Sapphire Skies

by Belinda Alexandra

  ‘Listen, the NKVD has executed Natalya Azarova,’ the peasant told me. ‘There are Russian spies operating all over the enemy territory. You can’t trust anybody. Her body wasn’t there when I checked this morning. They must have come back and removed her, or the Germans found her.’

  When I realised that Natasha was dead, and that she had been murdered by the Soviet government, my strength drained away. I knew why the NKVD had killed her. Someone had found out that her father had been executed as an enemy of the people. There were thousands of people with that record in the armed services but they weren’t famous fighter aces venerated by the Soviet people. Natasha had to be eliminated. When neither her body nor her plane were found, it was easy to discredit her by insinuating that she’d been a German spy.

  Oksana was staring at Svetlana open-mouthed. ‘But then what happened to you?’ she asked.

  Svetlana’s eyes filled with tears. Laika rested her head on her mistress’s knee as if to comfort her.

  ‘After Natasha’s death, I couldn’t return to my regiment,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t bear to work for the Soviet Air Force or to be a mechanic for another pilot. If I was going to be part of the war effort, then it was going to be for the people and not for the government. I stayed with the partisans and they gave me the identity of a village woman, Zinaida Glebovna Rusakova, who had died a few years earlier. I helped them by smuggling messages and repairing equipment. The Russians were advancing rapidly by now and the Germans were becoming even more ruthless. Our group was betrayed by a village spy. The leaders were hanged and I was arrested and sent to Auschwitz.’

  Auschwitz! In her mind, Lily saw skeletal figures, furnaces and piles of clothing. She didn’t have to ask what had happened to Svetlana there. She could only wonder how anyone survived the place.

  Oksana tightened her grip on Svetlana’s hand. ‘Thank you, dear woman, for sharing this very sad story with us. It’s been a draining day for you and I think you should rest. As Lily and I promised, we will keep your story to ourselves. Thank you for trusting us with it. I hope in some way it helps you to know that there are people who know the truth.’

  On the way home, Oksana and Lily stopped off at the building site in Zamoskvorechye to feed the colony cats.

  ‘Parts of Svetlana’s story don’t ring true,’ Oksana said to Lily when they got back in the car. ‘While it’s plausible the partisans helped her to find Natasha, it’s too much of a coincidence that she and the peasant discovered her at the moment the NKVD carried out its execution.’

  ‘I was thinking the same thing,’ said Lily. ‘But the pain in Svetlana’s voice was genuine. Something happened but maybe not the way she described.’

  Back in her apartment, Lily mulled over Svetlana’s story while cleaning the kitchen and sorting her washing. She noticed Laika watching her. ‘What about you?’ she asked, looking into the dog’s eyes. ‘Do you know something I don’t?’

  She was jolted back to reality by the telephone ringing. She picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Lily? It’s Luka. The hotel said you’d taken the day off so I thought I’d try you at home.’

  ‘I wanted to see the funeral of Natalya Azarova this morning. The book you lent me was fascinating.’

  ‘Well, that’s a coincidence,’ Luka said. ‘I told Yefim about your interest and he said he has some new information from the files. Would you like to join us for dinner? He lives in the Bogorodskoye district and I know a good Georgian restaurant there. I can pick you up.’

  Lily felt instantly alert. ‘What time?’

  As Lily and Luka entered the restaurant, Lily hoped Yefim would tell her something that she didn’t already know. She had finished his book in three nights. It was engagingly written, but Lily had heard the story from someone who had known Natasha personally. Could Yefim have found anything new in the Kremlin files? Was the government really so much more open these days?

  The restaurant’s interior was rustic with wooden tables and stone walls. Yefim was waiting for them in a booth in the corner. Lily took a liking to him straight away; with his smiling face, dishevelled hair, and the fleshy body of someone who spent a lot of time in libraries, he gave the impression of being intelligent yet approachable. Whether or not he could tell her anything new about Natalya Azarova, she sensed their conversation that evening would be interesting.

  ‘You speak Russian perfectly,’ Yefim said to Lily after Luka had introduced them and they’d made small talk about Australia and Russia. ‘I was worried I was going to have to struggle with my poor English.’

  ‘My parents are Russians who were born in China,’ Lily explained. ‘They went to Australia after the Communist takeover. I spoke English at school, of course, but at home we spoke Russian.’

  They ordered a Georgian salad, stuffed eggplants and red beans with coriander and garlic.

  ‘The khachos khinkali are very good here,’ Luka told them.

  Lily looked at the menu and saw that khachos khinkali were dumplings filled with ricotta and mint. ‘They must eat well in Georgia,’ she said. ‘That sounds delicious!’

  ‘Lily read your book about Natalya Azarova and watched the funeral on television today,’ Luka said to Yefim after the food arrived. ‘Did you discover anything new in the Kremlin files?’

  ‘Yes and no,’ replied Yefim, heaping some beans onto his plate. ‘The Soviets destroyed information as they pleased but the Kremlin archivist was helpful and I believe she handed me everything that was available on Natalya Azarova. She also gave me the file on her father, Stepan Azarov. The most intriguing thing was what I learned about Natalya Azarova’s mechanic during the war — Svetlana Novikova.’

  Lily’s heart skipped a beat.

  ‘And what was that?’ asked Luka, passing the eggplant dish around.

  ‘She and Azarova went to school together before the war. Their families knew each other.’

  Lily let out a breath and tried not to show her disappointment. She wasn’t at liberty to reveal anything she’d learned from Svetlana but there was a childish part of her that wanted to say, ‘I could have told you that!’

  Yefim took a sip of wine before continuing. ‘It was Novikova’s father who denounced Stepan Azarov to the NKVD. He accused Azarov of praising foreign countries and mocking the Soviet system of production. He even insinuated that Azarov was spying for France.’

  Time stood still for Lily. ‘Stepan Azarov was arrested because of Novikova’s father’s report?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, it gets worse than that,’ said Yefim. ‘After Azarov was arrested and his family was evicted from their apartment, Novikova’s family moved in. The apartment was a reward for Azarov’s denunciation. Natalya and her family had to live in communal housing.’

  Lily struggled to absorb the new information. Svetlana hadn’t said anything about that, but she had said that she had a dark secret: it was clear what that was now.

  ‘Yefim,’ Lily began, thinking about how to ask her question without giving away something that wasn’t in his book, ‘I imagine the relationship between a pilot and their mechanic is very close in a combat situation. Do you think Natalya Azarova ever found out what Novikova’s family had done?’

  Yefim shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I doubt it, don’t you? Could you be friends with someone whose family had destroyed yours?’

  For dessert, Yefim recommended walnut cake accompanied by fresh mint tea. Lily’s thoughts raced around in circles. What Svetlana’s parents had done cast a strange interpretation over everything Svetlana had said about her friendship with Natasha. It also highlighted the niggling doubt Lily had about whether the NKVD had really killed Natasha. Perhaps Yefim would know something about that.

  ‘It’s still a mystery who actually killed Natalya Azarova, isn’t it?’ she ventured. ‘Did you find anything in the files that told you more about her death?’

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘But I tend to agree with the Ministry of Defence’s conclusion that she was shot by the Germans.�
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  Again Lily was careful how she framed her next question. ‘Is it possible that Natalya Azarova was killed by the NKVD?’

  Yefim stared at her before breaking into a smile. ‘So you have read the article by Vladimir Zassoursky and his conspiracy theory? He claims that the three planes that chased Natalya Azarova into enemy territory were captured Messerschmitts flown by Russian agents.’

  The waitress set out their tea and cake slices on the table. Yefim waited for her to leave before adding, ‘In any other country that might be a laughable theory, but Russia has a history of bizarre political assassinations. Personally, however, I don’t believe that’s what happened in Natalya Azarova’s case.’

  ‘Why not?’ Luka asked.

  Yefim took a sip of tea. ‘There is no doubt that Azarova was being watched by the NKVD. But everyone was being watched by the NKVD in those days. Famous pilots like Natalya Azarova, Valery Chkalov and Alexander Pokryshkin were deified by the Soviet population. While that could be seen as a threat to Stalin, Natalya Azarova wasn’t so big a target that she’d be worth that kind of elaborate operation.’

  ‘Isn’t there a theory that Valery Chkalov was bumped off after displeasing Stalin? Also that Yuri Gagarin died after his plane was tampered with on the order of a jealous Leonid Brezhnev?’ asked Luka.

  Yefim grinned. ‘Yes, there are many conspiracy theories, but I think they stem from the idea that we don’t like to believe that our heroes sometimes make stupid mistakes. There were branches of the NKVD that were assigned “black work” that left no paper trails. But think about what a strategic operation it would have been to kill Natalya Azarova in combat. You’d have to train three Russian pilots to fly German planes and then send them into enemy territory. We now know from the eyewitness report that Natalya Azarova downed two of those planes before she bailed out herself. It would have been much easier to poison her soup.’

  Yefim and Luka shared a laugh. It was obvious that they enjoyed discussing the topic. But to Lily it had personal significance. She’d grown fond of Svetlana and now she wasn’t sure what to believe.

  ‘That third plane — what about that?’ Luka asked his friend. ‘Natalya Azarova was a prize target yet there are no military reports of a German pilot claiming the victory of downing her.’

  Yefim sat back and patted his stomach. ‘I guess that is why I am a boring academic and not a Hollywood director. I stick to the facts. The most plausible explanation of why that German pilot didn’t claim the victory is because he never made it back to his base. The day that Natalya Azarova went down was one of the worst days of the war — confusion and exhaustion reigned. While there is no report of a German pilot claiming victory over Natalya Azarova, there are three reports of German Messerschmitts being downed by friendly fire.’

  As Lily and Luka made their way to the car after saying goodbye to Yefim, Lily tried to sort out her thoughts. Why hadn’t Svetlana told them that her father had denounced Natasha’s father? Svetlana had hinted at a rift between herself and her mother. Maybe that was the cause of it and she hadn’t mentioned it because she felt guilty.

  Luka opened the car door for Lily, then went around and got into the driver’s seat. ‘You sure have been doing your research on Natalya Azarova!’ he said. ‘I’m impressed.’

  He turned the key in the ignition. ‘You should come on a dig with me next summer. You meet some great people: a lot of history buffs and some nutters too. You know the types — grown men who play with toy soldiers.’

  ‘If I’m here next summer, I might,’ Lily said. ‘I understand your interest in relic hunting much better now.’

  Luka glanced at her. ‘Are you thinking that you’ll go back to Australia before then?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I miss my parents and my friends. On the other hand, I’m not sure I’m ready to go back yet and my boss wants to extend my contract.’

  Luka pulled out into the traffic. ‘Oksana told me about your fiancé, Lily. I’m sorry. That must be hard.’

  They passed the Elektrozavodskaya metro station, which was next on the list of stations Lily wanted to visit. She wondered if she would forever associate the Moscow Metro with her solitary weekends.

  ‘I don’t seem to be making much progress with the grief,’ she confided in him. ‘I still wake up hoping that none of it ever happened and then I have to spend the rest of the day living with the fact that it did.’

  Luka reached over and touched her shoulder. ‘Don’t let anybody rush you or tell you what’s right or wrong to feel,’ he said. ‘I deal with many people who feel ashamed about grieving over their dog or cat. I tell them that the loss of an animal companion is as real as that of any family member or close friend, and to not let anyone belittle what they’re going through. In a way grief is beautiful.’

  Lily turned to him. ‘Grief is beautiful?’ She thought it was the most dreadful feeling possible. At best she viewed the world through a haze, and at worst everything looked black.

  ‘It means you’ve loved another with all your heart,’ Luka said. ‘What’s the use of being alive if you’ve never loved like that, not even once?’

  A sentiment like that would normally have reduced Lily to tears. But to her surprise instead of thinking about Adam she found herself thinking about Valentin Orlov. She remembered his stony face on the television. What a price he paid for loving Natalya Azarova.

  The next morning Lily went to tell Oksana what she’d learned from Yefim about Svetlana. From the meowing coming from inside Oksana’s apartment, she knew the cats were waiting for their breakfast.

  ‘You’re just in time to help,’ Oksana said, when she opened the door.

  The cats’ morning meal was a chicken and vegetable stew that Oksana cooked up on weekends and stored in the freezer. She warmed the defrosted stew on the stove, spooned it into wide bowls and mixed supplements into it.

  Lily placed the bowls on a tray and headed to the cats’ room, which was the largest in the apartment. She opened the door to see thirty expectant faces looking at her. To house so many cats and keep things in order, Oksana had arranged plastic chairs around the room, with a cushion on each seat and another underneath the legs so each chair served as a double-storey bed. Most of the cats Oksana rescued went up for adoption on the Moscow Animals website, but she kept the older ones or those who had lost an eye or an ear, as it was much harder to find them homes. The cats that knew the routine gathered around the door, nearly tripping Lily over, but the newer arrivals waited cautiously on their chairs and stared at her. The sight always made Lily laugh: it was like walking into an audience of felines waiting to be entertained.

  ‘Here we go, kitties,’ Lily said, placing the bowls on the floor.

  She checked the water dishes, and the litter trays, which were out on an enclosed balcony. The trays were children’s wading pools filled with pellets Oksana made herself by soaking and drying shredded paper. ‘If I feed them like clockwork they do their stools like clockwork,’ she’d told Lily. Oksana was scrupulously organised with her animals. None of the neighbours complained about her cats because there were never any bad smells or fleas.

  Lily looked around at the orderly room and the climbing ladders and platforms. Oksana had once said that caring well for thirty cats wasn’t much different from caring well for ten. Lily loved cats but she didn’t want to test that theory out.

  After the cats were fed, they returned to their cushions and groomed themselves. Lily and Oksana washed the bowls and saucepan then sat down for a cup of tea in the kitchen.

  ‘I met Luka’s friend Yefim last night,’ Lily told Oksana. ‘He said Svetlana’s father was responsible for the arrest of Natasha’s father. He denounced him.’

  Oksana gasped and put down her teacup. Lily could see that her friend was as stunned as she had been the night before. ‘Something’s certainly not right,’ Oksana said finally. ‘And I’ve been doing some investigating myself. After Svetlana told us that she’d taken the name of Zinaida
Rusakova, I asked a friend in the police department if there was an address for an elderly woman by that name in Moscow. He found one. Interestingly enough, she’s been reported by a neighbour as missing, though of course nobody has done anything further about it. We can go there now, if you like, and visit Svetlana afterwards. We’ll leave Laika in your apartment.’

  The address was for an apartment building in Kapotnya, near the oil refinery. Lily looked up at the five-storey building. It was made out of prefabricated concrete panels, like many buildings that had been hastily constructed during the housing shortage of the 1950s, and now stood dilapidated, with peeling paint and broken drainpipes. A rusted Lada, stripped of its wheels, sat in the courtyard. Svetlana’s apartment was on the ground floor. It had bars on the window and the net curtains made it impossible to see inside.

  ‘Who are you looking for?’

  Lily and Oksana turned their eyes upwards. An elderly woman wearing a kerchief on her head was addressing them from a first-storey window.

  ‘We’re here on behalf of Zinaida Glebovna Rusakova,’ Oksana answered. ‘She’s in hospital. We believe someone made a missing person’s report. We came to tell them that she’s unwell but she’s being looked after.’

  ‘Ah, Zina!’ said the woman. ‘I made that report. Just a moment. I will come down.’

  A short while later she appeared at the door to the courtyard. ‘Come in,’ she said. ‘I’m so happy to hear that Zina is alive. She hasn’t been well this past year. I thought she might have dropped dead in the street and nobody knew who she was. What about her little dog, Laika?’

  ‘She’s with me. I’m looking after her,’ Lily said.

  The woman’s relieved expression showed that she was pleased to hear that.

  ‘I’m Oksana Alexandrovna Fyodorova and this is Lily Nickham from Australia,’ Oksana explained to the woman. ‘Thank you for reporting her missing. Too many elderly people become ill with no one to look out for them.’