City of Fate Read online

  Tanya was surprised at this. ‘But he was a friend of yours? And what he did was courageous!’

  Leo laughed. ‘Oh, I know. From the time we left home, he was determined to be the best soldier ever.’ Tilting his head, he added, ‘He had to walk faster than the rest of us, talk louder and be the first to carry out any orders going.’

  Vlad laughed too. ‘Do you remember him pretending to read the newspaper on the train to Lensk, taking up the whole seat?’

  ‘I might not have liked him then,’ said Leo, ‘but I will always love him now for what he did.’ Giving Tanya a look beyond words, he continued, ‘That fool made the bravest, most unselfish decision of his life. It was one pure act; the most that one person can do for another. He was glorious in those few moments, and nothing can take that away from him. All these soldiers and citizens, including Vlad and I, fought to save their county, while Anton gave his life to save two people he didn’t even know. Who can say which is the greater act?’ To Leo’s surprise, tears welled up, but he didn’t wipe them away. ‘I can’t believe how much I miss him.’

  Vlad shrugged. ‘Nothing wrong with that!’

  A few seconds passed as each of them thought about the friends that were gone forever. Tanya shivered. ‘It must be nearly midnight now.’ A lot of people were already celebrating, wanting to rush in the New Year and be rid of the old one. From the shouting and singing it was safe to assume that plenty of vodka was being consumed by plenty of soldiers.

  Vlad looked at his watch. ‘Two minutes to go!’

  Tanya asked the boys, ‘You’ll come back to the basement for coffee, won’t you?’

  Leo assured her, ‘Of course!’

  Mrs Karmanova sighed. ‘I still feel those boys around me when I’m there. This morning, just as I was waking up, I was sure I heard Peter asking Yuri to bring him out for a walk.’ Lifting her glass to her lips, she addressed the sky, ‘Well, boys, if you can hear me, I am going to make a promise right here that I will walk to this statue every single day and I hope you will both come with me.’ She unfolded a hankie and blew noisily into it.

  With that, there was a cheer from the four corners of the city, and a bell rang out somewhere: 1942 was gone forever. The group raised their glasses and together they wished for a Happy New Year.

  ‘Come now, it’s getting cold. Will you lend me your arm, Vlad?’

  Vlad held out his right arm for Mrs Karmanova to hold onto as they ground their way through the snow, a step ahead of the others.

  Leo put his around Tanya’s waist. She leant her head against him for a second before exclaiming, ‘I can look after myself, you know!’

  Leo grinned. ‘I know, I am holding onto you so I don’t fall!’

  As they walked, they saw in the distance a man carrying a violin case. He was striding purposefully, despite the snow, towards the part of the city where the fighting was still carrying on.

  ‘Who on earth is he?’ Tanya asked.

  Leo strained his eyes, saying, ‘I don’t believe it. I mean, he looks like Misha Goldstein but can it really be him?’

  Vlad admitted, ‘I’ve never heard of him.’

  ‘Neither have I,’ added Tanya.

  Leo quickened his step, pulling Tanya with him. ‘He’s one of our greatest musicians. I knew he was here for the parties tonight, but where can he be going to? Come on, let’s follow him!’

  It didn’t occur to the other three to say no. Keeping a respectful distance, they took off after the man. A few minutes later, he stopped and placed his violin case gently on the snow. Kneeling down, he opened it up and carefully removed the instrument. There was some shooting here and there but not enough to distract him from placing the violin under his chin, to begin to play. All around him was the evidence of the last few months: the skeletons of horses and tanks, yards of twisted barbed wire, along with pile upon pile of debris, although the snow did its best to hide it all. The officers of the NKVD stood between the city and the frozen Volga, checking everyone’s papers, searching for Germans and Russian deserters. It was a strange scene. Mr Goldstein’s bow raced across the strings, lending the ugliness of the torn landscape dignity and meaning; it had all been for something and the end was in sight.

  Leo hugged Tanya in delight. ‘He’s playing Bach! He’s not allowed to, but he doesn’t care. And who would stop him on New Year’s Eve?’

  As Mr Goldstein played on, the gunfire stopped. The only sound now was of the melodies that were carried along the night air, to caress the broken buildings, the corpses, the barbed wire, and the men on either side who still fought on. The music also paid tribute to thousands of lives that had been lost: those village toddlers and babies that had been orphaned on a summer’s day, just before being martyred themselves; Mr Belov and his constant need to teach more than was permitted; soldiers, both Germans and Russians, who were, after all, fathers or sons who had had to leave their families and ordinary comforts to kill at the express wish of their leaders; Yuri and Peter who had meant nobody harm; Misha, and Anton who had given more than anyone could have expected.

  Mr Goldstein finished what he was playing, and the silence was shocking. Nobody moved, not even to applaud. Then, over the loudspeaker, from the German trenches, a shaky voice spoke in Russian, ‘Please, play some more Bach. We won’t shoot.’

  Before anyone could say another word, Mr Goldstein accepted the request without a smile and did exactly what was asked of him.

  ‘Wow!’ whispered Vlad. He asked Leo, ‘What is it about this music that the Germans like?’

  Leo took a moment, as he listened to the violin, before answering, ‘It reminds them of home.’

  The others thought about this, Vlad saying, ‘I suppose that’s what we all were fighting for, to be able to go home again.’

  An anxious look flitted across Tanya’s face as she glanced at Leo. He shook his head slightly, saying, ‘Or at least to have the freedom to go wherever we choose.’

  Vlad grinned. ‘Even if that means staying in Stalingrad … assuming, of course, one would wish to?’

  Leo refused to answer him, only closing his eyes to savour the rest of the concert.

  EPILOGUE

  In Russia there is a word, ‘Rodina’ which means ‘Homeland’. Where once her citizens were urged to put their country before everything else, including their homes, Stalin realised that the country would be defended better against invaders if the people were allowed to fight for their homes before anything else.

  During those months of strife Stalingrad was also home to the German soldiers who dug out clumsy rooms in her earth, decorating them with whatever they could find. One man, Kurt Reuber, a doctor, who was also an artist, decided to draw a picture on the back of a large map of Russia. He wanted to make something that would comfort him as well as his fellow soldiers. It was approaching 25 December, 1942, and the German Army had hoped to be at home with their loved ones for Christmas. All those hopes were soundly dashed when it became clear that Hitler had quietly forsaken them. After thinking long and hard about his subject matter, Doctor Reuber went to work, with little in the way of art materials aside from a chunk of charcoal and the map.

  He called his work ‘Stalingrad Madonna’. The picture he drew was of Mary wrapped in a long, thick shawl cradling the baby Jesus to her cheek. On the right of the picture, Doctor Reuber wrote the words: ‘Licht’ (Light); ‘Leben’ (Life); ‘Liebe’ (Love). For the men who came to see the picture, it meant shelter, security and a mother’s love. In other words it meant home.

  The Germans brought so much pain and terror with them. And, yet, they were people too. Humans killing other humans, because of what: land, power or immortality? What did those Germans struggle for? In the end it all seemed so utterly pointless; even Hitler seemed at a loss over what to do.

  Of course he should never have been elected leader of a country. Did it all boil down to that – a mad man, with fantastic ambition, who infected the lives of millions of people with misery and darkness? Mr Belov
once asked why the Greek Alexander was called ‘Alexander the Great’. Was it simply because he had killed lots of people? Does that make someone ‘great’? He used the question to show his students how to question everything they heard.

  Stalingrad, or ‘Schicksalsstadt’ (‘City of Fate’), was Russia’s finest hour, but at what cost? Sergeant Pavlov believed in the importance of concentrating on how many were saved. The immense bloodshed, the violence, the constant killing – it was necessary, wasn’t it? That’s how wars are won after all.

  In any case, this particular battle for Stalingrad finally ended on 2 February 1943, while the Great War would continue on for another two years, finishing up miles away from Russian soil on 29 April 1945.

  Over the next few years the people rebuilt the city, wiping it clean of the blood and dirt and transforming it into a place of beauty once more. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the story ended here, with the happy ending that everyone hopes for? Unfortunately this is not possible. Once he had dealt with the German invaders, Stalin turned on his own people, plunging his great country into a terrifying darkness for many years to come.

  Remember what Tanya spoke of, to Yuri, about Stalin’s suspicious mind? Well, multiply that by a hundred per cent and stand well back. It is fortunate that those listening so intently to Mr Goldstein’s violin could not see into the future; their hearts may not have stood it.

  Yet throughout what followed, those years of terror, there was one thing that could not be stopped, not by the blood of a thousand men nor the wrath of a Josef Stalin. The Volga river kept flowing, cleansing the bloodied footsteps of the past in its constant urge to press forward, like the march of time itself. And maybe, just maybe, that’s why they called it the mirror of Russia’s soul: for, in the face of pain and fear, it can be comforting to know that there will always be something that can never die.

  Author’s Notes

  As with my first novel, Spirit of the Titanic, I wanted to use as much ‘real’ material as I could, to lay the foundation for – and hopefully enhance – the fictional part of the story in my head. This meant a lot of research: reading lots of other books and watching both documentaries and films about the Battle of Stalingrad.

  Almost two million soldiers and civilians died in the battle which is generally described as the most important battle of the Second World War. The Germans lost, on a shocking scale, with 90,000 of them being taken prisoner. The rest of their army, along with their allies, a total of 150,000 men, were dead. Of those 90,000 prisoners, only 6,000 ever made it back home to Germany.

  In short, losing the battle for Stalingrad was the beginning of the end for Hitler and the Nazis.

  I will come clean and admit that my main characters, Yuri and Peter, (and Tanya and Mrs Karmanova) are my own creation. However, by the time the battle was finished, it was reported that up to 9,976 citizens had managed to survive the bombing and the fighting; 994 of these were children. Nobody quite knows how they managed it; things like food, water and shelter were extremely scarce, not to mention the constant threat of violence. One American doctor wrote of the children she met, that they were so traumatised by their experience they wouldn’t even look at her, never mind answer her questions. Only nine children (out of the 994) were eventually re-united with their parents.

  Citizens, including women and children, were killed by Russians if they were caught (that is, forced into) helping the Germans, and killed by Germans if they were seen helping the Russian army.

  Vlad, Leo, Misha and Anton, along with their teacher Mr Belov, did exist although I couldn’t find their real names. A male teacher was ordered by the NKVD to bring his entire class of sixteen/seventeen-year-olds to the next town and sign them up to fight in Stalingrad. By the time they arrived at the army’s office only half the class were standing behind him. It is believed the teacher was accused of treason, because of the missing students, and dealt with accordingly.

  A copy of the Barmaley Fountain, with its statue of six children dancing around a crocodile, was erected in 2013 in memory of the soldiers and civilians who died in Stalingrad. The original statue was removed in the 1950s, just before Stalingrad was renamed Volgograd.

  The massacre of the Jewish village, involving the shooting dead of ninety children, under the age of seven years, is not fictional.

  Sergeant Jakob Pavlov was made a Hero of the Soviet Union. The fight for the house, forever thereafter known as Pavlov’s House, lasted fifty-eight days. Rumour has it that more German soldiers lost their lives in trying to take Dom Pavlov than in the capture of Paris. In recognition of his incredible achievement, the sergeant was duly nicknamed the ‘Houseowner’. Later on, he found religion and became a monk, choosing to live in peace as a man of God. Whenever he was asked if he was ‘the’ famous Pavlov from the battle of Stalingrad, he would refuse to say one way or another.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I wish to thank the following for reading the book at different stages and providing me with much-needed tips and encouragement: Joe Butler, Niall Carney, Anna Keating, Damian Keenan, Chloe Redmond, Jack Freeney, Patricia Emms and Kate Kurevleva.

  Writing a book can be a lonely and terrifying experience but that is nothing to handing over the first draft to be edited and made good enough to publish. My editor Susan Houlden deserves something better than this mention of thanks. She was a constant champion of the story and kept me sane when the nerves would hit over the months that I/we worked on the book.

  I want to thank designer and artist Emma Byrne for a truly beautiful cover. I pray that the story lives up to the promise of her work.

  My thanks to Michael O’Brien and the rest of the staff of the O’Brien Press. It is an honour to be part of their stable of writers.

  About the Author

  Tallaght-born Nicola Pierce lives in Drogheda. Following her many successful ghostwritten books for adults, Nicola published her first book for children, Spirit of the Titanic. The book received rave reviews, and ran to five printings within its first twelve months. City of Fate is her second book for children and transports the reader deep into the Russian city of Stalingrad during World War II.

  Copyright

  This eBook edition first published 2014 by The O’Brien Press Ltd,

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  Website: www.obrien.ie

  First published 2014

  eBook ISBN: 978–1–84717–649–3

  Copyright for text © Nicola Pierce 2014

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