He wanted her to live.

That brought a bit of relief.

A bit of comfort.

That would have to be good enough.

When she got home, around seven in the evening, she found her family frantic with worry. After she told them what had happened, they were upset that she hadn’t just come home. “We would have understood,” said Mama. “We don’t care about the bread.”

Dasha said she had sent Alexander out to look for her.

“You’ve got to stop doing that, Dasha,” said Tatiana wearily. “You’re bound to get him killed.”

Tatiana was surprised her family was not more upset with her. Then she found out why. Alexander had brought them some oil—and soybeans—and half an onion. Dasha had made a delicious stew, adding a tablespoon of flour and a bit of salt. “Where is this stew?” Tatiana asked.

“There wasn’t a lot, Tanechka,” said Dasha.

“We thought you’d eat wherever you were,” added Mama.

“You ate, right?” asked Babushka.

“We were so hungry,” said Marina.

“Yes,” Tatiana said, deeply discouraged. “Don’t worry about me.”

Alexander came back around eight. He had been out for three hours. The first thing he said was, “What happened to you?”

Tatiana told him.

“Where have you been all day?” he demanded, talking to her as if there were no one else in the room.

“I went to the hospital. To see if they had some food there.”

“They didn’t.”

“Not much. I did have some oatmeal.” White water.

“It’s all right,” Alexander said, taking off his coat. “There’s some stew.”

Coughs. Averted eyes.

Alexander didn’t understand. He turned to Dasha. “I brought you soybeans. Dasha? You said you were making stew.”

“We did, Alexander,” said Dasha sheepishly. “But there was so little. We ate it.”

“You ate it and didn’t leave her any?” He turned red.

“Alexander, it’s all right,” said Tatiana anxiously. “They didn’t leave you any either.”

Dasha laughed nervously. “You can eat at the barracks, and she said she ate, dear.”

“She is a liar!” he screamed.

“I did eat,” Tatiana put in.

“You’re a liar!” Alexander screamed at her. “I forbid you,” he yelled to Tatiana, “I forbid you to get their food for them. Give them back their ration cards and tell them all to get their own damn food. I never want to see you getting their bread for them if they can’t save you some of the food I bring!”

Tatiana stood quietly, her entire heart so full that for a moment she did not need any bread at all.

Turning to Dasha, Alexander said, out of breath, “Who is going to get your bread for you if she dies? Who is going to carry soup back home in a pail? Who is going to bring you porridge?”

Mama said disagreeably, “I bring porridge from the factory.”

“You eat half of it before you set foot in the house!” yelled Alexander. “What, you think I don’t understand? You think I don’t know that Marina finishes her coupons before the month is out and then demands bread from Tania, who is getting beaten up while you’re still sleeping?”

“I’m not sleeping. I sew,” said Mama. “I sew every morning.”

“Tania,” Alexander stated, glaring at her, “you are not getting them their rations again. Understand?” Again he was talking to her as if there were no one else present.

Tatiana muttered that she was going to go and wash. When she came back, Alexander was sitting at the table smoking. He was calmer. “Come here,” he said quietly.

Marina was in the other room with Mama. Babushka was down the hall with Nina Iglenko.

“Where is Dasha?” Tatiana said, moving slowly toward him. She saw his eyes.

“Getting a can opener from Nina. Come closer.”

Standing in front of him, Tatiana said quietly, “Shura, please. Where is your indifferent face? You promised me.”

He stared into her sweater.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I’ll be all right.”

“You’re making me feel worse,” Alexander said. “Don’t do it.” Reaching out, he placed his hand on her hip. A small groan of anguish escaped him. Tatiana leaned into him and pressed her forehead to his forehead.

For a moment they stood still.

She took her forehead away.

He took his hand away. “Look what I have for you, Tania.” He pulled out a small metal can from his coat.

Dasha came into the room, saying, “Here’s the can opener. What do you need it for anyway?”

Alexander used it to open the small can and, taking a knife, cut the product inside into little morsels. He passed the can to Tatiana. “Go ahead, try it.”

“What is it?” she asked, wanting to smile. It was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted. Not quite ham, not quite bologna, not quite pork, but all three, covered with lard and aspic. The can was small, maybe a hundred grams. “What is that?” she said, her eyes showing the delight that her body, her lips could not muster.

“Spam.”

“Spam? What is Spam?”

“Like ham. In Russian it’s tushonka.”

“Oh, it’s much better than ham.”

“Can I try it?” asked Dasha.

“No.” Alexander didn’t turn to Dasha. “I want your sister to eat the whole can. Dasha, you already ate. You can’t possibly want more after all that stew.”

“I just want a little bite,” said Dasha. “To taste.”

“No.”

“Tania?” Dasha said. “Please? I’m sorry I ate your stew. I know you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset, Dasha.”

“I am, though,” said Alexander, turning to her. “You’re a grown woman. I expect better from you.”

Dasha said grumpily, “I said I was sorry.”

Tatiana took another bite, and another. Half a can left. “Alexander?”

“No, Tatiana.”

She had one more bite. Two small pieces left. Tatiana licked up all the lard and the aspic, and then she took one piece out of the can and handed it to Alexander. He shook his head. “Please,” Tatiana said. “One for you, one for Dasha?”

Dasha snatched it out of Alexander’s hand. Tatiana gave him the last piece, giving it one more glance. He ate it. Nodding, she licked out the can with her tongue. “This is the most wonderful thing. Where did you get it?”

“Americans, through Lend-Lease. A case of Spam for Leningrad and two of their army trucks.”

“I’d rather have a case of this.”

“I don’t know. They’re very good trucks.” Alexander smiled.

Tatiana wanted to smile back. Looking away from him and to her sister, Tatiana said, “Dasha, honey, how is Nina holding up?”

“Terrible.”

After a few minutes Alexander left to go back to the barracks. The next morning, when Tatiana got up to get the rations, Dasha came with her.

The following morning Dasha stayed in bed, but downstairs on the street a soldier was waiting for Tatiana. “Sergeant Petrenko!” she said, managing a smile. “What are you doing here?”

“Orders of the captain.” He saluted, looking warmly at her. “He asked me to take you to the store.”

The morning after that, Petrenko wasn’t downstairs, but Alexander was waiting for Tatiana at Fontanka. He walked her home and went back to base. The next morning he came to the apartment.

On the way back from the store he had left her to help a lady struggling with two sleds that she was trying to pull by herself down Ulitsa Nekrasova. One had a body wrapped in a white sheet, and one had a bourzhuika. Alexander went to explain to the woman that she would have to come back for one or the other. He told Tatiana he was going to suggest taking the stove and coming back for the body.

Tatiana was waiting for him patiently and alone, leaning against a building, when she saw three boys approaching her with determined strides. She looked for Alexander, who was maybe a hundred meters away, with his back to Tatiana, pulling one of the sleds for the woman. “Alexander!” she yelled, but the wind was loud and her voice was weak. He didn’t hear.

Tatiana turned to the boys. One of them she recognized as the boy who had taken her bread three days earlier. The street was deserted, and the snowdrifts were piled meters high on the road. In the snowdrifts lay dead bodies. There were no cars, no buses. Just Tatiana. She sighed. She thought of running across the street, but the effort, the effort. She couldn’t move. She stood.