by Kelli Stuart
Standing up and shaking off the dizziness, I suck in one more deep breath, then turn to face Alfonse and Nikolaus, who stare at me in wonder. They don’t know who I am.
I don’t know who I am.
Striding to the front of the van, I turn the key and listen to the engine sputter briefly before roaring to life. Without allowing myself to think about the ramifications of my next step, I reach for the dials to my right and I hear the hiss of gas as it pours into the back of the airtight compartment.
Then I close my eyes and try to block out the sounds. Knocking. Screaming. The van rocks side to side as panic ensues. Twenty-eight bodies try to flee, but not for long. Oxygen grows sparse. Slowly the movement subsides.
Then the screams stop altogether.
I leave the gas on and step out of the van to find Alfonse and Nikolaus smoking next to a tree several meters away. The cowards escaped the worst of this awful moment. They won’t be haunted by the sounds like I will. Looking up at the sky I’m struck by the contrast. It’s a clear, beautiful night, and stars blanket the blue-black canvas above. The moon hangs high, full and round, casting a perfect white glow on the earth below.
Yet somehow I feel that the moon sends a stream of light down upon me alone. I’m exposed under the spotlight of the orb, and my heart quickens to think of all that’s changed.
I am not the man I thought I would be. This isn’t the mission I thought I would accomplish. In this still moment, I miss my sister. I shake my head, trying to shake the memory free.
Stepping into the van, I turn the dial, cutting off the gas that has snuffed out life. I turn the valve that opens up the back vents, releasing the poison into the night air. Would it also snuff out the watchful eye of the moon?
When it’s all done, I climb slowly out of the van and look in the direction of my comrades. “Alfonse! Nikolaus!” I bark, marveling at the strength in my voice. It belies the fear in my heart.
“Come empty the van. Quickly.” Turning, I look at the road that leads us away from the horror of this dark alley. “I want to leave this place,” I whisper.
Alfonse and Nikolaus act fast. Covering their noses and mouths with cloth, they pull open the door, coughing and sputtering as bodies tumble out. They pull each body out until the girls lie in a heap, their faces contorted and grotesque. I walk slowly around to face the consequence of my orders.
Alfonse pulls out the last body and lays her on top of the pile. Her red hair has escaped the scarf on her head in long, curly tendrils. She’s the only one who looks peaceful. Her mouth is turned up and her eyes closed. Her porcelain skin looks soft and still bears the pink of a life that once was. She looks as though she’s sleeping.
She had a name. They all did. But now they are no more. I followed my orders. I exerted my power.
Power.
LUDA MICHAELEVNA
January 10, 1942
It has been weeks since he touched me, weeks since the electricity of his hand crashed through my exterior and left me seeing color for the first time.
It has been too many weeks since I’ve seen him.
Every time I go out, I look. I scan each German who passes. I do this discreetly, because when a Nazi soldier sees a young girl looking at him, his first reaction is to return the stare with a look that terrifies me.
I grab my abdomen, which now swells noticeably. I think that Alexei, Katya, and Oleg know. They must, yet no one’s said anything. Not even Baba Mysa speaks of the life I carry, though every once in a while I notice that she’s once again moved the buttons of my skirts out just a bit further. They’ll no longer stretch and the time is growing near when I won’t be able to hide it at all.
It’s an odd thing to be harboring life, particularly a life that began with such darkness. But no matter how hard I try, I cannot muster hatred for the child inside me. I want to hate this baby, but I can’t.
“I need you,” I whisper, my lips not even moving. I breathe the words out and then pull them back in. I need something to love. I need to be a mother so that, somehow, I can find my own mother again.
I cannot forget the last words my father said to me that dark day. I hear them echo day and night like a drum. “Whore. Like your mother. Whore. Like your mother. Whore.”
What did he mean? There’s no one who can explain to me anything about my mother, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot conjure up the one serene image I held of her. This scares me.
“Luda?”
I jump at the sound of my name. The dark of this night has wrapped me in a familiar solitude, and the interruption shatters my thoughts. Sleep is still difficult. If I fall too deep into my slumber, the haunting whispers chase me until I awake in shrieking terror. So I fight the darkness as long as I possibly can.
Katya sits up on her pad on the floor, her legs tucked up underneath her long nightgown and her golden hair spilling over her shoulders. She’s a picture of youthful beauty—so different from me, a girl aged by the cruelties and heartache of life.
“Da?” I answer.
“Are you …” Katya hesitates, and my heart stops. I push up on my elbow and turn to face her, the moonlight streaming in through the window casting a soft glow on the room. We stare into each other’s eyes, and I feel her question. I don’t say a word as I nod my head slowly.
Katya’s eyes widen. She knew, but she hoped she was wrong. I sense it, and I have the distinct feeling that the space between us in the room will expand and separate even more as time moves forward.
Katya.
My only friend and the closest thing to a sister I know. The tragedy of that awful day in the church continues to destroy.
“Are you scared?” she whispers, her eyes resting on my stomach.
I nod again, unable to speak over the lump that has grown in my throat.
“Are you going to … uh … let the baby … live?” Katya drops her eyes to the floor as she asks this last question.
Finding my voice, I sift through the shock to answer. “Yes. Of course.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say—”
Katya sighs and picks at the fraying lace on the bottom of her gown. “It’s just that … Luda, you’re carrying a Nazi. Doesn’t that scare you? Don’t you want to flee as far away as possible from that awful day and what they did to you?”
“No, Katya,” I answer with surprising firmness. Lying back down, I stare at the ceiling, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. “This child is all I have.”
I hear Katya lie down, and for a long while, we’re both quiet. Finally she speaks. “You have me, Luda. And … you have Oleg. He could make you happy.” Katya turns to face the wall, and in a few short moments, I hear her even breathing as sleep overtakes her.
I sigh and close my eyes. “I would destroy Oleg,” I whisper. A few minutes later I feel my body relax and drift. Sleep comes, but rest—I don’t even know if it’s possible.
When the early morning sunlight pierces through the room, I open my eyes and stretch wholly and fully. The skin around my abdomen pulls and tightens in a way that is becoming increasingly uncomfortable. I pull my arms down and rub my hands slowly over the swell. Turning to look at Katya, I find her bed empty, the small blanket pulled back neatly and her nightgown folded delicately at the end.
I sit up and dress quickly, the chill of the winter air causing a shiver to run from the top of my spine down to my toes. I can see my breath in small tufts as I move through the motions of dressing in the cold. The house is quiet and hushed, the lack of movement leaving me uneasy. Once dressed, I step softly into the main room and wait for a brief moment. Muted talking drifts from the kitchen. I tiptoe forward.
“… Carrying a Nazi.”
Katya’s hiss floats through the air and settles in my heart. I push her words around, trying to make sense of what I’m hearing.
“Katya, that’s enough,” Baba Mysa commands.
“But Baba—” Katya protests.
“Nyet. I won’t have any more mention of Lud
a carrying a Nazi. Luda is carrying a child—her child. You need to understand that.”
Silence follows. I want to return to my room, to crawl back beneath the safety of the wool blanket, but my feet are frozen. I’m compelled to listen to the only family I know decide whether or not to accept or shun me.
I hear Alexei clear his throat. “Katya, you must remember that Luda didn’t ask to be placed in this situation. She’s frightened, and she needs to know that she is safe here.”
Katya sniffs. She’s crying now, soft sobs echoing out into the narrow hallway.
“But Papa,” she whispers. “It’s just so terrible. I don’t know how she can want this baby. I don’t understand. I know you say I should, but why would I understand something like this?”
A chair scrapes across the floor. Katya runs around the corner and straight into me. She pulls back and looks into my eyes, her cheeks streaked with tears. We don’t speak, but I hear her anyway.
Shame. Anger. Confusion.
Katya shakes her head and pushes past me, rushing to the room and slamming the door. I’m left alone, my hand subconsciously gripping my midsection, a longing to protect already strong and necessary.
Oleg steps around the corner, and I face him. Looking into his eyes is terrifying. I cannot face the love there—the ocean of concern that surges for me. The truth is when I look at Oleg I can see only a glimmer of him; the German man who electrified my soul and made me believe in goodness once again.
“Luda,” Oleg begins. His faces flushes. I knew this would happen. I knew when they found out everything would change. I look down at the ground, and my eyes fill with tears. Oleg loves me. I know that he does. And I love him, too. But I love him as I imagine one must love a brother. I feel devoted to him and grateful for his protection. But I’m not in love with him.
“Luda, it’s going to be okay. Katya will come around. She’ll learn to accept and understand what’s happening.”
He reaches forward and grabs my hands, his warm palms engulfing mine. “Luda,” he says again. His voice is sweet and gentle. “Please look at me.” Slowly I pull my eyes up to his.
“I’ll take care of you,” he says quietly. “I’ll keep you safe, and I will love you, and—”
“Oleg, no,” I interrupt, but he shakes his head.
“Please let me finish,” he pleads. I close my mouth and swallow hard against the bile building in my throat. This declaration could be the thing that destroys us all. I know it, but I cannot stop it.
“Luda, I love you,” Oleg says, this time looking at me with such earnest desire that I feel momentarily swayed. “And I will learn to love this child. I’ll help you, Luda. I will.”
I try to pull my hands away, but he grasps tight. “Oleg, please,” I beg. “Please don’t.” I can’t give him a reason why I won’t be able to return his love. I can’t tell him that I’m enamored with another man—someone who wears the enemy’s uniform. I can’t reveal that I’m terrified of the prospect of love because it’s only ever been painful. I can’t tell him any of this, but I see the hurt, and I feel his pain.
Oleg drops my hands, his brow furrowed. He nods his head.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my whispered words quavering. I’m trembling, and I want nothing more than to be held … but I don’t want to be held by him.
“I’m sorry, too,” Oleg says. He moves past me—a defeated shadow.
I take a few deeps breaths and wipe my eyes. Stepping forward, I round into the kitchen where Baba Mysa and Alexei sit, quietly drinking their morning chai. I sit down and look directly at Alexei.
“I’m sorry,” I begin. My voice cracks again, my emotions betraying me. “I’ll leave soon.”
Alexei leans forward and looks back at me, a slight smile pushing his mouth upward. “You’ll leave?” he asks. “Where will you go?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Perhaps I should go back to my father. I managed to survive for sixteen years with him. I can do it again.” But in my heart I know I’m wrong. If I go back to my father, I will die.
“And why would you leave?” Alexei asks, still looking more amused than concerned.
“I’m ruining everything,” I answer. “I’m ruining your relationship with Katya. I’ve disappointed Oleg. I’m pregnant with a German child that I love and want to keep.” My voice breaks, and I lean forward, burying my face in my hands. Sobs rack my shoulders. Every pent-up emotion is released, and I cry harder than I’ve ever cried.
“I’m sorry,” I sob as warm arms pull me in tight and strong. Baba Mysa has wrapped herself around me, and she whispers in my ear. “Oh dorogaya. Maya dorogaya. Ya tebya lyublyu. Oh tak ya tebya lyublyu. Maya dorogaya.”
With each whisper of love, each declaration of darling and stroke of the hair, my tears subside until I am spent. I rest on her shoulder and stare at the cracked table. I cannot look at Alexei.
“I wish I had known her,” I whisper, calm now. “I just wish I had known her.”
“Who, my dear?” Alexei asks gently.
“My mother.”
The words skip through the kitchen. I feel Alexei shift in his seat. “Do you know anything about her?” he asks.
“No. I don’t know what she looked like. I don’t know if her voice was deep or high, if her words were spoken like a smile, or if she sang to me. I know nothing. My father never spoke of her until—”
I stop. Can I share it? Can I reveal the terrible secret I’ve held since that day, the words that shattered the only image I had of her?
“Until when?” Baba Mysa asks gently.
I look first at her, then at Alexei. I sigh and pull myself up straight. “Until that day in the church. As he left, my father looked back and told me I’m a whore. Like my mother.”
My eyes burn fresh again, and my shoulders slump. “I don’t know what he meant because I don’t know who she was.”
I lean forward and place my forehead on the cool table. “I hate my father,” I whisper. “I hate him. I hate what he did to me. I hate that he abandoned me. I hate that he destroyed my image of her.” My voice raises as all the anger and hatred bubble out. “I hate him. I hate … I hate … I hate …”
“Luda, stop.” I freeze, heart beating wildly, and look at Alexei, surprised by the sharp tone of his voice. “Be still,” he commands, softer this time.
I pull myself up straight and look first at him, then at Baba Mysa, who stares at her son intently. He glances at his mother as she gives a slight nod. Alexei sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“I think it’s time you learned the truth.”
“Th–the truth?” I ask. “The truth about what?”
Alexei drops his hands and runs his finger slowly across the crack in the table. His eyes fill with tears, and I feel the vein in my forehead pound with each beat of my heart.
“Do you know something about my mother?” I whisper.
Alexei looks at me, his eyes deep and dark and filled with pain. “Yes,” he says softly. “I knew your mother. I knew her well.”
Baba Mysa tightens her grasp on my shoulders and pulls me closer. It takes a moment for this information to sink into my heart. He knew my mother. Alexei knew my mother. He knew her well?
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Taking a deep breath, Alexei continues. “I loved your mother.” As he says this, his voice cracks, and I feel the air in the room shift. I draw in a sharp breath.
“You-you loved her? When? How? I don’t understand.”
I can’t comprehend the information just given to me, and I find myself impatient with Alexei. I need him to share more quickly, and I pull away from Baba Mysa in frustration. “What do you mean, Alexei Yurevich?” I demand. “How did you know my mother?”
“Your mother and I were schoolmates in college. We both attended the Polytechnical Institute. Your mother was beautiful, Luda. You look so much like she did. She was kind and gentle, and her laugh was magical, like a thousand bells. I fell in love with her the moment I saw
her.”
A thousand bells.
Alexei looks out the window, and for a moment I see him leave us. He’s in another time with a different memory. He’s with my mother, and I feel a surge of anger overtake me. I should be with my mother.
“Please, Alexei,” I say, my voice sharp. “Please tell me more. Tell me everything. I need to know.”
Baba Mysa reaches across the table and touches her son’s hand. “Sinok, you need to keep going,” she says. “You can’t stop.”
Looking at Baba Mysa, my eyes grow wide. “You knew her, too,” I say breathlessly. “You knew my mother, and you never said anything to me.” Baba Mysa meets my gaze, her eyes swimming with sorrow.
“The time wasn’t right, dorogaya,” she says gently. “And it wasn’t my story to tell.” She shifts her gaze back to Alexei, who now looks at me with deep sorrow.
“Your mother and I had an instant and deep connection and quickly became inseparable,” Alexei says, his eyes looking deep into mine. “You have her eyes. Deep and inquisitive, brown flecked with green. Every time I look at you, I see her.”
My eyes well with tears as I wait for him to share more. Like a drink on a hot day, I soak in each word.
“Our second year at the institute, your mother and I began to talk of marriage. We spent every waking moment together, so much so that she began to struggle with her studies and her father grew angry. He forbade her to see me, insisting that he wouldn’t raise a daughter who was ignorant and stupid. For a while, we tried to meet secretly at night, but when her father caught her sneaking out he grew so angry that he hit her. I vowed to never put her in harm’s way like that again.”
Alexei stops and takes a breath. He glances at his mother, and she smiles gently. “Alexei was very much in love with your mother, Luda,” she says, her eyes locked on Alexei’s. Then she shifts her gaze to me. “We loved her, too. She was good and beautiful and sweet. But we urged our son away from the relationship, believing it to be dangerous for her and for him.”
