“Ulya, now, finish it.” She couldn’t recollect which of the boys pushed the slingshot into her hand and who gave her the stone. “Come on now, shoot.” Her friends’ eyes watched her in anticipation. “She is a weakling.” Arkashka’s voice. “We won’t let her play with us anymore,” Wolfy added. “See, she is scared.” That was Gleb.
“I am not scared!” With trembling fingers, she put the little stone into the hollow of the rubber band, pulled on it and, spellbound, watched the little bird thrown into the air, just a bit, then falling down, its descent slowed by the twigs. The next moment, it was on the ground, twitched two times, and then died.
That was the moment she’d decided to become the strongest, the smartest, the most uncompromising, though then she perhaps did not know those words.
Her childhood friends’ mocking giggles still sounded in her ears as if they were in the same room, and she shook her head to get rid of the troubling illusion. Yet another feeling surfaced. She caught herself relishing the idea that she could decide who was to live and who was to die. Was she becoming ruthless? Or was she already?
His face gray with exhaustion, the dark circles under Nathan’s eyes made him look like he had aged ten years.
“What’s wrong?”
His breathing irregular and heavy, he leant against the wall.
“What’s happened?” Ulya repeated.
With shaking hands, he took a cigarette she offered him. Before talking, he swallowed hard several times. “Two more of our messengers were killed last night.” His voice broke and out of support, she reached for his hand. He gripped it. “We have a traitor among us. Help me unmask him and kill him. You must have access to Hammerer’s files, you—”
“I have no access to his files,” she interrupted him, not immediately struck by the realization the people he talked about could be those two whose blood was on her hands. Just as quickly as it occurred to her, giving way to the rush of guilt, her mind offered a doubt. Maybe he meant other people? Dozens were killed on Vitebsk streets every day. And if not, could Nathan be wrong in trusting them? The Polizei and the woman. Both close to Germans to cause damage to the Underground.
“Nathan, these two of your people. How sure were you about them?”
“I would trust them with my life. Kanankov was the one who delivered your messages to me. He was with us from the very first day of the war. Even more: we trained him for a special mission before the war started.” There was something uncertain in his stare. “Ah, Kanankov.”
“And the other man?” She caught herself on base deceit.
Again, that half-look into the distance as if sifting memories, his face haunted, his eyes filled with unshed tears.
“The other . . . was a young woman. Ah, Kanankov, Kanankov.” He shook his head and swallowed hard. “I asked him to protect her and he promised. He was in love with her. He was not aware—” Nathan stammered, “that I knew about it.” A mournful smile flashed on his face as a fleeting cloud. “Natasha was an irreplaceable liaison between a German officer who secured invaluable information from the operative command that we sent directly to the Central Partisan Headquarters in Moscow. To get to him again, we must find somebody else.” He took a breath slowly and exhaled. “Natasha was—” A look of utter desolation in his eyes focused on some faraway point she could not see.
Ulya felt herself go still. Her death shook him hard. Poor Nathan. Was he in love with her? Was it more than Underground work that bonded them together? The thought brought a bile of jealousy to her throat. Then another sensation, akin to a conviction she was certain would haunt her. Her pulse raced as she thought about it and pieced together the clues she should have identified. How could she so horribly miscalculate on Kanankov’s part? She’d listed his name numerous times and again and again, he’d escaped partisans’ revenge. This fact alone should have sparked a doubt. She should have sensed something was wrong, she thought with nervous tension in her stomach. But now, what was the point of dwelling on it? She’d committed murder and there was nothing she could do to undo it. And still . . . The mind offered her the crutch of another doubt. What if Nathan was wrong about this Natasha and it was a right thing to do to execute her?
For a long time, they sat in silence. She watched him stare past her, into nothingness, numb and catatonic. Suddenly, he let out a hard sigh and closed his eyes. The next moment, his elbows gave way and his head slumped on the table.
“Nathan?” Not getting any reaction from him, she helped him to the bed, almost dragging his slackened body. She lowered herself at his side and dabbed the sweat from his forehead with a corner of the sheet. When she reached for him to stroke his tangled hair, he opened his eyes and gazed at her, intense and unmoving. Then he rolled away and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face. “I should go.” The hardness in his voice was new to her.
“You must stay, Nathan. It’s after cur—” The look on his face stopped her. She watched him leap from the bed, grab his rabbit-fur cap from the chair, and walk out of the door.
He left her with an unfamiliar combination of anger, pity, and perhaps a secret longing to be loved
