“Serezha, if you wish.”
“Are you with the partisans, Serezha?”
He kept silent for too long.
“You must not tell me this. I know, and I’d like to help.” There was not a slightest doubt in her heart she would join the struggle against the occupiers without hesitation.
“Are you ready to take the risk?” His stare hardened. “You do see our people hanging on trees and crossbars.”
“I do. And that’s why I want to fight them. I hate the fascists with all my might.”
“Natasha, give me a piece of paper and a pen please.” After he finished writing, stopping for a long moment before adding something else, he pushed it to her. “Read and sign it if you agree.”
It read as an oath to spend her life for the cause of freeing her Motherland, the Soviet Union, from the accursed occupiers. With a steady hand, she put her signature. Later, she wouldn’t remember the exact words, something like, In the rearguard of the enemy, I will work for my Soviet country faithfully and with sacrificial diligence. The assignments I receive, I pledge to carry and not to divulge their content even under torture.
He took it, checked the signature. “Natasha, now you are one of us.” He stretched his hand to shake hers then got closer to the stove and threw the paper—her oath!—inside. She jerked toward the stove. He caught her by her arm and didn’t let it go till the glowing ember ignited the paper and burned it to ashes. “Let’s sit.” He waited till she took a place at the table then sat down on the stool. “I’m sure you know the shoe polish stand on Liberty Square?”
“But of course. I stroll by it every day on my way to work.”
“This is your first assignment. Please, pay good attention to what I’ll tell you right now. At exactly seven, an Oberleutnant in Wehrmacht uniform, tall, about thirty years old, comes to the polish stand to have his high boots cleaned. That’s his everyday routine.”
“I know Deniska, the shoe shiner.”
Something changed in Serezha’s face, as though an invisible hand grabbed at his throat.
“And you said, Oberleutnant . . .”
His eyes acquired a hard gleam. “Ah, sorry, Natasha. Give me please another slip of paper and a pen.” He sketched the epaulets. “On his jacket you’ll see a small red strip that goes from inside to the button. Pay attention to his left hand. He keeps a riding crop on him all the time. Black and with a tassel. Tomorrow, you must be there a couple of minutes before seven but having enough time to buy the New Way. Once you spot him approaching, peer at the newspaper as if it claimed your full interest and move in his direction. Try to collide with him as though by accident. Can you do it? The way you did at the factory when you wanted to attract my attention?”
The smile in his eyes reminded her of that wonderful time when she could see him every day except Sundays and find a way to touch him even in a brush. “You let the newspaper fall to the ground. I know he is a gentleman.” His face twisted with pain. “I’m sure, he’ll pick it up. Your words are: “Entschuldigen Sie, Herr Offizier. Ich war im Lesen vertieft—Sorry, Herr Officer. I was immersed in the reading.” And remember your most flirtatious smile. You are so good at it.” Serezha brushed her hand. “His response is ‘Ah, Russische Intellektuelle—Ah, Russian intellectuals.’”
“This Nazi? Is he—?”
“Natasha, please. You need not know more than that, I assure you. Just do as you are told.”
She repeated the phrases several times, first stumbling while all her thoughts were on how to prolong time with him.
“Sounds good now.” His eyes on her, he spoke, “Natasha, what I’m asking you to do is very dangerous, but at this moment, I have no choice but to involve you.”
“I understand, and I pledge to carry out my assignments.” She recognized in his eyes respect and admiration he did not even try to conceal.
“I have to get going.” He breathed out. “To be at the place before the curfew strikes.”
“It’s long over the time. You can stay here if you wish.”
He cast her a long look. “Your aunt—”
“She must be already in the hospital and won’t come home till six in the morning or even later. In any case, you mustn’t be concerned about her. I know, she hates the fascists. On several occasions, she worked up the courage to sneak into the ghetto to bring food for her friend’s family.”
A momentary look of discomfort crossed his face. “Natasha, this is a big mistake. Under no circumstances, even under torture, should you say such things. Even if the person is not related to the partisans or Underground, and acts out of pure kindness, the fascists will find a reason to . . . you know.”
What a blockhead I am. I’ve spoiled everything. But she didn’t dwell long on it, all she wanted for him was not to risk his life. For her, it meant she had to convince him to stay put in her house. Tonight. Tomorrow morning. She released a tiny sigh. What sense was there in thinking about even the next day? “Serezha, you can sleep in the kitchen.” She gave him her most flirtatious smile. “Is it how I should beam at that Nazi?”
“Yes.”
She saw him buttoning his padded jacket without getting up from the stool and, at the same time, his eyes struggled to stay open. Losing the fight against exhaustion, his head fell on his chest. “You doze, I’ll put on the samovar and make something to eat,” she whispered. How nice it would be to cook for him, she imagined while placing on the plate two boiled potatoes, a hunk of dry dark bread, and a tiny piece of German sausage. With that last sugar cube left, she’d sweeten the tea. He’ll like it, she rejoiced at the thought. Meantime, the
