Natalia smiled. “Perfect.” She blew Magda a kiss. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Magda wiped away the stray tear. She frowned and hurried back to the stove to busy herself. “Nothing.”
“That’s not true. You’re crying.”
“I’m not.” Magda turned away. Why was she crying over dessert?
Ula came over and leaned against the stove, her arms crossed. She blew a strand of hair out her face and lit another cigarette. “It’s strange, isn’t it? This normalcy? To be cooking in a kitchen like this?”
Magda stared at her. That was it.
“We’ve accepted a lot of things as normal these days,” Ula said. “This”—she indicated the kitchen—“is not it anymore.” She pushed herself away, heading back to her station. “But it will be. Trust me.”
What a thought! Magda stared at Ula as she went back to work. Now the tears spilled over, and she needed quite some time to collect herself.
The light in the kitchen shifted and changed as Magda and the women worked. It must have been past two in the afternoon when she spotted a convoy of vehicles heading up the road. She scurried to the window, Ula and Natalia behind her.
Natalia pointed to the first four men who pulled up in a truck. “Those are the Ukrainians. See their armbands? The trident?” They also wore berets instead of the Wehrmacht caps.
Five Wehrmacht officers stepped out of a second vehicle, black, with the top folded back. The men all shook hands. Other soldiers followed—guards, Magda guessed—followed by a motorcycle with a sidecar. The passenger in the sidecar jumped out, camera in hand, and snapped photos. He had a blond caterpillar mustache and wore dark-rimmed spectacles. Some from the delegations posed; others did not. Slowly the group moved around to the front of the house and out of sight. A few moments later, voices sounded from the dining hall door. The women positioned themselves in the kitchen, trying to look normal. Magda remained hidden, however. That was agreed upon. She would remain as close to the door as possible, and that was optimal, as the stove was on the far wall anyway. She grabbed the bowl of spaetzle and ladled a little bit of the hot water in to keep them warm and from clumping together.
The officers walked into the dining room, and tables and chairs were pushed together, scraping against the wooden floor. Magda gasped a little when one of the German officers stuck his head through the hatch and, without smiling, took a look at each of them. Magda kept her left cheek facing the wall and nodded her acknowledgment of him.
“Smells good,” he said in German, as if testing them.
Magda pretended not to understand, giving him an apologetic weak smile. Natalia and Ula also smiled politely and nodded. Ula asked something in Polish, and he threw her such a disgusted look that Magda knew this man should be avoided at all costs.
The owner was busy helping the delegation set up, talking nonstop about how happy he was to have them all here, handing out bottles of beer. Almost all the German officers declined. Her view through the kitchen hatch was limited, but one man rolled out maps. She glanced at Natalia and Ula, both of whom gave just the slightest nod. They had seen them too.
Another body moved before the hatch, then two hands on the counter and the soldier who had asked for Magda’s papers peeked in. His look landed on her, and he smiled.
“I was thinking…” He waved an index finger at her. “You remind me of someone.”
Magda forced herself to keep a blank gaze on him. She frowned a little and gave a shake of her head.
He squinted and waved that warning with his finger again. “Don’t worry. I’ll remember by the end of the night.”
Moments later one of the German commanders called the meeting to order. It was all official and serious. Magda found herself slowly drifting toward the hatch, trying to catch the words. Ula looked over at her and jerked her head toward the stove. Magda stepped back. It was difficult to hear anything with Natalia working on slicing the apples, the knocking of the board on the counter interrupting what snippets of conversation Magda was hardly able to catch. The men were purposefully keeping their voices low. If the women stopped working now, they would look suspicious. Magda widened her eyes at Ula and Natalia, and Natalia nodded over the next apple.
The owner pushed in through the door, the crate of beer empty. “The patrols will eat in shifts. Six will take soup now, and the others will go afterwards.”
Ula cocked her head toward the kitchen hatch. “And them?”
The owner shrugged. “Not yet.”
Magda moved to the pot of soup and ladled the first six bowls for Natalia and Ula. They worked steadily, hardly looking at one another. Her friends were going out there, would finally get a glimpse of what was available to them in the dining room. Maps were good, but they needed more than that to figure out the Nazis’ next moves.
Natalia and Ula left to serve the patrols outside, and Magda leaned against the wall behind the door. Ula suddenly moved in front of the kitchen hatch. She motioned to Magda and whispered, “They’ll take soup in here now.”
Magda hurried and ladled the bowls and served them at the hatch. Natalia appeared, winked at Magda, and took two bowls as well. When they returned to the kitchen, Natalia squeezed Magda’s shoulder.
“You need to go out there next,” she whispered into Magda’s ear. “With the spaetzle. Just stay behind them all and be invisible.”
Magda stared at the door. Be invisible. It was all she had ever wanted, all she had really practiced her entire life, and had never quite succeeded.
They were all quiet, Ula smoking her last cigarette. The dishes were piled up everywhere. Car doors slammed, ignitions turned, and motors revved. Crickets chirped outside the open kitchen window. Natalia
