable as he could on the child, but when he finished he looked over to Rivka with a glittering grin of triumph. "Well, that wasn't so tough! What's next?"
Rivka buttoned up her dressing gown and joined him, surveying his efforts with a critical eye.
"Hmm, not bad, my love. Not bad at all. But go easy on the lanolin will you, or we'll have to start using axle grease! Lanolin's hard to come by you know, and he just needs a little bit. Now all he needs is putting back into his gown and that's it." She leaned over and kissed his brow. "Well done Niko! Top marks for a first attempt. You'll be an old hand before you know it, love. Anything you try you always master, and that, my Niko, is because you're a clever, wonderful man. See, Vasha? See how clever your Papa is?" And she bent down and dropped a kiss on her son's cheek too, marvelling at how soft his skin was.
Vasha blinked up at the sound of his parents' voices and stopped kicking, his dark blue eyes drooping with tiredness. The combined effect of having a full stomach and being coddled and warmed by his father was making him sleepy. Rivka eased herself onto the bed as Nikolai carefully slipped Vasha into his tiny gown and lifted him into his mother's arms.
Rivka couldn't believe how tired she was. Curling onto her side Nikolai covered her with the quilt and she watched drowsily as he shifted the crib until it sat beside their bed. Nikolai took little Vasha Koulikov from her grasp, the infant yawning, his mouth a tiny, perfect 'o'. By the time his father tucked him into the warm blankets he was sound asleep.
The last thing Rivka Koulikova remembered as she slipped into slumber was her husband's soft voice telling her he loved her and the sweetness of his kiss on her brow.
*********************
She slept on and off through the day, only rousing to feed their son and enjoy the quiet contentment of her husband as he cared for them both. But by early evening she was ready to get up and join Nikolai for supper, and was astounded to discover that not only had he washed and hung up the diapers to dry, he had also washed all of her soiled clothes and towels from the night before. The clothes smelled of sun and fresh air, and she discovered Nikolai had spread the diapers and towels on the bombed-out walls of the shop next door, the heat and fresh breeze of a late July afternoon drying them quickly and efficiently. When she voiced her surprise, Nikolai just grinned at her.
"When you've been in the army as long as I have you soon learn to wash your own clothes," he said, eyes twinkling with good humour. "Believe me, you've seen nothing until you've washed a pair of socks you've been wearing for three weeks after trudging through bogs and mud!"
He had also made a creditable attempt at some soup, and after they had eaten Rivka leaned against him on the sofa and he read to her from some of the newspapers he purloined from the bomb shelters and from headquarters.
He read haltingly at first. His education she knew had been minimal at best, and his difficult, itinerant life had not exactly encouraged him to read a great deal, but to give him credit he was far from illiterate. But as he continued he cast an occasional glance at Rivka as she gently rocked Vasha in her arms, and the look of obvious enjoyment on her face made him gain in confidence. He told her about the advances towards Kiev to the west and the triumphs of the Red Army as it pushed the might of the Nazi war machine back into the vast stretches of the Ukraine. He snorted with disdain at the heavy political bombast of the Communist pundits, and muttered at the never-ending martial tone of their military leaders. But when he turned a page and read the first lines, he fell silent. Concerned, Rivka looked up at him and her brow furrowed at the sadness in those blue-on-blue eyes.
"What is it love?"
Nikolai took a shaky breath.
"It's … it's a poem. I don't know - "
"Oh read it Niko, please! I haven't heard a poem since my father used to read them to me as a child! Please love …"
Nikolai hesitated, then nodded.
"All right, my lady … but I'm not much good at this sort of thing." He cleared his throat noisily and began. At first his voice was low, but as he continued it grew stronger, more fervent and riven with feeling, and as Rivka heard his voice weave magic with the rhyme and cadence of the words she had to wipe away the tears from her cheek. The deep baritone wrapped the words in velvet-soft tones, and Nikolai's voice trembled as he spoke.
Wait for me, and I'll return
Only wait very hard
Wait when you are filled with sorrow...
Wait in the sweltering heat
Wait when the others have stopped waiting,
Forgetting their yesterdays.
Wait even when from afar no letters come to you
Wait even when others are tired of waiting...
And when friends sit around the fire,
Drinking to my memory,
Wait, and do not hurry to drink to my memory too.
Wait. For I'll return, defying every death.
And let those who do not wait say that I was lucky.
They will never understand that in the midst of death,
You with your waiting saved me.
Only you and I know how I survived.
It's because you waited, as no one else did.
As his voice died away Rivka felt him tremble, and she settled her head against his shoulder in silent support. Nikolai swallowed with emotion, and he kissed her hair, glad of her presence.
"That's you, my lady. My Rivka. Without you I would have died … you waited for me, and you loved me and you healed me. Knowing that you were there, hearing your voice and feeling you beside me … that's what kept me going." His voice broke with emotion. "You were always there … always …"
Rivka lifted her head and gazed into his with such clarity and love that his heart skipped a beat.
"And where would I be without you, my Niko? What would my life be without you beside me, holding me, loving me? Without you I'm nothing. Nothing, Niko. You and Vasha are all I'll ever want … all I'll ever need. I'll always be with you, remember that, my love … forever …"
Nikolai put down the paper and wrapping her in his arms he drew Rivka to him, lifting her chin with a long finger. His lips met hers and he kissed her deeply, feeling the softness and passion in her as she returned his kiss. Little Vasha settled between them, soothed by the warmth and presence of his parents.
But the sound of footsteps clattering on the stairs disturbed them and they reluctantly parted, the kiss lingering on burning lips and two hearts beat wildly in yearning breasts. Nikolai grinned and dropped a short kiss on the end of Rivka's nose as someone knocked on the ancient door.
"Visitors. Typical. Just when I get a chance to … to … what is it the Americans say … smooch? Yes, smooch with my wife, and we get visitors. You stay there my lady and I'll see who it is."
The visitors turned out to be Oleg and Anna with a rather shy Nikitin and Lubov in tow, followed by a grinning Igor Danilov.
Within two minutes it was as if Lieutenant Colonel Nikolai Koulikov of the 284th Rifle Division didn't exist as he was completely ignored. As Anna made tea Rivka was surrounded by four cooing, besotted soldiers, and young Vassili Nikolayvich Koulikov graciously played to his adoring public by yawning, tiny fists waving in the air.
"Well bugger me, will you look at that!" Corporal Ivan Grigorvich Nikitin was enthralled. He reached out a thankfully clean forefinger and was amazed when Vasha grasped it. "Bloody hell, Missus - beggin' your pardon, like - but he's got a grip stronger than a Cossack on a whore's arse!" His face became wistful. "I wish me old mum could see this little chap … he'd make her go all mumsy …"
"One day perhaps, Corporal," Rivka said, chuckling. "But in the meantime he has all of these uncles to keep him occupied and to look out for him, I'm sure."
Nikitin's eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"Uncle, is it? Well I never! An uncle! Uncle Nikitin. I like the sound of that Missus, so I do!" He turned to an equally mesmerised Lubov. "Where's that box, Lubov?" He turned back to Rivka as Lubov disappeared into the anteroom. "Brought you some odds and ends we found, and we thought you and the boy could use 'em - where the bloody hell are you, you little bastard?" He glared at Lubov struggling in with a large wooden box.
The young soldier dumped the box on the table, his face red with effort. Nikolai peered in and his eyebrows raised in surprise.
"Where the hell did you get all this?"
Lubov managed to get his breath back and grinned.
"Oh, here and there, Comrade Colonel … here and there. Most of it was going to be chucked out, so I rescued it."
Rivka was intrigued. Standing up, she shifted Vasha in her arms and touched Nikitin on the shoulder.
"Corporal, would you mind holding Vasha for a minute? I want to see what you've brought us."
And before the grimy little soldier could say anything he was cradling the infant in his arms, Vasha lying happily against the grubby uniform. Nikitin's rodent-like face was a picture, and all he could say was 'Well I never … well I never …' Rivka knew Lubov would never let the grubby little NCO forget it. Once they were back at the motor pool, Nikitin would be ribbed mercilessly for weeks by his oily crew.
But her mind turned to other things as she looked in the box. She gasped with surprise. Inside was a bewildering variety of fruit and vegetables, cloth, and a selection of items that to Rivka were a luxury. She reached into the box and began to lift out the contents.
"Oh, Niko, look! Oranges! Where on earth did you get oranges? And cheese!!!" Rivka's little cries of delight at each new discovery made the men around her grin with pleasure. She pulled out a hunk of smoked bacon, a bag of carrots, cabbage and other vegetables, and some cans of tomatoes. She found some big tins of corned beef and three large sausages, still wrapped in cloth and with a loop so she could hang them up out of the way. There was even a large slab of salt beef. Tucked beneath the cans of tomatoes were three bars of chocolate. The cloth was largely cotton and wool, and - rather suspiciously - consisted mostly of khaki and army green. But there was also a couple of metres of a beautiful rich red silk. It looked very much like the material used for Soviet banners at Party Headquarters.
Danilov studied the cloth.
"This stuff looks familiar, comrade." He glowered at Lubov … then a small smile quirked the corners of his mobile mouth. "I'm not even going to ask you where you got it!"
Lubov was innocence personified as he grinned at the young political officer.
"Well, y'see, we do a lot of driving for them big-wigs at headquarters, and they keep having all them fancy dinners for head nobs coming in from Moscow. Whatever's left has a habit of going into the bin. We just make sure it's not wasted, that's all. And the cloth … well, they're off-cuts."
Danilov shook his head in amazement. But he had to agree that there was a lot of waste after Party dinners, and it galled him to think it was dumped when many of the civilians in Stalingrad were still heavily rationed. But putting aside such thoughts he turned to a delighted Rivka.
"I have a gift too. I'll just get it." He went out to the ante-room and returned with a small object wrapped carefully in clean burlap. He handed it to Rivka who sat down at the table and unwrapped it. Unfolding the last swathe of burlap she gasped.
"Oh Igor … it's beautiful!"
Inside the sacking was a box. About the size of a small book, it was exquisitely crafted in burr oak, seamlessly made, and polished to a mirror-like finish that gleamed honey-gold and red-chestnut in the lamplight.
Danilov touched her hand where it lay on the box lid.
"Open it," he said quietly, his face suddenly boyish.
Rivka did as she was told and the inside was lined in dark burgundy velvet. She heard the whirr and click of a hidden mechanism and suddenly the clear, crystalline notes of a tune chimed in the quiet room. She was entranced. As she listened, she recognised the tune as an old folk song, one she and her teenage friends would sing on their way home from school. A tear sprang to her eye as words drifted in her mind, taking her back to sultry summer evenings, thunder rumbling in the distance as the still air and golden heat bathed their young bodies and made laughter echo quietly in shaded orchards.
Dark eyes, do you smile as you dream a while of this peasant lad who once made you glad?*
When the night appears hear my song of tears ...
Dark eyes call me home, call me home again.
As the haunting melody slowed and stilled, the room was quiet for a moment, each of them lost in old memories. Then Danilov slid a hand into his pocket and brought out a tiny key, handing it to Rivka and showing her the small slot which wound the mechanism.
"Here … see? Just in the back." He looked at Rivka, dark eyes huge with pleasure, shining behind the spectacles.
"Igor, I can't accept this! It's far too valuable!" Rivka tried to hand the music box back to him, but the young soldier just smiled and shook his head.
"No Rivka, this is for Vasha. A little something to celebrate his arrival." He cocked his head on one side wistfully. "It was made in Kirov before the Revolution. My father had it made for my mother. He gave it to her on the day they were married, so it's very special."
Rivka's chin tilted in defiance.
"Well, all the more reason you should keep it, lad! It wouldn't be right - "
"I want you to have it!" Igor continued. "My parents are both gone and I have no brothers or sisters, and … well, it just seemed right to let Vasha have it. When he marries he can give it to his beloved with my blessing." He looked up as a large hand settled on his shoulder, and saw Nikolai standing beside him.
"Thank you, boy. We shall treasure it." Nikolai rumbled, his blue eyes bright with unshed tears.
Rivka hesitated for only a moment, then she cupped Igor Semyonovich Danilov's face in her hands and kissed his cheek.
"I would be honoured to accept it, Igor. And hear me now, boy - wherever you are in this world, however far away or however long you're there, remember this. There will always be a place for you in our home. You have a family here, with us. You belong to us now boy, and know that there will be a place for you at our table, and a bed for you so that you can rest. You're family, and never, ever think of yourself as alone, because you have us."
Igor Danilov nodded, then clasped Rivka's hand and kissed it. Nikolai clapped him on the shoulder so hard he nearly fell over, and once he regained his balance he saw Oleg Chernyenko standing beside the big sniper with a small bottle in his hand.
"Well," said the young doctor as his wife came to sit beside Rivka, "you fellows aren't the only ones bearing gifts - good grief, I sound like something out of the New Testament! Anyway, I got this from the Commander-in-Chief. He heard about young Vasha here, and said it was an inspiration to us all. It's brandy - and bloody good brandy at that! It's not much, but we'll get a shot each out of it! So, shall we toast this little fellow's arrival?"
Danilov grinned at Nikolai.
"Sounds like a wonderful idea for a propaganda piece in the 'Red Star', my friend. How about this?" He cleared his throat. "The headline … 'New life in Stalingrad'. Yesterday, in the ruins of the victorious, heroic city of Stalingrad, a child was born. This little boy, a new citizen of our great Soviet Union, was born to the Noble Sniper Lieutenant Colonel Nikolai Koulikov, famous throughout the Motherland as 'The Bear', and his brave, fearless wife Rivka Koulikova, one of the tireless defenders of this battered but triumphant city. The child is named for another Hero of the Soviet Union, the Noble Sniper Vassili Zaitsev who has recently distinguished himself in the Battle of Kursk. Little Vasha Koulikov is a symbol for our people … the very reason that we fight against the horror and tyranny of the Nazi foe. We fight so that little Vasha can grow up strong and free in a land untouched by oppression, blah, blah, blah." He looked at Nikolai, now standing shaking his head in despair. "How's that?"
Rivka giggled.
"Fearless?? Me?? You didn't see me shaking in terror as we hid from the Germans in the sewers that time! Anyway, I promised Niko that there would be no more propaganda pieces my lad, so family or not, you're treading on thin ice!"
"And I'm beginning to wonder if you're a little touched in the noggin, boy!" Nikolai pretended to scowl, but the good humour in his eyes betrayed him. "Anyway, let's have a drop of this fine brandy, and then I'll make some tea. Rivka, no brandy for you - I'll get you some of that powdered milk …"
For the next hour or so Rivka and Nikolai sat with their friends and chatted, and when young Vasha wanted his supper she retired behind the curtains with Anna, the two women sitting on the bed talking of babies as Vasha suckled lustily. They giggled and nattered, their girlish laughter making Nikolai smile as he talked of more weighty matters.
"I hear that fascist bastard Mussolini's been overthrown. About time too, I must say." Nikolai thought for a moment, then continued. "Maybe it'll make those stupid Fritz generals think about doing something right for a change and retreat back over their own border, damn 'em!"
Danilov shook his head.
"I don't think so - Hitler's pushing them to defend every bloody centimetre of ground at any cost, even though our tanks are knocking the stuffing out of them. I think we'll try and push forward to Dnepr and then on to Kiev. God knows though, it's costing us dear. All we seem to do is keep pouring more and more men into the fighting. But then, I suppose that's always been our way."
Nikolai smiled bitterly, steel teeth glittering as he heard the pain in Danilov's voice.
"Ours not to reason why, I expect. Still, I'd like to think our revered leaders actually thought about the men rather than just use them as tank fodder. Bastards!" he added vehemently.
"My old mum lives in Kiev." Nikitin gazed wistfully into the flickering flame of the lamp, his voice soft with pain. "I haven't seen her since I joined the army, poor old cow. I hope she's all right. I got a letter from her just before the bloody Fritzes marched into Kiev in '41 - God, it'll be two years ago in September! Those bastards had better not have hurt her, that's all I can say!"
"She'll be all right Corp, I 'spect. She's a tough old bird, you say, and she'll not let a poxy bunch of Germans take advantage." Lubov patted Nikitin absently on the shoulder as the little corporal sniffed dolefully.
Nikitin wiped his nose on his sleeve.
"Yeah, well, they'd better not have done anything to her, that's all. Anyway, I've heard on the old grapevine that once we get into Kiev the motor pool might be sent down there. It's getting a bit far away from the front for us here, and they need their bloody tanks fixin', don't they? I hope they do. It'd be nice to see the old witch again …" He sniffled again, quietly. "Bloody Germans …"
Nikolai sighed.
"It's strange … there's nowhere else I'd rather be than here with Rivka and Vasha, but sometimes …" he paused for a second, then continued. "Sometimes I feel like I want to be there … sometimes I feel as though I'm not pulling my weight. I suppose it's because I've been in the army most of my life, and the thought of not being where the action is goes against the grain. But I'll get over it, I'm sure. And God knows I wouldn't want to put Rivka through the worry again."
The men around him nodded sagely in agreement. Oleg shifted in his chair. He knew the damage the Red Army was suffering, knew at what cost the Voronezh and Steppe Fronts won every tiny advantage. The men that came into his hospital bore the indelible mark of this dreadful conflict.
But the solemnity of the moment was broken by Rivka and Anna emerging from behind the curtain, Rivka carrying a sleepy Vasha in her arms. Anna bent down to kiss her husband.
"Come on, my Oleg - time to go home. This little boy is tired, and I'm sure his Mama and Papa need to get some sleep, so on with your coat and we'll away."
"All right, Anushka, all right. I know when to take a hint." Oleg yawned and stretched, the small glass of brandy he had drunk making him a little dozy.
Nikolai rose and waited for their visitors to slip into their coats, and with soft 'goodnights' they disappeared into the warm summer night.
*********************
In the early hours of the morning, Rivka Koulikova awoke with a start.
Something had disturbed her she was sure, but she couldn't hear anything. At least, not at first. Then she heard a soft, drowsy whisper beside her, and turning over in bed was met with the sight of Lieutenant Colonel Nikolai Koulikov sprawled on his back, his tiny son curled on the big soldier's bare chest wearing nothing but a diaper. Vasha was sound asleep.
"Niko," she whispered. "What on earth are you doing?"
Sleepy blue eyes turned to gaze at her.
"Vasha woke me up. He was grizzling a bit, but he didn't seem to need changing or feeding. I think he just wanted a cuddle with his Papa. He was a bit hot and sticky, so he and I decided to have a chat."
Rivka's lips dimpled in a smile.
"I see. And why isn't he wearing his gown?"
"Told you … he was hot. Seems all right now … cooled off …"
Nikolai could barely keep awake.
Rivka felt Vasha's skin. It certainly was a warm, somewhat humid night and the boy had probably just felt uncomfortable. Now his skin felt just right. Smiling, she was about to lift Vasha and put him into a cool cotton gown when she heard a soft snore. Nikolai Koulikov had joined his son in slumber. Rivka tried to lift Vasha off Nikolai's hest, but even in sleep Nikolai raised a big hand and cradled his son protectively to his chest.
"Niko love … it's all right … you can let go now …"
Nikolai obviously heard the whispered words and shifted, allowing Rivka to finally remove her sleeping son and slip him into a fresh gown. Tucking him into his crib she crooned for a few moments as he settled, then she eased herself back into bed beside her husband. Kissing him lightly on the end of the nose she heard him murmur and he turned over to drape himself over her, his hand as always straying to cup her breast. She ruffled his soft curls.
"Goodnight, my Papa Koulikov, and sleep well, my love. I'll see you in the morning."
The only reply she got was a soft snore.
**********************
Dark Eyes
Dark eyes shining bright, where are you tonight?
Far across the sea do you think of me?
When the twilight falls over garden walls dark eyes call me home, ...
Dark eyes, do you smile as you dream a while of this peasant lad who once
made you glad?
When the night appears hear my song of tears ...
Dark eyes call me home, call me home again.
Dark eyes, in my dreams your enchantment gleams,
You have left your dart trembling in my heart,
There it will remain with the sad refrain,
Dark eyes call me home, call me home again
Dark eyes shining bright, where are you tonight?
Far across the sea do you think of me?
When the twilight falls over garden walls, dark eyes call me home, call me home
again.
Believed 19th century, Anon.
This is a modern transliteration.
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