In July 1945, Maria took an overnight train all the way to the town of Yaroslavl to check some children’s homes, and during the journey she fell into conversation with a policeman in the same carriage, a man by the name of Leonid. They exchanged stories of their families’ fates during the war: his wife had died in an air raid and his mother was helping to raise his infant daughter so he could continue to work.

“What is the work you do?” she asked.

Leonid made a face. “I interview Soviet soldiers who were held prisoner by the Germans. My orders are to make sure that no one with anti-Soviet views comes back into society.”

“But the poor men must be traumatized!” Maria cried. “They need support, not interrogation.”

He nodded agreement. “Many suffered starvation or disease on forced marches during the last year of the war. Feeding and caring for them was the lowest priority for the German army, so they are in a very poor condition. But I am ordered to question them about whether the Nazis gave them assignments to fulfill on their return, or if Anglo-American intelligence officers brainwashed them. Many can barely speak. It’s a horrible job.”

Maria was astonished that he should confide in her, a stranger, but everyone spoke more freely in those postwar days. Pulling together to survive the privations of war had created more trust.

“It seems a crime that these men are not allowed home to their families straightaway,” she said. “I know firsthand how much they are missed because I run an unofficial missing persons bureau. Look.” She opened her bag to show him her index, flicking through a few cards to give him an idea. “Each of these represents a family that has been separated. I do my best to help them.”

He smiled warmly. “What a wonderful thing to do!”

“I had many people show me kindness during the war, so it seems only right I should return it,” Maria said, and she told him of the soldier who had brought her home the day she felt faint.

“I know what you mean,” he replied. “When my apartment building was bombed, my baby daughter was trapped inside. Alerted by her crying, a dozen passersby climbed onto the rubble, despite the danger, and dug down brick by brick to rescue her. I will always be in their debt.” He wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

At dinnertime, they shared the food they had brought before lying down on the hard wooden benches to try to get some sleep. When Maria opened her eyes in the dawn, yawning and stiff, Leonid was already awake.