Siege and the Fate of Things, Part I

The city is dead. There is no electricity, no trams. Warm rooms are rare. No water. Almost the only form of transport is sleds, carrying corpses in plain coffins, covered with rags or half clothed. Daily six to eight thousand die. The city is dying as it has lived for the last half year -- clenching its teeth. ~Nikolai Markevich, Diary, 24 January 1942 

The Blockade of Leningrad was the most lethal siege in the history of the world, ever. For 872 days, the city hungered, from 8 September 1941 until 27 January 1944, during which time the Germans sat entrenched, encircling the city only miles from the historic center. They tossed bombs in its direction, prevented supplies from reaching the starved civilian population, and waited for capitulation. Hitler optimistically predicted the city would "drop like a leaf," and menus were printed for the gala celebration that was planned to take place in Leningrad's posh Astoria Hotel. Instead, civilians dropped like flies in an enclosed microcosm with virtually no food, no heat, no supplies. Hundreds of thousands of people died. But Leningrad never surrendered. 

Meanwhile, Lawyer Misha and Red Kirill take me along as they head out to the vast Ydelnaya Flea Market on the outskirts of the city. Despite the subzero temperatures, sellers are out in fairly large force, displaying their wares on tables or on blankets spread out on the snow.

Misha, broad and placid, places himself in front of a stack of records and methodically goes through them one by one, searching for his favorite bands. I tag after Kirill, who speeds along the packed snow, talking non-stop. "What is the fun of shopping in stores? How predictable! How boring! So much of the same thing! But here, it's an adventure. You never know what you will find. Just look at all these lost treasures from people's lives!"

Indeed, it's such a random assortment of various items, who can guess the stories behind all of these unpredictably diverse objects -- skates, books, plates, bottles, clothing, coins, electronics, dolls, lampshades, guitars, Lenin statues, $2.00 bills (selling for $4.00) -- and on and on it goes.  How did all these things land on blankets in the snow in this crazy flea market? How to account for the value of objects that have years of unknown history behind them?

"Oh," cries Kirill suddenly, "take a look." Lying on a blanket is a collection of battered remnants from World War II -- helmuts, grenades, shovels, canteens, bullets and so forth -- excavated by scouting adventurers who scour the land around Petersburg with metal detectors, looking for Blockade loot. Some of the rusty helmets have small, round holes in them.  Kirill actually becomes pensively quiet for a few moments, shakes his head and mutters, "Bullets..."  

These soldiers would be dead by now anyway -- after all, the war ended almost seventy years ago -- but the thought of life suddenly snuffed out by random bullets puts a damper on the enthusiasm of the moment. What might those soldiers, returned to civilian life, have accomplished -- or also suffered --  in the long years that were taken from them? The helmets stand as a silent monument to those hapless losers of an old brutal game of roulette.

May the losers of the game also rest in peace.