Over the next three weeks, every time she walked past her neighbor’s door, she heard the boy coughing and wheezing, and she said a prayer for him and crossed herself. And then, one morning, the entire block heard howls like those of a wolf echoing around the corridors and across the courtyard. Maria rushed out to the landing in time to hear the mother scream, “God has taken my son. My only son.” She hurried down to embrace her, but the woman fought her off. No comfort could be given.

That evening, Maria was thinking of the boy as she wiped the supper dishes clean with a dampened cloth to save water. How lucky we have been, she thought. She felt guilty that she had five living children while her neighbor had lost her only son. Ingenuity in finding food was important in this siege, but survival was also a matter of luck. Maria had suffered incredibly bad luck in losing her parents and siblings, then poor little Pavel and Peter, but now she had another generation to comfort her, and hers were all good children.

She put the plates in her cupboard and wiped the stove clean, ready for the next person to use, before heading back to her apartment. As she stood outside the door, hand poised to turn the handle, she heard coughing and paused. It was Mikhail; she could tell. He coughed hard, as if there was something stuck in his throat, then went silent. Maria waited, scarcely daring to breathe. And then it came: an unmistakable whooping sound. It felt as though a shard of glass had pierced her heart.

Chapter 43

Leningrad, January 1942

MARIA WRAPPED MIKHAIL IN HIS THICK COAT AND warm boots, placed a fur hat on his head, and helped him through the dark streets to the Raukhfus children’s hospital, grateful that at least there was no bombing that night. Stepan said the Germans’ engines froze with the extreme cold so the aircraft couldn’t take off. Mikhail’s forehead was burning to the touch and the night air brought on fresh bouts of coughing, but Maria hoped that if she could get medicine straightaway, before he grew too weak, he would fare better than her neighbor’s son.

There was no heating in the hospital, and frost glazed the insides of windows. The wards were crammed with children as far as the eye could see. Most lay silent, staring into space, but some called out for help, stretching their arms toward her. She wondered if she had made a mistake in bringing Mikhail to this place where there were so many sicker than him, but they joined the line to see a doctor. Right in front of them stood a girl with lice crawling around her blond hair, and Maria leaned away, feeling her own head itch at the sight.