by Kelli Stuart
“Psst … Luda! Are you awake?”
I quickly pull my hand away from my stomach as though I’ve been caught. I turn to look down at Katya who has insisted on sleeping on the floor next to me since I arrived two months ago.
“Da,” I reply.
“Papa and Oleg said today that they might have an assignment that I can be a part of!” Despite the fact that smiles don’t come easily these days, I feel a small grin take hold of my mouth. Katya’s glee is contagious.
Alexei and a group of local men have begun what they’re calling the Night Wolves. It’s an underground partisan group determined to thwart the Germans’ efforts. Their operations are dangerous, risky, and designed for the brave of heart.
Every night for the past several weeks, Katya has begged her father to let her join one of the operations, but he remained firm in his refusal. I know it’s because of me. He watches me closely, his eyes trained on my every movement, and I see that he cares about me. I find this unnerving.
Now, it seems, Alexei has found a project that Katya can join, and I’m happy for her. But I’m also frightened. I don’t want her near the vultures, either.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she answers. “He has a meeting tomorrow with the Night Wolves about ways to shake up the Germans. They were able to stop the supply train coming in to town last week with explosives, Papa said. It’s not going to stop the Nazis, but Papa says that’s not the point.”
“What’s the purpose for their resistance, then?” I ask. I roll over on my side to look more closely at my animated friend.
“Oleg told me that we just want the Nazis to know they aren’t going to get our city without a fight.”
I bend my arm and rest my head on my hand. I admire Alexei and Oleg and their bravery. It’s so unlike the cowardice that I knew in my own father.
“Speaking of Oleg,” Katya says, turning to face me now. “You know he’s in love with you, right?”
For a moment I feel my heart drop and a familiar wave of nausea sweeps over me. Yes, I do know this and it terrifies me. Why does he love me? Why would he want me? Sometimes he looks at me with such a deep longing in his eyes that I feel physically sick. I avoid his gaze and work to keep my time with him limited to short conversations when others are in the room. It’s not that I don’t want to love him, because I wish that I could. But it doesn’t feel right or real with him. At this moment, I don’t know how to return the loving gaze of a man when I’ve only ever felt the contempt of one. I don’t think there’s anything left inside of me. Not for Oleg. He is too good and too pure. I’m not worthy of him. But I can’t say any of this to Katya. So I merely nod.
“How do you feel about him?” she asks, her voice spirited and happy. She doesn’t understand. To her, love is still fun and innocent and magical. But to me, love is pain. Love is sweat and groaning and awful. Love isn’t innocent. Though we’re the same age, I feel old lying next to Katya.
Instinctively I reach for my abdomen. “I think your brother is a good man,” I say to Katya, and I can practically hear her eyes roll. She flops back down and stares up at the ceiling, quiet for a moment.
“He could make you happy again, Luda,” she murmurs. I don’t answer because the truth is, I don’t know what happiness is.
The night is long and sleep difficult. The images that spin in my head these days are muddied. I see the church and my father, all warped and twisted. The vision of my mother, once so strong and bright, is now misty, clouded. Her melody is both sad and sinister.
In my dreams, I hear the sounds from that awful day, and I can see my fear. It’s a black fog that moves in and out of the pictures in my mind. But every time I hold my hand on my stomach, the fog dissipates. It’s only then that I see a glimmer of light.
When I enter the kitchen the next morning, I see Katya and Alexei sitting at the narrow table with Oleg standing behind his father. I avoid his gaze and look to Baba Mysa who is standing over the counter, slicing bread and cheese for our breakfast.
“So please tell me how I get to be a part in an operation, Papa! Tell me now, please!” Katya begs. She sounds like a child asking for a gift. Alexei takes a deep breath and leans closer to his daughter. She narrows her eyes and looks back at him over her delicate nose dotted with fine freckles.
“We want to begin a little psychological warfare with the boys,” Alexei says. He always refers to the Nazis as boys. It’s his way of showing his disdain and disrespect for them.
“How do we do that?” Katya asks.
Baba Mysa tuts softly over her loaf of bread, clearly unhappy with her son’s decision to let Katya in on the action.
“We’ll play a bit of a joke on them,” he replies with a grin. “We will make them look and feel foolish because that is what they are—fools.”
Katya grins and slaps her hand on the table, clearly relishing the thought of her role in this. “So tell me what to do. I’m ready!” she cries.
I listen closely as Alexei lays out the plan. “You’ll go to the outdoor market tomorrow afternoon to buy vegetables. Wear your nicest dress, and make sure you look your finest. The plan is to lure some of the German boys back to the safe house.”
The safe house is a small, abandoned flat where the Night Wolves meet to strategize and plan their movements against the Germans. Alexei continues. “When you get the boys alone—and I want you to bring no more than two of them—prepare and offer tea. You want them to think they’re going to get something from you, and your job is to make sure they let down their guard.”
Katya flushes at the frank nature of what her father is asking of her. I do too. I turn once again to Baba Mysa, who lays our feast out on a long platter. I can hear her muttering under her breath and have the distinct impression that very few people have ever truly crossed her in life.
“When the boys are relaxed, you will excuse yourself for a moment and go to the door where they will have left their jackets and shoes. If all goes according to plan, they will also leave their guns. I want you to take their things and run as fast as you can to the library, where we will meet you.”
Baba Mysa slams the tray on the table. “Durak,” she barks. Fool.
“Mama,” Alexei says sharply. Baba Mysa narrows her eyes at her son, and I hold my breath for the showdown. I’m not sure why anyone would willingly defy Baba Mysa.
“This is a foolish plan,” she huffs. “You put your daughter in danger for a joke. Foolish!” She throws her small hands up in the air in disgust. She stares at her son long and hard as the rest of us wait.
It’s Katya who breaks the silence. “I can do this, Baba,” she says confidently.
Without thinking, I speak. “I can do it, too,” I say. “I’ll join Katya.”
They all turn in surprise, and Alexei clears his throat. “Luda,” he begins, “this requires close contact with Germans. I can’t promise safety.”
Though my heart twists, I stand my ground. I don’t know why I feel a burst of courage or a desire to take part, but I don’t want to back out.
“I can do it,” I say, stronger this time. I look at Katya, who has plastered on a forced smile. It dawns on me that she may have wanted to do this on her own. This was her way to gain her father’s approval. What I don’t understand is why she doesn’t see that she already has his approval.
Oleg turns to his father and speaks softly. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Papa.”
“Why?” I challenge, for the first time looking him in the eye.
Taking a step toward me, Oleg’s words drip with tenderness. “Because you’re not ready, Luda.”
“I’m not incapable,” I snap, feeling my face flush. “I can do this, and I will.”
Alexei nods. “Okay, Luda. You can do this with Katya. Oleg will be following close behind, staying in the shadows. If at any moment you need to retreat, you do so. Am I understood?” I nod my head. Alexei motions to the breakfast plate, signaling the end of the conversation. Baba Mysa turns with a h
uff and points at me. “You,” she barks. “Come with me.”
I follow her out of the kitchen and into the tiny bedroom, where she closes the door behind us. I turn and wait for her to unleash her fury. Instead, I find she is looking at me intently. Not knowing what she wants of me, I wait.
“You’re pregnant,” she says. I gasp. My hands clutch my abdomen self-consciously, and I wonder how she knew. Is it that obvious?
“No one else knows,” she says a little more gently. “But I know these things.”
“Please don’t tell anyone,” I beg, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. “Please.”
She studies me harder, her eyes searching mine, then drifting to my midsection where my skirt grows tighter. She crosses her arms with a sigh and turns toward the chest of drawers against the wall.
“Nobody listens to the old lady around here,” she grumbles. “Everyone just runs after foolishness and wants the old lady to sit around with her head in the sand and let it all happen …” Baba Mysa continues to mumble as she pulls out a small sewing kit and motions me to take off my skirt. I hesitate, and she bristles. Tossing me a blanket to wrap around myself, she turns around as I quickly undress and give her my skirt.
In minutes Baba Mysa has let out the buttons of my skirt so I have more room for my expanding waist.
“This will last for a little while,” she says after I’m redressed, “but you won’t be able to hide this much longer. I won’t tell, but soon you will have to.”
I nod and leave the room. As I turn to close the door, I have an impulse I’ve never had before. I rush back in and wrap Baba Mysa in a hug. It’s the first time in my life I have willingly hugged someone.
“Thank you,” I whisper. Baba Mysa hugs me back.
The next morning, Katya wakes me up full of energy and excitement. I, however, am filled with dread. As I stare at my reflection in the small mirror over the bathroom sink, I briefly consider backing out, but something urges me to press forward. Some inner desire that I can’t point to compels me to join. I want Alexei to be proud of me. I want to conquer fear. I want to exact some kind of revenge.
I want to feel alive.
The plan is to wait until late afternoon to go to the marketplace. By then the German commanders are more likely to have retired for the day, and all that should be left are the young, foolish revelers who wander the parks and the streets jovially, as if this war were reason for party and celebration.
Alexei leaves after breakfast for work. He still has employment at a local grain supply store where he sorts and stacks sacks of grain and wheat. “Supplies are getting smaller and smaller each day,” I heard him whisper to Baba Mysa a few days ago. “My job will soon be eliminated. We’re going to have to figure out a way to earn more funds.”
Baba Mysa is a beautiful seamstress. Before the war, she made quite a sum sewing dresses for women all over the Soviet Union. Parcels of fabric arrived for her with notes on measurements and desired style. But since the bombings began, no parcels have arrived. I see how this affects Baba Mysa, and I wish there were a way I could contribute to this family rather than simply becoming one more mouth for them to feed.
I know, of course, what affects Alexei most is the fact the Oleg, at sixteen, could be taken at any moment. For now, Oleg is employed at the local bread warehouse, but his age leaves him vulnerable to leaving for war or, worse, to attacks by the Germans. The situation is tenuous, and we all feel the pressure of the years that loom ahead, shrouded in a veil of doubt and danger.
At four o’clock, Katya and I walk out onto the street. Oleg follows behind us at a distance, and despite my resistance to his affections, I’m relieved to know he’s close.
“You ready?” Katya says, her eyes glassy and bright. She is wearing her best dress and has her hair pulled up in such an elaborate braid I wonder how she will possibly undo it later. I also wonder how Katya learned to be so feminine when she, too, lost her mother as a baby. Katya knows how her mother died. There are pictures and stories of her mother told almost daily. Is the simple knowledge of a mother all it takes to become a true woman? Next to Katya, I feel plain and unsure of my actions.
We walk in silence the short distance to the market where only a handful of stands remain open. Despite the Germans’ strict restrictions on our freedoms, they insist that the farmers and sellers keep their food stands open during the day. They need food, and my people must provide it for them. Most don’t pay for what they take, though I have heard rumors that some do. I often wonder who they are and why they do that.
I’ve heard stories of food being rationed throughout much of our country. Alexei told us last night that the time is soon upon us when we’ll have to wait in lines with meager ration cards to be given a parcel of food. But for now it seems our town is still able to sell goods to whoever has the funds to purchase them. With Alexei and Oleg both currently employed, the family has not yet run into a serious problem with money.
When we reach the first fruit stand, an older woman looks at us suspiciously. “Why are you girls here?” she asks roughly. “It isn’t safe. Go home.”
“We need bananas,” Katya answers defiantly. “And apples and three kiwi.” The woman glares as she gathers the requested items. While she waits, Katya goes to work. Looking over her shoulder she immediately catches the eye of two German soldiers standing close by. Nudging me in the ribs, she nods her head, and I turn to look as well. I’m relieved to find that neither of them looks familiar, though I’m not sure I could identify my attackers from months ago.
“Smile at them, Luda,” Katya says without moving her lips. She grins and waves, then giggles when one of the boys waves back. I marvel at her confidence and try to force a smile, which I’m certain doesn’t succeed.
The other man stares back at me intently, so much so that I quickly lower my eyes. He’s handsome—tall and blond, with a square jaw and sharp features. I suddenly feel very sick and the ground begins to spin underneath me.
“Luda, if you can’t handle this, leave,” Katya hisses. She turns and takes the fruit from the seller, who now looks at us with severity. “You girls get out of here,” she snarls. “Those boys aren’t here to play.”
If only she knew …
Katya tosses her head with a sniff, turning toward the Germans. “I’m going to talk to them,” she says. I hear a hint of fear in her voice, and all reason inside me screams to stop, but I’m compelled to follow if for no other reason than that I cannot abandon my friend.
We reach the boys, the tall handsome one still staring at me. The other boy grins at Katya. I recognize immediately the look in his eyes. I’ve seen that look before.
Katya holds up an apple and offers it to the German standing next to her. She raises her eyebrow seductively as he takes it.
“Spaseeba.” He thanks her with a smirk. Katya takes a few steps away, with me hurrying to stay by her side. She then turns and gestures at the soldiers to follow, and like two lost puppies, they do. The one with the apple quickly falls into step next to Katya, and I can see she has played her part well. His entire countenance screams desire.
I, however, walk awkwardly behind the two with the second German close on my heels. I don’t look at him, and he doesn’t attempt to engage me. But I know he’s studying me closely. I can feel it.
When we reach the safe house, Katya quickly unlocks the door and gestures to the boys to leave their shoes and coats. “I’ll make chai,” she murmurs. They both nod. Katya looks at me with raised eyebrows. She wants me to make sure they leave behind their guns and get seated comfortably away from the door. A brief moment of panic sets in, and I hope that Oleg is still standing close by.
I turn awkwardly to the men, apple boy looking hungrily after Katya’s retreating figure. I point to the hooks on the wall and then to their jackets, drawing my breath in sharply as they remove their thick black belts and lay them on the bench, their guns glinting in the orange light. The tall, handsome man looks over at me and nods his head
politely. I find myself momentarily stunned by the kindness that’s evident on his face. His eyes are soft, and his mouth relaxed. I don’t feel scrutinized or judged or … wanted. He quickly removes his coat and lays it on top of his gun, hiding the weapon that clearly frightens me. He then turns to me with a slight smile. I feel my head cock to the side in wonderment. This man is different.
I lead the two men into the sitting room and excuse myself to the kitchen to help Katya lay the cookies on the tray and fill the samovar with bubbling hot black tea. Our hands shake as we set out the cups. We don’t speak but simply work as swiftly as possible. Moments later, we return to the room, where the men are in the middle of what seems to be a heated discussion. They stop when we come in and watch as we set the small table before them. Katya continues to flirt mercilessly, and were I not so terrified, I would find it comical.
It’s quickly apparent that real discussion is impossible with the language barrier, though I get the impression that the tall man with the deep eyes knows more than he lets on. After five minutes of giggling and grazing hands with apple boy, Katya leaps up from the table.
“Sugar!” she cries out. “I forgot sugar.”
She looks at me intently, signaling the time to move. She crosses through the foyer to the kitchen. I know I need to distract the men so that she can move back across the hallway to the front door and grab the necessary items without them seeing her. Dropping my spoon, I knock over my cup of tea causing both men to react and reach to mop up my mess. Hoping that was enough, I jump up and tell the men I’ll go look for more napkins. They return blank stares as I rush from the table.
My heart racing, I run into the kitchen and find it empty. Katya has succeeded. She accomplished her mission. I peek out into the foyer and see the tall soldier’s jacket, belt and shoes. I need to cross the threshold of the door without the men seeing me. Suddenly I feel sick with fear as I realize I’m trapped alone with two Nazi soldiers.
Leaning over and looking in the sitting room, I see both men still on the floor cleaning up the tea I spilled. In one swift move, I dash to the soldier’s clothing and scoop it up. In my panic, I fling open the door with such force that it bangs against the wall. Both men freeze. I have seconds to react.