The World Shrinks To A Basement In Ukraine For World War II Survivor And Grandmother

Maria Nikolaevna reads a magazine amid the hanging blankets that surround her sleeping area in a Kharkiv cellar.

After surviving the devastation of World War II, Nikolaevna lived a busy and fulfilling life raising two children and working as an engineer in the Soviet aerospace industry.

Once she grew older and her husband passed away, Nikolaevna's world narrowed to the confines of a second-floor apartment with views of children playing on the swings and visits from her daughter, who lived nearby.

When war broke out earlier this year and bombs struck her building, Nikolaevna's world shrank further to the confines of this dark, damp cellar.

The miseries of war are not new to Maria. During the Nazi occupation of Ukraine during World War II, her family was forced to house a German officer when she was a young girl.

The man she would eventually marry had fought in that war. Among the reminders of her family's role in Soviet history are his military decorations.

Despite being from the same village in the Poltava region, Nikolaevna and her husband first met after the war in the nearby city of Kharkiv, where they attended night school, shared a desk, and fell in love.

She had a career as an engineer at Kharkiv's state-owned FED factory that made aerospace parts. "Because she is a person of the Soviet era and she worked like a Soviet person, she received the maximum amount of money as an engineer," her daughter Natalya said.

As her memory fades, Nikolaevna occupies her time perusing dog-eared magazines, rearranging her husband's medals, and reading commendations like this one, which was written to her husband to express appreciation for his participation in the Soviet Union's victory in its brief war with Japan at the end of World War II. These are a handful of the priceless keepsakes from her previous life before being forced to move underground.

Nikolaevna has been living underground with Natalya, son-in-law Fedor, and the family cat, Kisiau, for the past four months.
 

Her only glimpse of natural light and fresh air is when she sits at the foot of the stairs that lead up to the shattered street outside.

Kharkiv, the second-largest city in Ukraine, repelled a Russian assault that reached its outskirts earlier in the war. Since then its residents have been subjected to a punishing and unrelenting artillery bombardment by Russian forces that can maim or kill at any time.

With both of their homes uninhabitable, Nikolaevna and Natalya live in limbo in the cellar of a friend's apartment block.
 

Nikolaevna suffers from mobility problems, progressive memory loss, and confusion that has worsened since the attack on her home.

"She has forgotten what the city looks like. She is confused and does not know where to go, what to do, how to lie down, how to sleep, how to hide," Natalya, 58, told Reuters. "She does not hear well, so we have to write things down. It was very difficult -- still is difficult -- but we have found a way."

Natalya's home was in one of the most heavily bombarded areas of Kharkiv, and she believed her mother would be safer staying in the suburb where she lived. She arranged for neighbors to bring food to Nikolaevna and check in on her.

One night though, a neighbor called to say there had been an explosion nearby and the power had been cut. Natalya managed to reach her mother, who was in tears as she dressed herself in her pitch-black apartment.

Fedor found a taxi driver willing to cross the besieged city to retrieve Nikolaevna and the few belongings they could grab.

"The taxi driver picked her up, carried her downstairs, and very quickly rushed through the city to bring her to safety," said Natalya. "She can no longer live without us because this has affected her health."

Nikolaevna's "bedroom" consists of three blankets acting as walls and a mattress laid on wooden pallets, lit by a single lightbulb from above.

Bundled in a fleece and thick-collared jacket against the subterranean chill, she lives for WhatsApp calls from her granddaughter, Masha, 31, who lives in New York.

In one call, Nikolaevna asked her bemused granddaughter if there was also shooting where she lives. Laughing, Natalya interjected: "No, Mom, it's good there; it's warm and quiet. [Masha] wants to bring us all there." Nikolaevna beamed and kissed the mobile phone's screen.

Nikolaevna talks to the cat who lives with the family in the cellar. 

Natalya carries the family cat downstairs past graffiti that reads "Lord, help us" to their cellar.

Regarding the future, the family has no answers, only questions, said 62-year-old Fedor.

"When will this war end? And on whom does it depend? On politicians? On us? On the military? Because it is unacceptable in our time, it is savagery that my mother-in-law and other old people who are 95 or 97 years old should end their lives in such conditions. The sooner it ends, the better."