“Let us alone,” a rude voice from the threshold came. Oksana’s father, so joyful and courteous to her at the wedding, lurched her way. “Mind your business.” He gave her a shove. “Go away.”
Rather than doing nothing while waiting for Rita and Bagdan, Ulya applied her scout training. On the shelves in the small workshop in the back of the house, she discovered the all-purpose necessary instruments including a flashlight. She continued her searching in the attic where two little windows on the opposite sides of it allowed a great view to both the street and the forested area. In the bedroom, behind the swans in the pool motif wall rug, Ulya located the marked military maps, local and of Poland. An upholstered Dienstglas 6 x 30 binoculars were embedded in a small niche. The findings made her ponder. Bagdan’s? Or? She instantly rejected the thought they could belong to the former owner of the house. And why would he have maps and German binoculars? A flicker of apprehension coursed through her.
Now intrigued more than ever, she went on exploring. First, she knocked along the walls then examined the flooring. Uncovering nothing suspicious, she refocused her attention on the wardrobes. In one of them, she found men’s suits and all different dresses, padded winter jackets, and shoes for all seasons, obviously belonging to Bagdan and Rita. In the other one, hanging in a neat line, there were all kinds of fancy blouses and dresses, jackets and coats for every season. On the bottom, shoes for all seasons aligned. On the upper shelf, scarves, hats, and matching leather handbags were in order. Elegant underwear was stacked on a side shelf in accurate rows. Observing all this splendid collection of female clothing, Ulya thought of the night two years ago when Herr Wagner offered her a look into western life through those colorful, glossy editions of the Modenschau magazines. Why all these gorgeous clothes in Rita’s wardrobe? Not her size at that?
Just out of curiosity, Ulya tried one dress. It fit as though cut for her. In an instant, her mind left Bagdan’s house and brought her back to Herr Wagner’s manners and fashion tutoring. In front of the wardrobe mirror, she took some steps, turning the way he’d taught her, and leered at her reflection. She hadn’t forgotten his remarks about her insensitivity and, watching herself in this apparel and especially her smile, she wondered if it would satisfy him.
Finding no other explanation for what all this extravagant stuff was doing in the wardrobe, she fancied the things belonged to the disposed Kulak’s wife. Good life she must have had, the thought came tinted with no feeling.
Every day, squadrons of German bombers, like big black birds, flew eastward to later return relieved of their deadly weight. Every day, the radio brought horrible news: “The German troops bombed Kiev, Zhitomir, Sevastopol, Kaunas . . . Heavy fights of local significance continued toward the north eastern, central, and south eastern directions.”
On June 25, Luftwaffe dropped their first bombs on Vitebsk. Since then, a wailing of sirens was sharply audible from the city center with regular perseverance.
Night after night, Ulya watched searchlights swinging about, crossing and intertwining, flack guns banging. Two houses at the end of Nikolskaya Street were hit and burned. When she looked in that direction two hours later, the flames still ate the remains. The hand of war had reached this place.
During the daytime, as soon as she heard sirens or the humming of the approaching airplanes, she slipped from the house through the back door into the grove and scouted it. Rita’s sincere excitement of the beauty and serenity of the surroundings and her own feelings of the quiet peacefulness of the wood emerged in her memory, which now the opposite mood replaced.
The radio crackled and hissed as Ulya fiddled with the knob. A local administration spokesman urged citizens not to panic.
Though the bombing continued, there were no plans for evacuation. According to the order by the Chief and Commander of the Vitebsk garrison, no one was allowed to enter or exit the city except for the seconded persons and Kolkhozniks—farmers, who delivered their produce to the local markets. The last words of the edict were: “For failing to comply with this Order and for its violation, strict liability will be imposed on the perpetrators according to the Decree of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR.”
On June 29, the radio announced Stalin’s Directive: “Don’t let the enemy have a single grain of bread, a single liter of fuel . . . The Kolkhoz members must raid cattle . . . All valuable property, including non-ferrous metals, which can’t be withdrawn, must be damaged without fail.”
So, they are not confident they can hold against the onslaught. Ulya stiffened her jaw, trying to brush away the mixed feelings. We won’t surrender an inch of our land. We’ll annihilate the enemy on its own territory. Hadn’t their leadership assured the Soviet people of that? Did she, Ulya, believe the bravado? Yes and no, but there was a hope the Soviet government would hold to its confidence.
Air battles over Vitebsk took place daily. Through the radio broadcast, the local authority appealed to the citizens to adhere to the blackout. Matching the map with the scenery and direction, Ulya figured out the Luftwaffe’s bombing was aimed at the transport hub and the Old Bridge over West Dvina.
Everything was in fear-suppressed turmoil. Day after day, Ulya observed the unfolding tension on Nikolskaya Street. First, she watched young people with shorn heads and backpacks break themselves from the arms of their mothers, sisters, or wives and march away. When days later the radio declared the evacuation, starting with the children, she witnessed the young mothers hugging their little ones
