A few weeks later, the mother finds her father in the hospital with a back wound. He was caught by a shard. She learned from her father that Nikolai was killed on Nevsky Pyatochk, where he was buried in a mass grave.

Hiding the pain of loss in herself, the mother throws all her remaining strength to ensure the speedy recovery of her father. She didn’t forget about us either. Now we seem to see her at home more often. Alexey said that it was caused by Nikolai’s death.

Time passed so slowly but surely, gradually my father recovered and soon they promised to discharge him and let him go home. We were all really looking forward to his return, despite the grief for Nikolai, who was always a good brother and son. It seemed that if mom and dad were at home together again, our peaceful life would return, the way we remembered it, and most importantly, the blockade and even the war would end.

Based on these dreams and fantasies, we held on from day to day. However, unpleasant events continued to knock on our lives. After which Ivan and Leonid still haven’t sent a single letter, despite their heartfelt promises to write every day. For some reason, Masha was especially worried about this. After the news of Nikolai’s death and her father’s injury, she generally changed somewhat, became more silent and thoughtful, and could cry a little. Although we did not know this at the time, her hidden premonitions were not born out of thin air: in 1943, Ivan and Alexei were recognized as missing. It so happened that that was the last time we saw each other on their vacation.

The situation at home was also difficult. The younger Sasha got sick again. Remembering Lena, who died in the fall, we tried in every possible way to take care of him, went to familiar doctors, sometimes even carried him almost in our arms, always made sure that he had a slightly larger ration, so that he slept in warmth, always drank fresh boiled water. But, alas, in the end all our efforts and efforts were in vain. Later, when we leave the city, he will die in the evacuation anyway.

8

It was the month of May. Compared to winter, it has become much easier. In any case, there was no longer the bone-chilling cold and the frightening darkness of the streets. The food situation has also improved. The mother was able to get additional rations for a large family, so there was a little more food.

Since our neighbors evacuated, we were allocated another room. The father returned home, but he was not recognized. He has aged noticeably and is very weak. He lay quietly in the room for several days. But most importantly, he was home now. We also received some long-awaited letters from Ivan and Leonid. They were fine, although they were transferred to the southern front, and it was not entirely clear when we would see them again.

Nevertheless, new challenges awaited us. I don’t remember what kind of day it would have been, but Alexey and I were at school. The raid began, and after its completion we were allowed to go home. When we set foot on our native street, we couldn’t recognize it. Several houses were destroyed, including our house.

With the most terrible thoughts, we approached the front arch. Ours were there. My father, sister and brother escaped because they went out for a walk in the yard, but Baba Katya could not be saved, the bomb exploded right in her room.

We were all alive, but we were homeless. The whole family went to the local district committee, where we were accepted surprisingly quickly and without hesitation were given new housing somewhere in the Vyborg district. After receiving all the documents, my father went with us to the specified address to settle in a new apartment, and sent Masha to the hospital to her mother, tell her about what happened and escort her to a new house.

I had little idea what our new home could be like and what kind of Vyborg district it was, which years later would become my family forever. Alexey knew much more about this area, his classmate lived there, whom he visited a couple of times. Therefore, we discussed this part of the city all the way and assumed what our new home might turn out to be.

– So this is the area of old dachas? – I asked my brother.

– Yes, Pushkin was fatally wounded in a duel in those places, – he replied, – Who knows, maybe the windows of our house, I will go out just to this place!

– It can’t be! It was in the 19th century, the wooden house would not have stood so much, – I disagreed.

– There are many old houses there. You’ll see for yourself soon, – Alexei said, pointing ahead.

Indeed, it was an area of small wooden houses, comfortably located in blooming gardens and the shade of mighty forest parks. It seemed that this place was free from war and blockade. Birds were singing on the branches, locals were digging in the gardens, summer was making its way through the lively streets of the city.

One of these houses became our shelter for the next couple of months. It was a low two-storey house, slightly battered by time, but retaining some representativeness or rather attractiveness. Besides us, several other families lived in this house, so the check-in process was somewhat delayed. My father had to negotiate with the new neighbors for a long time and, referring to the permission, asked to vacate two rooms for us.

In the evening, mother and Masha also came. That’s when we started checking in the rooms and unpacking the remaining things. My parents moved into one room with the younger Sasha, and the three of us in the other. As our neighbors called it, the guest room.

All this time, moving furniture and putting things in order, my brother and I continued to argue about our house, Pushkin and the duel. By chance, my sister heard our argument, laughed and said:

– Actually, Lenin stayed in this house before leaving for Finland. It’s a shame! You should have known that!

Her words made a strong impression on Alexey and me and our arguments stopped. For the rest of the day, we silently helped to arrange the rooms. I returned to this thought again when everyone was settling down to sleep and the lights were out. Taking my place near the window, I lay all night and thought that I was sleeping exactly in the place where Lenin once stopped.