Ulya moved her eyes to the Hitler portrait. Lately, she caught herself staring at him every time she would get news about the situation on the Eastern front. The last dispatch brought especially encouraging information: Soviet troops had driven the enemy back to 80-250 km from Moscow. So, you won’t goosestep over Red Square. You won’t break Leningrad. And though you now attack in the south, the result will be the same.
38
Natasha
February 22, 1942
An elegantly dressed dark-haired woman in her late forties held open the entrance door for her. “Natasha?” She flashed a delighted smile and gestured her to follow down the hall into a high-ceilinged, dark green-carpeted room with bookcases, velvet-covered armchairs and two sofas, and a pair of heavy velvet curtains drawn across the windows. A grand piano occupied one of the corners of this enormous room. Paintings of Russian landscapes adorned the walls, creating a warm and welcoming ambience. Natasha had never been in such a charming room before. Snacks crammed the round table in the middle. She would love it here if not for several German officers sprawled on the chairs with girls on their laps. A brief sideways glance at Natasha, a muttered “welcome,” and they went on with their cozy fondling.
What abominable company. She seethed with anger and shame.
“Won’t you please sit down?” The hostess motioned her to a sofa at the window.
The officer who occupied its corner, with the already familiar riding crop on his lap, she recognized as the subject of her assignment, and felt as though the floor shifted under her feet.
“Herr Hahn. This is Natasha. Please don’t let her feel bored.”
He launched himself off the sofa. “I can promise it to you, Nadezhda Konstantinovna, and to Natasha.” A faint smile crossed his features. He took Natasha’s hand and brought it to his lips without kissing it. “You are a beautiful girl. How is it possible no other officer swiped you away?”
Resentful of the situation, Natasha willed herself to send him her flirtatious smile. “I don’t like gatherings.”
The door opened and a plump middle-aged German entered, his little eyes under the dead-head peaked cap searching around the room.
“Herr Alsher!” The hostess quickened her steps to meet him and looped her arm through his, turning him toward a girl of about sixteen who stood by a vacant chair. Finding herself the center of attention, she dropped her gaze down. “As it was your wish, please greet Arina.” Hardly had Nadezhda Konstantinovna finished introducing the girl than Alsher walked to Arina and embraced her thin middle. “This is my girl. Come, baby, to your papa.” He flopped down on the nearest sofa and pulled the girl onto his lap.
“Herr Major, you are as quick with the beautiful girls as you are with hanging partisans,” an officer said, provoking a head nodding and satisfied laughter.
“Ah, partisans. When will you rid this place of them?” Hahn interjected.
“Only after I’m done with my girlfriend.” Alsher roared.
A bashful smile appeared on Arina’s face as though guessing they were making fun of her.
“Since we solved this goddamn Jewish problem,” the youngest of the officers started, letting the hand of his girl fall on her own lap, “it’s time to get rid of the forest bandits too.”
“The threat of the noose is quite persuasive.”
“Absurd. The only method to pacify them for good is the same we implemented on Jews.”
Natasha wouldn’t claim she understood their debate but from the snippets like “Untermenschen” . . . “send to camps” . . . “eliminate whole villages” . . . “smoke them out of woods” she built a pretty unambiguous picture of how they wanted to solve the partisan problem.
Even Alsher, distracted by the heated discussion, pushed Arina from his lap and jerked to his feet. “We’ll wipe them all completely from this earth. All the Slavs! We’ll let only young and beautiful women live.” After his emotional tirade, he sank on the sofa and grabbed Arina’s knee. Hunched, as though scared to death, she batted her eyes at her cavalier, apparently with no grasp of what was going on.
Unlike other guests, Hahn sat quiet, keeping out of the conversation. Something prompted him to get up and go to the grand piano. For a minute or two, he played some melancholy pieces then jerked to his feet and returned to the sofa, followed by scattered applause.
“Herren! Attention!” Nadezhda Konstantinovna threw her arms up. “We have to celebrate a wonderful Sunday. Please, have your coffee and schnapps and let us dance.” But nobody moved to get up.
“Hahn, come here, let’s drink for the victory of our unbeatable army and for the Fuehrer.” An officer raised his hand with a schnapps bottle. “You’ll have the whole night to entertain your lady. I’m sure she has nothing against a good drink too.”
“Let us alone.” Hahn brushed him off and put his hand on Natasha’s shoulder. “I have something better on my mind.” Again, a shadow of irritation crossed his face. He motioned her to follow him to the foyer, saluting Heil Hitler on the move. He helped Natasha into her battered black coat with the rabbit collar and took her hand in his. As soon as the door closed after them, he jerked it away.
On the way to his place, he didn’t utter a word.
He lodged in a simple hut on Nekrasov Street. The moment they entered the anteroom, the inner door flung open, and a middle-aged woman with a lines-mapped face and her hair in an austere bun, threw herself to them. “Herr Hahn, do you need anything?” she muttered in broken German while looking into his eyes with a submissive devotion.
“Coffee for me and my lady friend, please. And close the shutters.”
“Already doing, already doing, my dear Herr.” She bowed her head, at the same time shooting sideways glances at Natasha, her
