the trees created an odd score for their meditative silence.
Lev grinned, picking up his pace. “Was Hoffman really there last week?”
The edges of Hermann’s mouth curled upward. “You had a good time, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” You and the world have drifted away . “Yes. I did.”
The red sun was rising. Lev realized they had been here for a month, and he felt comfortable with Hermann, walking along this shared road. If he let his mind settle into the rhythm of his steps, let his face bathe in the red light creeping through the firs, and let himself wander back to that forceful plunging into her body, he felt satisfied, close to whole. He did not especially want to return home just now. He let out a sharp laugh.
4
The air was changing. No longer plagued by the torpid heat that had slowed Lev’s days at the field hospital and made it hard to sleep at night with a sheet drenched in sweat, there were now signs of this being replaced by a much fiercer enemy. When he woke, his bed was no longer hot and damp but a cocoon of warmth where he hibernated until the last possible moment, and when they assembled outside at dawn, the crystalline air shimmered with an icy cold, turning noses yellow-white, all the blood retracting from the surface of the skin. They were ordered to watch over one another, to make sure extremities did not freeze. Headgear was introduced, and a demonstration of how to properly cover oneself was conducted on a gray morning in the middle of November. Frost ointment was distributed, as well as instructions for how to identify frostbite. Throughout the days, men constantly told one another in passing, You have a white nose . Lev remembered a man who’d lost his nose from artillery fire. A gaping hole marked the center of his face, and when the bandage came off, a hollowed-out crater dipped from under his eyes to the top of his lips.
In the mornings, Lev made Hermann rub frost ointment on his ears, which were slightly distended from Lev’s head. Then Hermann bandaged them up, an extra precaution. And Lev rubbed the ointment on Hermann’s cheekbones, sharp and pronounced, jutting out of his gaunt face. His cheekbones had been the reason why Lev had initially mistrusted Hermann. They lent him a womanly air of seduction, leading Lev to anticipate a betrayal of some sort, Hermann’s obsidian eyes flitting from one face to another, procuring rumors about who would be sent to the front. Last night, when Hermann whispered to him thattomorrow Lev would be going to the front, it was a golden nugget of knowledge.
“For how long?” His chest tightened, the blood stiffening in his veins. War tomorrow. War tomorrow .
Hermann’s cigarette burned a dulcet orange in the dark room. “I don’t know.”
“How do you know I’m going?”
A man moaned in his sleep. Someone smacked him with a rolled-up newspaper.
“Ludendorff’s third in command knows things. I bring him the raspberry soda my sister sends me. He says it’s the best raspberry soda he’s ever tasted. Addicted to it.” Hermann leaned back into his pillow. “The war’s far from over.”
Lev put his head in his hands. “I’m not finished. Polina will be devastated.”
“The dollhouse?” Hermann asked sleepily.
Lev fought the urge to cry out, thinking about how he had constructed the frame and some of the furniture pieces, but all the details—those sumptuous details—had not been added. Right now it just looked skeletal, a bombed-out house, and she’d had enough of that, he thought. “Who will finish it for her?”
Hermann slapped him on the back. “She’ll forget about the whole thing in a few weeks. That’s how children are.”
Sunday morning, before dawn, they started marching. They would march until reaching the transport station. No one knew how long the march would last. Some said a day. Others guessed a week. They were headed for Lodz, which was closer to Germany and farther south. The movement felt retrograde, as
Lev grinned, picking up his pace. “Was Hoffman really there last week?”
The edges of Hermann’s mouth curled upward. “You had a good time, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” You and the world have drifted away . “Yes. I did.”
The red sun was rising. Lev realized they had been here for a month, and he felt comfortable with Hermann, walking along this shared road. If he let his mind settle into the rhythm of his steps, let his face bathe in the red light creeping through the firs, and let himself wander back to that forceful plunging into her body, he felt satisfied, close to whole. He did not especially want to return home just now. He let out a sharp laugh.
4
The air was changing. No longer plagued by the torpid heat that had slowed Lev’s days at the field hospital and made it hard to sleep at night with a sheet drenched in sweat, there were now signs of this being replaced by a much fiercer enemy. When he woke, his bed was no longer hot and damp but a cocoon of warmth where he hibernated until the last possible moment, and when they assembled outside at dawn, the crystalline air shimmered with an icy cold, turning noses yellow-white, all the blood retracting from the surface of the skin. They were ordered to watch over one another, to make sure extremities did not freeze. Headgear was introduced, and a demonstration of how to properly cover oneself was conducted on a gray morning in the middle of November. Frost ointment was distributed, as well as instructions for how to identify frostbite. Throughout the days, men constantly told one another in passing, You have a white nose . Lev remembered a man who’d lost his nose from artillery fire. A gaping hole marked the center of his face, and when the bandage came off, a hollowed-out crater dipped from under his eyes to the top of his lips.
In the mornings, Lev made Hermann rub frost ointment on his ears, which were slightly distended from Lev’s head. Then Hermann bandaged them up, an extra precaution. And Lev rubbed the ointment on Hermann’s cheekbones, sharp and pronounced, jutting out of his gaunt face. His cheekbones had been the reason why Lev had initially mistrusted Hermann. They lent him a womanly air of seduction, leading Lev to anticipate a betrayal of some sort, Hermann’s obsidian eyes flitting from one face to another, procuring rumors about who would be sent to the front. Last night, when Hermann whispered to him thattomorrow Lev would be going to the front, it was a golden nugget of knowledge.
“For how long?” His chest tightened, the blood stiffening in his veins. War tomorrow. War tomorrow .
Hermann’s cigarette burned a dulcet orange in the dark room. “I don’t know.”
“How do you know I’m going?”
A man moaned in his sleep. Someone smacked him with a rolled-up newspaper.
“Ludendorff’s third in command knows things. I bring him the raspberry soda my sister sends me. He says it’s the best raspberry soda he’s ever tasted. Addicted to it.” Hermann leaned back into his pillow. “The war’s far from over.”
Lev put his head in his hands. “I’m not finished. Polina will be devastated.”
“The dollhouse?” Hermann asked sleepily.
Lev fought the urge to cry out, thinking about how he had constructed the frame and some of the furniture pieces, but all the details—those sumptuous details—had not been added. Right now it just looked skeletal, a bombed-out house, and she’d had enough of that, he thought. “Who will finish it for her?”
Hermann slapped him on the back. “She’ll forget about the whole thing in a few weeks. That’s how children are.”
Sunday morning, before dawn, they started marching. They would march until reaching the transport station. No one knew how long the march would last. Some said a day. Others guessed a week. They were headed for Lodz, which was closer to Germany and farther south. The movement felt retrograde, as
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