“Tania, what are you doing?” Marina said. “Everybody is worried sick about you. They think you’ve been killed.”

“I haven’t been killed,” Tatiana said. “I’m right here, washing the floor.”

“It’s three hours past quitting time. Why aren’t you home?”

“I’m washing the floor, Marina, can’t you see? Step out of my way. Your shoes will get wet.” Tatiana did not look up from the mop.

“Tania, they’re all waiting. Dimitri is there, Alexander is there. You’re being selfish. The family can’t celebrate Dasha’s betrothal, because they’re so worried about you.”

“All right,” Tatiana said through her teeth as she pushed the mop back and forth. “You found me. I’m right here. Tell them not to worry and go and celebrate. I have work to do. I’m doing a double shift. I’ll be home later.”

“Tania,” said Marina, “come on now, honey. I know it’s hard. But you have to come home and raise a glass to your sister. What are you thinking?”

“I’m working!” Tatiana yelled. “Can you leave me alone, please!” And she looked back down at her soapy mop, blinded by her tears.

“Tania, please.”

“Leave me alone!” repeated Tatiana. “Please.”

Reluctantly Marina left.

Tatiana mopped the nurses’ station, and the corridor nearby, and the bathrooms, and some of the patient rooms. And then a doctor asked her for help in bandaging five bomb victims, and Tatiana went with him. Four of the victims died within the hour. Tatiana sat with the last one, an old man of about eighty, until he died, too. He died holding her hand, and before he died, he turned to her and smiled.

By the time she came home, everyone was asleep, and Dimitri and Alexander were long gone. Tatiana slept on the small sofa in the hall, waking up before the rest of the family, washing, and again going to get their rations on Old Nevsky.

When she got home after work, Papa was in a fit. At first Tatiana couldn’t figure out what it was that was making him upset, nor did she care to find out. As her father came into the room, still shouting, Tatiana concluded that he must be upset with her.

“What did I do now?” she said tiredly. She couldn’t have cared less.

He was slurring his words, but Mama, who was also angry—but sober—came in from the hallway and told Tatiana that last night when she was God knows where while the family was celebrating Dasha’s imminent marriage, a little girl named Mariska came by, asking for some food. “Mariska said that someone named Tania has been feeding her for a week!” Mama shouted. “A week with our food!”

“Oh.” Tatiana looked at her parents. “Yes. Mariska’s parents are both drunk, and they’re not feeding her. She needed some food. I gave her a little. Mama, I thought we have plenty.” She went into the kitchen to get a knife. Papa and Mama followed her, still shouting and shouting and shouting.

The following day Alexander and Dimitri came by after dinner to take the girls for a short walk before the air raid and curfew. Tatiana did not raise her eyes to Dimitri, nor to Dasha, and certainly not to Alexander.

“What happened to you yesterday?” Dimitri asked. “We were waiting forever for you.”

“I was working yesterday,” said Tatiana, grabbing her cardigan from the hook on the wall and walking out past Alexander, her eyes to the floor.

It was quiet in Leningrad that evening. The four of them walked in peace down Suvorovsky heading toward Tauride Park. Relative peace, for on Eighth Soviet a corner building was shattered and glass was spread like fractured ice all over the street.

Dimitri and Tatiana walked in front of Alexander and Dasha. Dimitri asked why Tatiana kept staring at the ground. Tatiana shrugged and said nothing, her growing-out blonde hair covering half her face.

“Isn’t it fantastic about Alexander and Dasha?” Dimitri asked, putting his arm around Tatiana.

“Yes,” said Tatiana coldly and loudly. “It’s fantastic about Alexander and Dasha.” She did not look up, nor did she look back. She could feel Alexander’s eyes on her, and she simply did not know how she was going to continue walking straight.

Dasha giggled and said, “I sent Deda and Babushka a letter in Molotov. They’ll be so happy. They’ve always liked you, Alexander.” There were some chuckling noises from behind Tatiana. She stumbled on the curb. Dimitri grabbed her arm.

Dasha said, “Tania is a little glum these days, Dima. I think she wants you to propose, too.”

Squeezing her arm, Dimitri said, “Should I, Tanechka? What do you think? Should I ask you to marry me?”

Tatiana did not reply. They stopped at an intersection to let a tram pass. Tatiana said, “Want to hear a joke?” She continued before anyone had a chance to speak. “ ‘Honey, when we get married, I’ll be there to share all your troubles and sorrows,’ says the man. ‘But I don’t have any, my love,’ says the woman. ‘I said, when we get married,’ says the man.”

“Oh, nice, Tania,” said Dasha from behind.

Tatiana laughed mirthlessly, and when she laughed, her hair bobbed back just long enough to reveal a black swollen bruise over her eyebrow. Dimitri gasped. Tatiana lowered her head, brushing her hair back into her face. Alexander said, “What’s the matter, Dima?”

Dimitri didn’t reply, but Alexander walked around and stood in front of Tatiana. She looked down at the pavement. “It’s nothing,” she muttered.

“Can you look up, please?” Alexander demanded.

Tatiana wanted to look up and scream. But Dasha was standing on one side of her and Dimitri on the other, and she could not look up into the face she loved. Simply could not. The best she could do was repeat quietly that it was nothing.

“Ah, Tania,” said Alexander, paling under the effort of keeping himself in check. “Ah, Tania.”

“It’s totally her fault,” said Dasha, taking Alexander’s arm. “She perfectly well knew that Papa was drunk. Yet she couldn’t help talking back to him. He yelled at her a little bit for feeding a waif—”

“He yelled at me for Mariska, but he hit me for not washing his sheets,” Tatiana said. “Which was your job.”

“How did he open your brow like that?” Dimitri asked with concern.

“That was my fault,” Tatiana said. “I lost my balance and fell. The kitchen drawer was open. It’s not a big thing.”

“Ah, Tania,” Alexander repeated again.

“What?” said Tatiana, raising her livid, broken eyes at him.

He lowered his gaze.

“Hey, listen,” Dasha said, defending herself, “I didn’t care what Papa said. He was drunk. I wasn’t going to get into a fight with him over nothing.”

“You mean over me?” Tatiana said. “You mean you weren’t going to come forward and say, ‘Papa, I should’ve washed your sheets, and I’m sorry I didn’t’?”

“What for? He was drunk!”

“He’s always drunk!” yelled Tatiana. “Always, and it’s war, Dasha! Have we not got enough trouble, you think?” She panted. “Believe me, we’ve got enough trouble.” She stared at her sister. “Forget it. Let’s cross.”

As they crossed the street, Tatiana could hear Alexander’s seething breaths. “Dasha, let’s go,” he said suddenly, pulling her quickly by the arm down the street, away from Tatiana. He started running with Dasha beside him.

Dimitri and Tatiana were left on Suvorovsky, and Tatiana said, trying to smile, “So, Dima, how are you? I hear the Germans are completely entrenched. Has the fighting stopped?”

“Tania, you don’t want to be talking about the fighting,” said Dimitri.

“No, I do, I do. Tell me, is it true that Hitler has issued a directive to his men that Leningrad is to be wiped off the face of the earth?”

Shrugging, Dimitri said, “You’ll have to ask Alexander about that.”

“I heard—” but then Tatiana stopped and realized something. “You know what, Dima? I think we better head back home.”