Chapter 3: Nadya (August 1950)

The afternoon is cool as I walk along the narrow road to town, humming the tune to an old lullaby and pulling my coat tighter around my shoulders. I can just see the sunset over the tall trees in the distance as it sends out its final spears of light before shutting its eyes until tomorrow.

Pausing by a small boutique, I watch a light green dress fluttering on a line in the gentle breeze. It reminds me of the times my Papa would take me out shopping before school started. He would let me wander through the shops, buying whatever my heart desired. He would always make an act out of deciding whether or not to buy it, saying the quality was only for royalty before giving in and buying it for me.

Leaning against the side of the shop, I pull out my list of everything I still need to buy and run through it, checking off an item or two as I go. I sigh as I notice that the easiest way to buy the remaining items is through a visit to the market, a place I only go when I have no other option. I debate spending the extra time running from store to store to avoid the market, but watching the sun set behind the forest, I know I don't really have a choice if I want to get home before dark.

As I read, a quiet sensation of being watched begins to creep up my spine. I push it off for a while, telling myself that I’m being paranoid, but it doesn't go away. Shivering, I pull my coat tighter around me and start walking towards the market. A quick look over my shoulder reveals nothing but a tall man in a long coat, a woman carrying a young boy, and an older couple helping each other down the street. I scold myself again for worrying so much. The locals have never made an effort to conceal themselves and their stares, so why should they start now?

Even so, my steps speed up and I begin to hum again, trying to shake off my suspicions.

A glance at my almost-empty purse tells me I won’t be able to buy everything I had come for. Sighing, I stop at a fruit stand, determined to get as much as I can.

I reach for a few apples, grabbing the greenest ones and exchange money with the young girl on the other side. She never meets my eyes, her gaze flickering everywhere but my face. I’ve gotten used to this treatment, but I can’t say I’m okay with it. Everyone gets lonely, no matter how many people may surround you.

I’m heading to the next stall when someone shoves into me and I stumble, the fruit falling to the ground. Turning, I get ready to apologize and instead get a faceful of spit. Wiping it off, I have to force myself to stay calm.

The man in front of me isn’t tall but is widely built, to put it kindly and, more importantly, is blocking my path.

“You’re that Russian witch, aren’t you?” He glowers at me, his eyes glazed over by one too many drinks.

“I am,” I say, keeping my temper in check. The name shouldn’t still anger me, yet I feel that all too familiar heat of anger boiling in my core. “Does my previous career prevent you from allowing me to cross the path?”

“Nyet, but yer at my stall, and I can sell to whoever I want ta.”

My stomach squirms and I glance behind me to the fruit stand. The girl who had been behind it moments ago is gone. I’m all alone.

“I’ve already paid,” I say, trying to duck around him. My heart is pounding. “Let me by and I won’t come back.”

The man laughs, a grin sliding over his face that makes my stomach squirm.

“It’s my stand, witch,” he says, spittle flying from his lips. I’m suddenly much less inclined to buy the fruit if that’s what it's covered in. “Yer little threats don’t work on me. Now drop the food.”

Glancing back over my shoulder, I see a few shadows moving in the distance. Other people coming out, now that the sun is going down and the day’s heat is crawling away on weary legs. There is still that feeling of being watched, of being followed. My eyes flick over to a man in a long coat, and a burst of deja vu washes over me, though I barely give him a second thought. I’m more preoccupied with the slaboumnyy in front of me.

Although I’ve never been physically attacked before, other than a few pieces of rotten fruit thrown at my head, I wouldn’t put it past a certain few of the locals. However the one in front of me is new, though that doesn't make him any less dangerous.

“Please,” I say to the man, forcing my voice to stay steady against the slamming of my heart. “I’ve already bought these. Let me pass, and I won’t come back.”

“But what if I don’t want ya to leave?”

He takes a step closer to me and I back up, my hand digging into my purse to find anything that might get him to go away.

“What if I want ya to stay? Keep me company fer a bit?”

Another step. My hand comes up empty.

“I- I don’t think -“

“It’s cold tonight. Wouldn’t want a pretty face like yers to freeze off.”

“I-“

He lunges at me and wraps a meaty hand around my wrist. I scream, but I already know that no one will come to my aid.

“Let me go!”

“Listen here, you little suka,” he growls into my ear as he begins to drag me, writhing and flailing, behind the stall. “You and yer band of so-called pilots killed my little girls. You killed people, my people, and now I get payback - mine and theirs. But forgive me if I don’t have a little fun first.”

Still fighting, I yell at the other customers at the stalls around us, but the market is clearing out.

“Cowards!” I scream. Still wrestling with the man, I shove backwards, toppling a few crates of fruit. Suddenly, another hand grabs my waist, trying to pull me away. When that proves to be no use, the newcomer jumps in front of me, landing on my captor and punching him so hard I hear a bone crack.

My arm slips out of my assailant’s grasp and I turn and run, leaving both men still tussling on the ground behind me.

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I run and run until I reach the edge of the market. Pausing for breath, I realize that I am back next to the shop with the green dress. It's gone now - but that's an odd thing to notice at a time like this, I scold myself.

Still gasping for air, I begin walking again, heading for the small road leading away from the main town and back towards home.

Continually checking over my shoulder, I don’t notice anything wrong. Suddenly, a flicker of fabric startles the corner of my vision, and that’s when it hits me like a slam in my already sore gut.

The tall man jumping on my assailant.

Someone in a long coat following me down the street.

Following me into the market.

I debate slowing down, waiting for him, maybe thanking him, but when I look back, he’s started running towards me. My heart pounding, I ditch any thought of waiting for him and begin to run too, though I am slower than him.

“Nechlexen!”

I’m so surprised to hear that name here of all places that I slide to a stop, tripping over my skirts and tumbling forward onto my hands. Wincing in pain, I push myself to my feet and try to wipe the shredded skin off on my coat, which hurts even more.

I look back at the man, preparing to do whatever I need to get away from him too. But he too has skidded to a stop and is standing back, a frown light on his face.

“You. Nechlexen. Ja?” He talks haltingly, as if he isn’t completely sure what he’s saying. His accent is from nowhere near here - German, or maybe Austrian. It’s an accent that I haven’t heard in a very long time.

“It depends,” I say, still wary of him. “I want to know who’s asking.” He pauses, looking confused, and then nodding in understanding.

“Ja, ja,” he says, still nodding and taking a few steps closer. “I am Max.”

It occurs to me that the man - Max - must not know a lot of Russian. I scramble through my brain, trying to remember my mother’s German lessons from when I was young. Max continues to come closer, and I take a step back. Looking around, I realize that people have begun to stare at us.

“You are Natalya Smirnova?”

Glancing around, I know that we can’t stay here.

“Follow me,” I hiss to him, and begin walking towards my home again.