Chapter 4: Nadya (August 1950)

He catches up to me, and we walk shoulder-to-shoulder for a while, the air silent except for the gentle whirrs of the bugs around us.

“I - I do not know…” Max pauses, clearly searching for the right word.

“Rosiyskiy?”

He throws me a questioning glance and I quickly switch back to German. “Russian?”

“Ah.” He nods, then looks up at me. “You know German?”

I hesitate, wondering how much I want to tell this man. Afterall, I know nothing about him, or what he wants with me.

“My… my Mama was German,” I decide, only telling him the basics. “She taught it to me when I was young. I am a little… rusty. I did not listen well.” Max laughs at this, and I feel my face flush. We are quiet for a while longer before then he speaks again.

“So you’re Nechlexen? The one in Belarus?”

“There is only one of us here?”

“According to my research.”

I pause, turning his words over in my mind.

“You are researching us?”

“The Night Witches, yes. I - well, I’m looking for one of you. Maybe you can help me find her?”

“Who is it that you are looking for?”

“Natalya?”

“I knew many Natalyas. Sokolova, Federova, Morozova. One of our flight commanders was Natalya Meklin.”

“Smirnov?”

I nearly choke on my own breath and have to take a minute to control it again.

“Smirnova?” I say shakily, praying that he had simply mispronounced it.

But the universe has no hesitation as it continues its relentless crusade against me.

“Ja. You knew her?”

One breath after another, I remind myself. Paranoia is not always the best route.

“Maybe. The name does sound familiar.” I furrow my brow, keeping my eyes firmly locked on the path in front of us. “Why are you looking for her?”

Max is silent for a minute before answering, his voice sharp as a blade when he does. “I’d like to talk to her about something. Something personal.”

“Personal?”

Max turns to me then, stopping, and I nearly trip over myself to stop as well.

“Did you ever kill anyone while you were a Nechlexen?”

I open my mouth to speak, and then shut it again, the question catching me completely off guard. “Of course, that was our job. I suppose I have never thought about it before.”

“Was it ever personal?”

“Nyet, I do not think so. I...” I pause, a face flashing across my vision. “They would have done the same if our roles were reversed.”

Sighing, Max turns and continues walking. I quickly point him in the correct direction and we walk in silence for a while.

“Natalya Smirnova killed someone very close to me.”

“Izvinite, I do not want to press, but who… who was it?”

Max doesn’t respond, and I bite back a sigh before continuing to walk in silence.

-----------------------------

When we arrive at my home, Max stays outside while I go inside to drop off what’s left of my groceries. I offer for him to come inside, but he politely declines and instead leans against the rail, gazing out into the soft silence.

I set my food down and mindlessly prepare hot drinks for us.

I’m not stalling, I tell myself, but I know it’s not true. I don’t want to go back outside, back to the young man searching for answers.

Back to a past I promised never to visit again.

Why in hell did you even talk to him in the first place? I think to myself. He had saved me. I had to be nice to him. Right?

But the more I think about it, the more I refuse to admit it. Because for some reason, some inexplicable reason, a tiny part of my heart wants to go back.

Explore what I had.

Explore what I lost.

Explore what could have been.

-----------------------------

When I go back outside, the steaming cups are burning my hands and I nearly drop them as I rush to set them on the table.

“I would wait a bit before drinking that,” I warn Max. “Unless you would like to spend the next week nursing a burned tongue.” He chuckles, although I didn’t intend to be funny.

Picking up the cup, he blows on it first and leans away as his face is engulfed by a puff of steam. He takes a hesitant sip before emitting a noise that is something between a gargle and a yelp of pain. I chuckle as he takes deep breaths, pulling in cool air in a fruitless attempt to cool down the burn.

“You do not listen much, do you?”

Laughing, he sits back down and pushes the cup away from him.

“My Ma always told me that one day I would kill myself because I didn’t follow directions. I guess that that’s what she meant.”

“Yes,” I sigh. “Choking on boiling liquid… What a pleasant way to go.”

“I’ve seen worse,” Max says but I can tell that he immediately regrets it, though now I’m curious.

“What do you mean?”

Wincing, Max turns away. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

I know I shouldn’t press, but I can feel frustration rising in me. Every time I seem to get close to learning something about this man, he quickly closes off again.

“I won’t judge you if you tell me.” Silence. Maybe, to find out anything, I would have to make the first move.

Sighing, I lean back in my seat. “I had a brother. We got a letter one day from his commanding officer, a few months before he was supposed to come home on leave.” I have to take a deep breath to keep my voice from rattling. “They said he died in a training exercise, but I have never really believed it.”

“I’m sorry,” is all he says, but I barely notice. It hadn’t been a good idea, to allow myself to remember that moment, but it was too late. A single tear streaks down my cheek and I’m about to excuse myself when he begins to talk.

“It was warm. I don’t know why I remember that, but it’s one of the main things that sticks in my mind. It was fairly warm, at least for October. I had taken leave to visit my family for the holidays, just for a week or so. When I got there, everyone but my brother was there. We went inside, had dinner, talked a bit. I got into an argument with my father. I…” Max’s jaw tightens and I don’t think he’s going to say any more.

“Izvinite, I didn’t want to push,” I say, but he shakes his head.

“I’m fine. It’s just that… I never told him that I - I loved him. I left to look for my brother, and… and that’s when the bombs fell.”

My mouth parts but no noise comes out. He doesn’t have to tell me where the bombs came from. I already know and I’m ashamed of myself.

“My brother and I were fine. We made it into a shelter, but when we came out, everything was gone. The man who had sheltered us had gone back up to help others. We never found his body.

“When we got back to our house, Ruth was the only one left. Mama, Papa, Krista, Elise…” His voice cracks on the last name, and he pauses before continuing. “They were all gone. I left the Wehrmacht soon after that, discharged, and took care of Ruth while Klaus went off and joined the Luftwaffe. All we got was a box of all of his stuff, plus an apology letter from his commander - killed in action.”

Max’s voice has gone flat, and when I look at him, his face is emotionless.

“What was his name?”

Max looks up, startled and seemingly confused by the question.

“What was your brother’s name?”

“Klaus,” he whispers.

“Klaus Klein,” I mutter under my breath, but Max catches it.

“How did you know that?” He says, immediately on the offensive once again. Stammering, I grapple for a reply, one that will convince him and -

“Natalya told me.” It bursts out, and I immediately wonder how in hell I will explain this.

“You said that you didn’t know Nat-”

“I lied.” Sighing, I settle back into my chair, setting the now lukewarm drink onto the table. “Der'mo, I am sorry. I didn’t know what you wanted, I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble.” I take a deep breath, my eyes brimming with hot tears.” I did know her. We were in the same regiment for a while. One day, her plane went down, taking her and her navigator… They both went down in the crash. When they came back, they were spinning tales of a German boy, a soldier who had saved their lives. Klaus Klein. No one believed them, of course. A German, the enemy, saving two downed, nearly dead Russian pilots? If he had killed them, he would have gotten medals and been promoted, but instead, he decided to help and rescue them? It was obviously a lie, but…”

“But it wasn’t.”

I look up, meeting Max’s gaze, then look away again.

“Klaus was always kind, too kind to be a soldier. He would never hurt anyone just for a medal,” he says, staring at me intently, but I can’t meet his eyes.

“She killed him,” I whisper. “She killed him so they could get away.” And only ever told one other person, I think to myself. Sighing, I let my head thud lightly on the wall behind me. “So why did you come to me? Why did you think I would know where Natalya went after the war?”

Max chuckles and I look up at him, confused.

“That, I’m afraid, has a more embarrassing answer. Most of the Nechlexen stayed in Moscow after the war, and as I’m sure you’ve noticed, my Russian isn’t the best.” I snorted at that, remembering our pitiful conversation back by the market.

“I believe that is an understatement.”

“And I believe I didn’t ask you. Anyway,” he says, dragging the word out, “I’d heard rumors about a town harboring a female ex-Soviet pilot. So I thought I wouldn’t be nearly as embarrassed if I went to a smaller city and tried to talk in Russian, than if I went to the capitol itself.”

“Well, you still embarrassed yourself,” I laugh, and Max rolls his eyes.

“Well, supposing I can trust you to not embarrass me further, do you know of a place where I can stay the night?” He asks, and I internally groan.

“I have to admit, I am slightly biased against most of the businesses in town. I suppose Mr. Zhuk next to the market has been kinder than most, though. It’s only about a half kilometer west of where we first met. You remember how to get there?”

Nodding, Max drains the last of his now cold drink and stands.

“Straight down this road and a left at the pub?”

“Da. Once you pass the market entrance, keep going straight. You can’t miss it.”

“Danke sehr, Nadya…”

“Petrova,” I say, and we both smile.

“Danke sehr, Frau Petrova.” And with that, Max turns and walks down the steps, leaving me feeling lighter than at the beginning of our conversation. And yet I can still feel a noose slowly tightening around both of us. I stay outside for a little while more, sipping my cold drink and trying to clear my mind of the day's events. But all I can think about is two faces, nearly identical, with wavy brown hair, a smattering of freckles, and a smile that could melt the coldest of hearts.

“Natalya Smirnova killed Klaus Klein,” I whisper to myself before turning and heading back inside.

Natalya Smirnova killed Klaus Klein.