Svetlana appeared in the doorway, holding a lantern. “Could you keep the noise down?” she asked, looking at Stepan and Irina, who were shrieking with excitement. “I have a headache.”

“Yes, of course,” Peter said straightaway. “Be quiet, children.”

They stopped obediently, crestfallen that the game was over.

“I hope your head feels better soon,” Maria called with concern, as Svetlana turned back toward the farmhouse.

* * *

The symptoms of starvation crept up slowly, like a wolf circling, waiting to pounce. At first there were painful stomach cramps that left a sensation of light-headedness when they passed. Maria sometimes had to clutch at doorways to stop herself falling over into a faint. Lethargy made it hard to get out of bed in the morning and drag herself over to heat some leftovers to line her children’s stomachs. She and Peter each tried to make the other eat, pretending not to be hungry.

“You must have more than me,” she insisted. “You have physical work to do while I can sit here conserving my energy.”

“I find berries when I am out hunting,” Peter argued, but she knew there were few to be had now the snows had come. He looked gray and gaunt, and although they had no mirror in their room, she realized she must look the same.

One evening, Peter arrived home after dark and opened his satchel to show Maria a long fish inside, with a silver belly and gold fins.

“It’s grayling,” he said, “but I only caught one. I’ll fillet it then take half to Joe and Svetlana.”

“It is not big enough to share,” Maria said quickly, salivating as she imagined the flavor. “I think we should keep it. It’s not right they should have half when there are four of us and two of them.”

“That’s unfair,” he objected. “Remember all they have done for us.”

Maria was thinking out loud. “Svetlana has a sensitive nose, but if we cook it in the forest, she will not detect the smell. Please, Peter. Your children need to be fed. Look at them!” She pointed to where they sat on the bed, listless, not even attempting to play with each other. Their baby chubbiness had dissolved and their cheeks had hollowed alarmingly. “They need food. Svetlana and her husband are still plump, and it’s just one meal. Please.”

He was clearly reluctant, but gave way in the face of her determination. They wrapped the children against the biting cold and trudged out in the snow toward the forest, carrying a lamp to light the route. Peter led them to an area where he had dug a fire pit in summer, and Maria hugged the children close while he struggled to light a fire in the bitter damp. At last the flames were flickering and he gutted the fish swiftly and efficiently, then threaded a skewer through and suspended it over the fire, turning it after a few minutes.