by C. S. Taylor
Alexandra was at my side. She held my right hand in her lap and massaged my palm and forearm. “Is this still helping?”
“Thankfully, yes,” I said. Though now each press of her thumb was like glass twisting in my arm, I knew once she finished, the rest of the day would be better, but I still wanted a syrette, even if most of my physical withdrawals were gone. I sucked in a breath, shut my eyes, and jumped off the cliff of uncertainty. “I need to tell you something,” I began. “Something only Klara knows and no one else, and something I should’ve brought up a long time ago.”
“You two fancy each other,” she said, not missing a beat. “I realize others might not like it, and it’s nothing I’d do, but I don’t care as long as you’re happy.”
The corners of my lips drew back. As good as it was to hear those words, she’d missed the mark and I forced myself not to take the easy out. “No, I’m talking about me using morphine.”
Alexandra stopped her massage. She cursed several times under her breath and dug her nail into my forearm. She did it to the side of the burns, so it wasn’t excruciating, but she made her point before she spoke. “You’re better than that, Nadya.”
“I was,” I said. “I want to be. That’s why I’m telling you now. I’ve stopped for over a week, I think, but God the cravings are driving me insane. Worse, the colder it gets, the harder it gets.”
“So, you’re asking me to keep an eye on you?”
I shook my head. “No. I’m telling you not to let me out of your sight. At least not until winter is over or I can ignore the pain.”
Alexandra tousled my hair and squeezed me tight. “Where you go, I go,” she said. “You know, if you’d told me sooner, I could’ve helped more. Papa taught me some other non-drug ways to help pain on top of massages. We could have been doing those too, you know, but I thought this was enough.”
Alexandra returned to working on my arm. “We should cut extra wood for the barrel today. That will help, especially at night.”
“You’re busy enough as it is.”
“If it means keeping you off that stuff, I’ll find the time.”
Her words warmed my soul, and I wondered what I’d done to deserve such a friend. “You’re too good to me.”
She looked at me playfully. “I am. Don’t forget that.”
“Have you thought about what you wanted?” I asked.
“For?”
“Keeping me alive that last dogfight.”
Alexandra gave a wishful sigh. “Ah. A Stradivarius would be nice.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You play the violin?”
“I’m no Mischa Elman, but I’m quite good, thank you. Is there something wrong with that?”
“On account of your singing, yes,” I said with a laugh. “How can you not hear how out of tune you are?”
“Maybe I don’t care,” she said, sticking her tongue out at me. “Anyway, what’s in that new sack of yours?”
She was in reference to the large, worn burlap sack I had placed at the foot of my bunk last evening. No one else had said anything about it, and I doubted the other girls even noticed. “Might be something for you.”
Alexandra grabbed the sack. The contents clanked as she dove into the bag like a child at Christmas. “Milk,” she said, pulling free a couple of bottles. She stuck her hand back in and pulled out two smaller bottles. “Wine? Wine!”
Her face was radiant, and I was thrilled such simple pleasures were not lost on her. The fresh milk wasn’t easy to come by, let alone good wine. I was proud of myself for piecing it all together so fast.
“There’s one more thing,” I said. I leaned over and rummaged under the bunk until I found a small box I had wrapped in butcher paper and tied off with twine and a fancy bow.
Alexandra’s eyes went wide. “Now this looks special. Did you chop a pig for me? Because nothing says special to a girl like hunks of bloody pork.”
I laughed. “No. It’s much sweeter than that.”
Carefully, Alexandra undid the knot and unwrapped the paper. Underneath were bars of chocolate, two kilos worth in all. “Chocolate?” she said as if I’d parted the Red Sea before her very eyes. “Nadya, you didn’t.”
“I did.”
“You shouldn’t have,” she said. “How?”
“A lot of barter over the past couple days,” I said. “And a lot of persistence.”
“This must have cost a fortune.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Maybe a small one.”
“Seriously, what did you give up?”
I laughed. “Manners not your forte anymore? Who told you it was all right to ask what gifts cost.”
“I can’t take all this,” she said, setting it all aside. “You’ve spent far too much. I mean, the wine alone must have been half your bonus pay.”
“Pretty much all that was left,” I said. When I saw the breath leave her, I added, “I’d already set some aside for after the war, so don’t act like you got it all. Besides, you’re more important to me than some stupid bundle of money. Now stop being insulting.”
“If you insist.” Alexandra delicately peeled back the paper to one of the chocolate bars and broke off a small piece and offered it to me. “You should have some.”
“I can’t. It’s yours.”
“Then it’s mine to give. I insist.”
When I balked, Alexandra gave an impish grin and held the chocolate over the oil drum.
“What are you doing?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she mashed the now warm and soft hunk of chocolate into my hand, leaving my palms and fingers covered in sticky sweetness. “Too late now.”
“You’re such a child,” I said, planning my retaliation. “I can’t believe you did that.”
“Believe it,” she said, biting into the bar. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Not stoop to your level.”
I popped the piece in my mouth and bided my time. My taste buds delighted in the sweet explosion of flavor. My mouth watered, and I breathed deep. God, this tiny morsel was a slice of heaven. After all of the bread, water, and salted mush we’d been eating day in and day out, I’d forgotten what good food was like. Then, like a snake striking its prey, I planted my left hand on Alexandra’s face and smeared chocolate over half of it.
Her jaw dropped, and she stared at me. I could see the little gears turning in her head trying to comprehend what had taken place. “Oh . . . you are so dead!”
I bolted out of the dugout before she could make good on her promise. I shielded my eyes from the morning sun. Snow-covered ground crunched under my feet. The sounds of her laughter as she gave chase struck a chord in my soul I’d never heard. This is who I was, who I wanted to be. Someone who gave laughter and fun, not death and misery.
I ran down the length of the airstrip. I could hear her gaining. Several onlookers watched the spectacle with mixes of amusement and confusion. “Don’t let her get me!” I yelled, but none came to my rescue.
“Nadya, look out!”
I rooted myself to the ground, nearly falling over as I did. I spun around at Alexandra’s sharp warning and caught a snowball in the face. The hit sent me stumbling backward, and I lost my footing. I fell on my rump, bracing myself with my right hand. A stab of pain shot up my arm, but I dug deep, pushed it aside, and vowed to defend my honor.
“That was dirty!” I said, brushing the frozen debris from my eyes.
“No, it was clean. I took it off the top,” she said. “This one is dirty.”
I rolled sideways, and a grey ball of slush impacted where I’d been a split second before. I tried to scoop up enough snow to return fire, but Alexandra was faster and more merciless than I could match.
“Do you yield?” she said, driving snowball after snowball into my side and head. Another one popped me in the mouth, and I ended up coughing and spitting. I hadn’t planned it, but Alexandra let up for a moment, clearly concerned she’d gone too far. “Oh no. Are you okay?”
&nb
sp; “I . . . I don’t know,” I said, crouching and breathing loudly. Predictably, she dropped her guard even more, and I packed a handful of icy slush and nailed her right between the eyes.
“You girls can play when your duties are done,” said a voice to the side.
I turned to find Zhenia walking by, dressed in her full flight suit and heading for her plane. “Yes, Mother,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Don’t you start, Nadya,” she said, holding up a finger. “I’ve got enough to do already for tonight’s exercises.”
“You’re such a killjoy,” I said, dropping the half-formed snowball I had as Zhenia left.
Alexandra came to my side and leaned her shoulder against mine. “I really, really don’t want to chop wood.”
“Or re-write all the post-op reports from last week,” I said with a heavy sigh. “Did you have to be such a klutz and spill Gridnev’s tea on them?”
“Fate seemed to think so.”
“Do you want to go to the bathhouse after?” I asked, thinking a trip to the banya sounded divine. “We haven’t used our time this month.”
“I’d like that,” she said. “There’s one other thing I have to do first, though.”
“What’s that?”
“This,” she said, smashing a handful of snow into my face.
* * *
We still had a couple of hours of daylight left by the time we finished everything needing to be done. We would’ve had more had the second round of our snowball fight not lasted so long. Rounds three and four didn’t help either, especially when we were supposed to be chopping wood. Pounding slush was exponentially more fun than hacking away at the trees, and my cramping hand made me take breaks from work, and those breaks turned to good excuses to pelt Alexandra in the face with a ball of ice. Despite the cheery nature of our fights, in the back of my mind, melancholy thoughts of all the fallen girls who could no longer enjoy such things lingered.
With all our mundane tasks behind us, we made for town, frigid, exhausted, and thoroughly looking forward to a good steam. I hummed along the way to keep my mind from my aching palm, and it wasn’t long before we passed through the banya’s imposing wood door and into its sitting room.
Alexandra and I put our clothes and towels on one of the high-back chairs and left our boots on the stone floor before entering the steam room. As we did, we passed by a local woman, with twenty years and at least as many kilos on us both who left without a word.
Birch panels lined the steam room’s walls, and moisture clung to all of them. At the far end was a small window looking out over the Volga River. I only knew because of my sense of direction. The glass pane was fogged and only let in a blur of hazy light.
“It was kind of her to have it ready for us, don’t you think?” Alexandra said. She sat on one of the benches and began using a nearby cloth and bucket to wash off. “When I’m rich and famous, I think I’ll like getting use to that. I wonder what it costs to have a maid tend to me all day.”
“What are you going to make your fortune from? Cheating at snow fights?” I said, laughing. “Besides, I thought your family was already rich.”
“Just because our bread isn’t moldy doesn’t mean we’ve got hoards of gold,” she replied.
I took to another bench and started cleaning. At first, I shut my eyes and enjoyed the hot cloth gliding across my skin, taking with it equal amounts of grime and stress. I ran it time and again over my face and down my neck, shoulders, and arms.
“Can’t believe you’re ahead of me in kills,” Alexandra said. “Well, I can, but I’m jealous you’re going to make ace before I do.”
“What makes you say that? We both have two.”
“Kazarinova robbed you of your first,” she replied. “You should be at three, not counting the one you gave to Valeriia, which would be four. Face it Nadya, you’ll score three more before I do and become famous.”
“I don’t want to be famous.”
Alexandra straightened and raised her eyebrows. “Surely you jest. Who wouldn’t want to be an ace?”
“I’m not kidding,” I said. “I’ve been thinking since we lost Tania. I don’t want my life to be measured by how many people I’ve butchered.”
“They’re the enemy,” Alexandra said. “They deserve to be shot. They invaded us, remember?”
“I know,” I said. “I’m not saying they aren’t or they haven’t. What I’m saying is at this point I do what I do because that’s my job, because it’s necessary. I don’t want it applauded, no matter how boring that makes me.”
Alexandra laughed. “You’re crazy and hardly boring. You’re a damn fighter pilot, Nadya. It doesn’t get any more exciting than that. Besides, how long did you dream of your first kill?”
“A long time, but that’s changed now,” I said.
“Well, I’ll be wing leader then, and you can watch my tail so I can make ace first,” she said. “Seems like a win-win to me. Yes?”
“Sure, why not?” I paused the conversation as I worked the washcloth between my fingers. The dirt there was stubborn, and it took some effort to clean under my nails as well. When I was finished, I looked at the scars on my palms. It had been a while since I’d studied them. The spots on my hands and arms were dark and shiny, and looked as if I had some old plaster stuck to my skin that would never come off. There were still faint traces of burns on my leg and neck I could feel, and though they were not as visible, they were as much of a testament to what I’d gone through as the more severe ones.
“Silly, isn’t it?” I said with a snort as I continued inspecting my skin.
“Me wanting to be wing leader?”
“No. These scars. I let them have so much power over me, and they hardly cover any of my skin.”
Alexandra laughed. “I suppose it’s a good thing you weren’t totally covered then. Think how much under their spell you’d be then.”
“I’m being serious,” I said, feeling put off. “Why do we let such small portions of our lives define us?”
“A lot can happen in a moment. A birth. A death. A first kiss or a broken heart. It makes sense those things would shape us.”
“I think I’ve been shaped more when nothing happens.”
I wondered if Alexandra would know what I was in reference to, but like the good wingman she was, she followed me close, not missing a beat. “Unanswered prayers.”
“I don’t even want things to be my way anymore,” I said, feeling my gut tighten. “All I want is to understand why the world is so broken, why He’s not fixing it when He’s supposed to be able.”
“Maybe He can’t tell you.”
I tilted my head sideways. “What do you mean? You’re telling me He can’t open His mouth and speak? He supposedly spoke with other people.”
“I’m saying maybe you wouldn’t understand,” she replied. Before I could argue, she went on. “A few years before the war, my baby brother had his first teeth come in. Naturally, we brushed them, and he screamed bloody murder the entire time. He looked at us in terror as we held him down as best as we could and brushed his teeth. As much as we wanted to tell him why we were ‘torturing’ him, we couldn’t, because he’d never understand. But we weren’t going to stop because he hated it.”
Her unexpected insight struck a chord in me I’d never heard before, and the idea of not having answers, not knowing why, became far less scary. “It’s weird to hear you talk about such things, being atheist.”
Alexandra shrugged. “I’ve been trying to come up with an answer for your not-so-silent midnight prayers for a while now. I figured if this life isn’t the only life, if there’s eternity to consider, who can say what’s good or bad when we’ve got such a small view of things? Hell, if anything, dying is going home. That can’t be all bad.”
“I never thought about it like that,” I admitted. “Still, I worry. I lied. I stole. What if He’s silent because I’ve done such things?”
Alexandra didn’t say anything for a while, and fo
r that, I was glad. The last thing I wanted was an off-the-cuff answer, one born from unease and not deep thought. “In the end, I think, if God is God, He’d understand the pain you were in and why you did what you thought you had to. If He doesn’t understand it, well, He’s not God, is He?”
Her words warmed my heart far more than the steam room ever could. I reclined on the bench and stared at the ceiling. “Keep it up and you’ll be an abbess before you’re thirty,” I said with a laugh.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Nadya,” she said. “I’m not pious, nor do I intend to be. The first chance I get, I’m ravishing my fiancé so hard it would take a week for them to hear the entire confession.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
On the morning of November fifth, I lay on my mattress, staring at the frozen bunk ceiling, trapped in the land of exhaustion. Winter had been cruel all night, despite the wood burnt in the oil drum, and my wounds had kept sleep at bay for nine hours now. I could barely think. Worse, I was slated for an escort soon, and I was certain it would take a tiny miracle for me not to fall asleep and crash on takeoff.
For the third time in the last hour, I wondered if I and the rest of the squadron would be better off if I handed in my wings, but I still feared Petrov would pounce on me the moment I did. He was still around and asking questions, even talking sweet to Klara, and each day I wondered if that would be the day he would strike.
I massaged my arm as best I could, trying to remember what Alexandra had taught me as I shut my eyes. I slowed my breathing, imagined a warm summer day filled with laughter and friends, imagined my body letting the pain go. It worked, slowly, but not as well as the morphine did. Probably a good thing, I thought, that Klara had taken the box and I hadn’t any.
My eyes snapped opened. In a panic, I rolled to my left and slipped my hand between the mattress and the earthen wall, feeling around for the tear. It didn’t take long to find it, and even less to probe the hay and pull out the syrette I’d stashed there long ago. I had one left. God . . . I had one left.
I turned it over several times, studying its small body and pointed tip. I could fly, if I wanted, free of misery, but also free of friends and self-respect. My gut tightened. I hurried over to the oil drum and tossed it in. “Burn in hell.”