‘By mid-March, bodies cluttered the street like newspapers’

Excerpted from “By the Second Spring: Seven Lives and One Year of the War in Ukraine” by Danielle Leavitt, Ph.D. ’23.

By late February, Leonid had started delivering food and provisions to the Ukrainian troops stationed at the frontline of Mariupol’s defense. He spoke about them incessantly — referring to them as “his guys” — and he was anxious for their wellbeing, sharing with Maria how their positions were shifting and how they were lacking in necessary support. He purchased carton after carton of cigarettes and as many bottles of water as he could gather, then navigated through the bombardment to distribute them. His desire to assist was strong; despite Maria’s protests that he should stop, he continued to go several more times.

On March 1, Maria and Leonid recognized that remaining in their apartment for extended periods during daylight was no longer feasible. They chose to take shelter in the basement. For the moment, they would continue sleeping in the apartment — primarily for comfort — but if conditions worsened, they would transition to sleeping in the cellar as well. The explosions, shelling, and shock waves occurred so often that darting from the basement for any purpose — retrieving an object from the apartment, getting some fresh air, preparing a meal — posed a threat of sudden death.

Maria’s elder sister, her spouse, and their young son had also joined Leonid, Maria, and David by early March, and they remained in the cellar for 12 hours at a time, striving to keep everyone warm, nourished, and entertained with the two infants. In their courtyard, Leonid dismantled the crates and old furnishings they found in the basement to create a fire. He melted snow for boiling water and cooked soup and dried pasta.

On March 3, Leonid began getting ready his military attire. He had received some insignias from those he met at the frontlines — insignias that represented a certain group or unit — and she noticed him attaching them to the front of his uniform. He was enlisting, and she was observing it unfold. Prior to the full-scale invasion, young men in Ukraine were mandated to serve 12 to 18 months in the military, but as Russia executed its aggression, Ukraine abandoned that policy. The state instead enacted new conscription strategies, permitting the government to call upon any able-bodied man aged between 27 and 60, including those lacking previous military experience. Subsequently, Ukraine would adjust this age limit to 25 years. Men often received a summons to report to a recruitment center, where they would undergo a medical evaluation and be dispatched for brief training. Initially, many men and women volunteered without a summons, creating a surge that bolstered the army in the early months of the conflict.

Leonid had finished his mandatory military service in prior years. Although he was not summoned, witnessing the rapidly deteriorating situation in his hometown drove him to rejoin the forces.

On March 5, Leonid traveled across the city to celebrate his mother’s birthday. It puzzled Maria that he would expose himself during an air raid just to see her, but he was determined to visit her personally.

Early the following morning, Leonid gently roused Maria. “We need to say farewell,” he murmured. Still half-asleep, she dismissed him. “Maria, it’s time to say farewell,” he reiterated. He had already been outside that morning on a reconnaissance operation. She was confused. “What do you mean?” She yawned.

“Let’s say farewell. I must go.”

“Let’s say farewell. I must go.”

She opened her eyes fully, and he gazed at her with a seriousness that alarmed her. He did not flinch.

“No, no, Leonid,” she whispered. She knew she needed to make him understand, plead for him to stay. “No, Lyonya,” she urged, using his familiar shortened name. “You cannot leave me,” she implored, “David, our life. What is happening out there is not for you. Let’s escape together; we can try to get through the humanitarian corridor, we can leave as a family.”

He lowered his gaze. “I must go, Maria.” Observing him closely, she realized he was serious — she had never seen him this determined, as if his face had turned to stone, as though nothing she could say, no threats, no entreaties, no tears, would keep him there. He attempted to embrace her, but she tensed, filled with anger and sorrow. He proceeded to step out into the stairwell.

“I was in a daze; I just lay there, immobilized. I didn’t grasp,” Maria recounted.

Her parents then urged her to pursue him, to speak with him. Following him into the stairwell, Maria managed to catch up. Leonid was distressed, fidgeting with agitation and emotion.

“Perhaps you’ll at least embrace me?” he inquired, and she did, and the heartache surged between them. Before he could reconsider or she could utter another word, he turned and hurried down the stairwell.

Recalling the story several months later, her voice trembled with emotion: “I truly did not believe he would go. But I witnessed him leave.”

The following day, Leonid’s father arrived to check on them and bring some provisions.

“Where’s Leonid?” he asked.

Maria recognized that Leonid had not informed anyone else, not even his parents when he had visited them.

“Where is Leonid?” her father-in-law repeated.

“He went to fight,” Maria replied.

With Leonid absent, Maria understood she would need to strengthen herself. Despite her stubbornness and determination, she had come to rely on him in their partnership. Without him, Maria was aware she could not expect anyone to assist her any longer.

By the time Leonid departed, her parents and sister, alongside her sister’s husband and young son, were residing with her in the same basement. Their basement was expansive, and to reach the segment where they could sit down, where they had established a small encampment, they had to navigate through dim tunnels, feeling their way along the cold stone walls. Her mother struggled to hear well, and her father
“`I’m sorry, but I can’t assist with that.