Disclaimer: I don't own Hogan's Heroes or any of the characters; I merely borrow them and play with them for a while.
Marya remembers how she rejoiced when the war finally came to an end. She celebrated like she had never done before; her heart was beating so fast and her head was spinning from sheer happiness that it was all over. She could not imagine how she could ever be sad again. Not on a day like this.
But the overwhelming joy that came with victory was short-lived, mournfully brief like the sun on a winter's day. Because when she returned to that small village on the Russian border, the one that she had always called home, she found out that she was no longer welcome.
And she never knew that looks could be filled with so much hatred. Harsh like blows, and just as painful. At first she didn't understand, because why should these people, among whom she'd grown up and lived most of her life, look at her like she was an unholy creature of sin and evil that had crawled out of the shadows to breathe her deadly venom into their midst?
No, she didn't understand. She was confused – did they mistake her for someone else, perhaps, someone else who had brought despair or discord to their village while she had been away? But she hadn't been gone for that long – even if it had felt like it – so surely they should be able to recognize their Marya who always had a kind word for everyone and laughter twinkling in the corner of her eyes?
However, it wasn't until she crossed the doorstep to her family home that she found out why everyone was throwing her such dirty looks. Her mother was standing at the stove as she explained, hunched down over pots and kettles, a wooden spoon in her hand. She was stirring and stirring, never once looking up from the simmering stew while she talked.
As her mother spoke – she was the first person since her return to say anything to her that wasn't insults – Marya could only stare, mesmerized, as the spoon moved around in the stew. Because it was all so unfair, so pointless.
And it was all due to a unlucky coincidence, a bad stroke of fate.
But Ilyusha from their village had seen her. Somehow, impossibly, they had been at the same place at the same time.
Yes, he had been there, as she had cavorted with a German SS colonel, far away from the front and the scenes of war playing themselves out all over Europe. Offering herself up to the enemy, all smiles and fluttering eyelashes and seductiveness.
What were the chances of that? she thought angrily, bitterly. So very bitterly.
And of course, Ilyusha had drawn his own conclusions. Conclusions that he was quick to tell the rest of the villagers on the day he returned home.
And because of that, they all despised her. There was no listening, no reasoning. The time for that had long since passed, she realized as she tried to explain that it wasn't like that, it wasn't what they were all thinking.
Except that it was. Because in the end, they were right about what happened between her and that SS colonel. And between her and all those other men, ranking officers with medals pinned to their chests and squadrons of men under their command. The reason behind it they don't know and they didn't want to hear it either, but that never mattered. They didn't believe her, and even if they did, she isn't sure it would have made a difference. Circumstances were irrelevant; what she had done was inexcusable to them. Unacceptable. Condemnable.
Traitor, the voices would whisper. Disgrace. It was as if the wind carried those words with it, singing them into her ear no matter where she had taken refuge in a desperate attempt to escape the hatefulness emanating from the people who were once her friends and neighbours.
The whispers brought other words too. Horrible, ugly words that she had silently thought about herself many, many times, but that no one had ever spoken out loud to her before.
And it was much worse hearing such things than merely thinking them to herself.
I did it to protect you, she wanted to say. No, not say – scream, shout, yell into those disdainful faces looking at her like she was less than the dirt trampled under their feet. But the words stuck in her throat; maybe it truly didn't really matter any longer. After all, there is no reason or reasoning in wartime, and the ravaged peace that follows it can never understand why men and women did what they did back then.
She was certain that things couldn't get any worse. Because what could be more horrible than being looked upon as something filthy, something so dirty that you cannot even stand to remain in its presence?
But she learned that there was in fact one thing that was even worse.
And that was when the men and women then averted their eyes from her and looked away, like she was air, invisible and unnoticed. Because if no one would look at her, or talk to her, did she even exist at all?
Was she even alive anymore? If people saw right through her as were she a ghost or acted like she wasn't even there, refusing to acknowledge her existence, perhaps she had then truly ceased to exist?
Whatever the case, she couldn't stay in the village anymore. There was nothing left for her there.
When she left, she walked past that old barn that she remembered from a cold winter's night blizzard, experienced years ago in the unforgiving Soviet winter.
It looked so different when there was no snow whirling around it or covering it in shapeless white. Parts of the walls had fallen down; this barn could no longer offer any protection from the cold. It was just an old ramshackle, torn and shabby, its magic all gone, having faded like the fairy creatures of childhood fantasies are wont to do as the years pass.
It had offered her sanctuary once, but that had been a long time ago.
She stood there looking at it for a long time, before turning and heading down the rocky, muddy path stretching out before her. Anywhere is better than here, she thought as she left.
And now she's back in Germany again. Somehow, her feet carried her back here, even though there's nothing for her here either. But at least it's familiar, as familiar as a country can be that has lost a war and lives under the yoke of occupation by foreign armies.
And even though it's summer here, and the snow of winter has all thawed away and the ice has long ago melted, she is still frozen on the inside.
She never knew that German summers could be so cold.
And this time, there isn't even any snow to wipe away the tracks.