“Men and women, citizens of the Soviet Union, at four o’clock this morning, without declaration of war and without any claims being made on the Soviet Union, German troops attacked our country.”

Around them, everyone in the street came to a standstill. Maria squeezed Yelena’s hand so tight she squealed.

“Our cause is good,” the voice continued. “Our enemy will be smashed. Victory will be ours.”

Maria pulled her children toward her: Yelena now nine, Mikhail thirteen, and Katya fifteen. She wished she could wrap them up in lint.

What shall I do, Peter? she asked in her head when they reached his grave. How shall I keep our children safe? As usual, there was no reply.

That same evening, Stepan announced that he had been to a recruitment office and joined a long line of volunteers to help with civil defense. He told Maria he had been assigned to a team digging antitank trenches several miles out of town and that he must leave the following morning.

“But when will we see you? Will you not be in danger? I don’t like this.” Maria fretted as she stuffed a bag with fresh clothes, rolls of bandages, and tubes of liniment, and jars of food to supplement his rations.

“I’ll be back one day a week. It’s only until the city defenses are complete,” he told her.

“Others could do that,” Maria grumbled. “Digging is backbreaking work and you are an intelligent boy. You should be living off your brains.”

Leaflets were distributed urging that all children, old people, and anyone who could not help the war effort should evacuate the city. Maria wrestled with this: she did not want to be parted from her children, but she couldn’t leave herself, not while Stepan was still there. Besides, where would they go? Her overriding instinct was to keep the family together, so she ignored the evacuation calls but kept an ear out for every new broadcast in case the situation changed.

“The Red Army has won a great victory, although it was outnumbered four to one by German troops,” the announcer Yuri Levitan read in his excitable tones.

“Yes, and I hear Ivan killed five Germans armed only with a spoon,” Maria’s work colleague whispered to her.

Maria grinned. They were learning not to trust the radio proclamations. Always they spoke of victory, and yet it was clear that the Germans continued to advance.

“Some think Stalin might surrender Leningrad because it is too hard to defend,” her colleague continued, then added treacherously, “It might not be altogether a bad thing. I can’t imagine Hitler is as bloodthirsty . . .”

That was one good thing about the war: fear of the NKVD appeared to have lessened and people were speaking their minds again, albeit discreetly.