was she worrying about? Two weeksâ holiday, what bliss! She didnât have to do anything except go to the clinic! Such a lot of free time! When she was on duty she could read something light, or chat to people.
âSo I was right to come and visit you?â
âAll right, sit down.â
âBut, Zoya, as far as I remember in my day the holiday used to start earlier, on January 25.â
âIn the fall we were picking cotton. We do it every year.â *
âHow much longer have you got at college?â
âEighteen months.â
âThen where will you be posted to?â
She shrugged her gently rounded shoulders. âOurs is a big countryâ¦â
Her eyes were enormous even when her face was calm. It was as if there was no room for them under her eyelids, as if they were begging to be let out.
âBut they wonât leave you here?â
âN-no, of course not.â
âHow can you leave your family?â
âWhat family? Iâve only got a grandmother. Iâll take Grandma with me.â
âWhat about your father and mother?â
Zoya sighed. âMy mother died.â
Kostoglotov looked at her and did not ask about her father. âBut you come from round here, donât you?â
âNo, from Smolensk.â
âReally ⦠when did you leave there?â
âDuring the evacuation ⦠when else?â
âYou were ⦠about nine?â
âYeah. I was at school for two years there. Then Grandma and I got stuck here.â
Zoya reached toward the large orange shopping bag on the floor by the wall, pulled out a mirror, took off her nurseâs cap, lightly fluffed up her hair, which was crammed under it, and started to comb out a slightly curling fine golden strand.
A golden reflection from it appeared on Kostoglotovâs hard face. He relaxed a little and followed her movements with pleasure.
âSo, whereâs your grandmother?â asked Zoya jokingly, as she finished with the mirror.
âMy grandmotherââKostoglotov was being completely seriousââand my maâ (the word was at odds with his bitter expression) âdied in the siege.â
âThe siege of Leningrad?â
âUh-huh. And my sister was killed by a shell. She was a nurse just like you, only more of a child.â
âYe-es,â sighed Zoya, ignoring the allusion to child, âso many people died in the siege. Damn Hitler!â
Kostoglotov gave a wry grin. âWeâve had more than enough proof of Hitler being damned. But I wouldnât blame the Leningrad blockade on him alone.â
âWhat do you mean? Why not?â
âWell, listen. Hitler came to annihilate us. Were the besieged supposed to wait for him to open the gate and say: âCome out one by one, donât crowd togetherâ? He was making war, he was an enemy. But there was someone else responsible for the blockade too.â
âWho?â whispered Zoya, quite astounded. She had never heard or imagined anything like it.
Kostoglotov knit his black brows. âWell, letâs say those who would have been prepared to fight even if England, France and America had joined Hitler as allies. Those who drew their salaries for decades without seeing how Leningrad was geographically isolated and that this would affect its defense. Those who failed to foresee how heavy the bombardments would be and never thought of stocking up provisions below ground. They strangled my mother tooâthey and Hitler.â
It was all so simpleâbut somehow terribly new.
Sibgatov was sitting quietly on his bowl in the corner behind them.
âBut in that case ⦠in that case surely they ought to be put on trial?â ventured Zoya in a whisper.
âI donât know.â Kostoglotov grimaced, his lips an even thinner line than before. âI donât know.â
Zoya did not put her cap back on. The top button of her
Learning to Kill: Stories