Ch 26 Natasha's Letter
In a difficult time, tenderness was often accompanied with commiseration. In a time such as this, the more one loved his lover, the more that person seemed to be a victim to him that one day would be sacrificed to something great and sublime.
During the rest of the day, Wang Yao didn't talk to Ivan. Until night fell when soldiers came around the campfire did he finally sat down beside Ivan. It was the place furthermost to the fire, outside the crowd.
Under the dim light, Ivan could still read Wang Yao's features: pale and solemn forehead, a subtle wrinkle between the eyebrows, and sparkling eyes reflected with the golden firelight—all stayed in his eyes and heart in the snowy woods of Rogachevo—Bereza.
The wound-like strand of black hair on the forehead hurt Ivan's eyes. He tried to brush it away, but his reaching hand was grasped by Wang Yao and locked inbetween them. So he extended the other hand underneath the military coat, wrapped around Wang Yao and carefully place it on his left waist. Somehow, he felt that the huge bruise would never disappear, like the wound-like strand of hair foreverly stayed on Wang Yao's forehead.
They fixed their gazes upon the campfire and sang along with other soldiers under the accompaniement of accordion. No one mentioned the thing during the day. As if the unfettered pair in the woods were some other people.
And this was how they welcomed the year of 1942—the first new year in the battlefield.
Someone reminded Natasha that she promised several days ago to dance in front of everyone. The girl blushed—she did say so! But as soon as she thought about dancing, the head nurse's breathless sound of laughing haunted her from all directions. "Dear Juliet, who's the Romeo of your heart?"
She got up, walked in front of the fire, and said with a voice that was dignified (to the best of her ability) but without losing sincerity:
"I did promised…But as I thought afterwards, dancing in these clothes doesn't look nice…" said she regretfully, glancing over the army coat on herself. "This is the only clothes I can wear in the front…"
The excuse was also the truth. Last year in the school new year celebration, Natasha dressed up like the snow maiden Snegurochka* from Russian folktales. But after the war broke out, she—and all the girls like her who volunteered to the front—hid all the youth's radiance into coarse army uniforms. Whenever their went through towns and saw those women dressing in fur coat, dress, stockings and high heels—like the way she dressed before the war—Natasha would just turn away her face.
Then, a light but firm voice from the crowd entered her ears:
"Actually the way you're dressing now is more beautiful than those girls haven't been to the front…
"Listen to our good old Toris!" the soldiers gloated in amusement. Among the clutter of joking and gaging, the eldest soldier said to her in a fatherly manner:
"Young lady, the front is never meant to be a place for you girls. You should have stayed at the back, putting on clean dresses and let us men protecting you. But now you're here sufferring with us because the war has befallen into such a treacherous state. I sympathize with your fate, but as Toris said, you have nothing to be ashamed of…"
"Then allow me sing a song." Natasha replied with gratitude.
When the song Katyusha began, Ivan could feel the body next to him slightly trembled.
"What's wrong?" asked him. But Wang Yao only lowered his eyelashes, hiding away the painful expressions that clouded over his eyes. To imagine that Wang Yao could be keeping something unpleasant from him, Ivan lightly squeezed Wang Yao's wrists.
Soldiers sang along, "Oh, this song, sweet song of a young girl, flying to the bright sun. To the soldiers on the far frontier, bringing greeting from Katyusha…"
The song was suddenly interrupted with soldiers' laughing—a bunch of people jokingly thrusted and blamed the embarrassed Toris:
"Our Toris sang the wrong lyric! The girl in the song is Katyusha, not Natasha!"
"Oh, come on. You thought he could ever get it right? When he sang this song by himself, it was always Natasha…"
"You guys are fussy." Natasha opened her mouth, finally able to claim her haughty fashion that she always took pride in, "Other people can sing however they want. It's none of your business..."
The appearance of the postman ended the chaotic scene. Soon, letters mixed with faint fragrance of homeland soil reached into soldiers' hands, telling the longings of families faraway. They were the most precious new year's gift.
"Kaletin!" The postman waved an unclaimed letter in his hand, "Who's Kaletin?"
Immediately, the entire base fell into muteness. Among the dead silence, a voice pounded everyone's heart, "Soviet Guards lieutenant, reconnaissance platoon commander Kaletin was killed in a scouting mission in Rogachevo—Bereza region."
Around the fire, young men quietly chatted:
"I guess Kaletin's family hadn't received the death notification when they wrote this letter…"
"His family lived in Leningrad. You know how terribly surrounded it is right now, damn hard to send out a letter…"
"He was only twenty-two years old…"
The eldest soldier who spoke to Natasha took the letter from the postman, read the sender's name, then handed over to the pale-faced Natasha:
"Read for us, young lady! You see, the person writing to lieutenant Kaletin is also called Natasha."
Natasha's trembling fingers could barely hold the thin letter paper. She took a deep breath, and began reading under the firelight:
"My dearest! I'm writing from the besieged city. Life is very difficult. Everyday, there are people dying from shortage of food and fuel. But you must know, your fiancée Natasha is striving to live, and she is faithful to you like she did before…" Natasha took a deep breath and grasped her collar, trying to sustain her composure, "…May hope and my love protect you from perils! Let this love and hope fly to your side, by your tired face and tell you: this is me, your Natasha! If you were wounded and someone looked after you and encouraged you, it was also me—your Natasha! If death befell you and there was within you the last bit of strength, it was also me—I must save you so you can come back to my side…"
Natasha couldn't read on. The tears she held back from the crowd finally crossed down her face, falling onto the letter written by the girl bearing the same name.
"Lieutenant Kaletin was seriously wounded during the mission." said Ivan abruptly with a deep voice. "He could had survived. We left him to an old ranger to look after, but a traitor—also a childhood friend of mine—led the enemies searching the ranger's cabin and ruthlessly shot them both."
"This letter should be sent to the museum, to tell people in the future what war is." said another soldier.
More people were just silent. The war had been going on for half a year and soldiers had witnessed too much loss. But at this moment, the letter of a deceased comrade's fiancée pressed unprecedented grief on everyone's heart.
Somewhere from the stagnant air echoed Natasha's singing.
Before the war, she planned to sing this old Russian folk song on her music school entrance exam—"North Star". But now, under such grieving atmosphere, why did she sing it? She didn't even know herself.
"A tall building stood, many rooms inside. But there was one room, that was all the brighter…"
Then, she heard the sound of accordion—someone was playing accompaniment for her. The golden firelight outlined the person's contour in the dark night—it was Toris Lorinaitis. She never saw him playing accordion before. Although it was slightly out of tune, at least he knew how to play her favorite song!
"In there the bride lived, all the more lovelier than anyone. Like the North Star, more brilliant than all the stars…"
Everyone sat there listening quietly. At the entire base, only two people were standing—she and he…The splendid Milky Way expanded above them, just like this young astronomer once said—"Stars are the roads of us, the roads of scouts". On the night sky right above their heads there was a particularly bright star, glowing with frosty cold light; like a proud girl, overlooking this war-ridden land with naivety and desolation.
"In sorrow, she lamented the man faraway, her tears dropped on her wedding ring…"
Why did tears sneak down her face once again? Natasha had always hated crying. Perhaps it was for her delayed music dream due to the war; perhaps for her youth destined to be trapped inside the army coat; perhaps for the girl also named Natasha whom she never met; perhaps for lieutenant Kaletin who could never return to his fiancée; and, perhaps for all the soldiers here that might lose their lives on the next day…
"The groom left home to a strange land, and would not come back soon…"
Perhaps, for this young man accompanying her as well. She felt that the glow casted on him from that bright star was so bleak, and he, standing silently under the chilling light was like a forgotten lighthouse.
"When the spring come, he will be back. Joy will rise with the sun!"
When Natasha finally finished singing, she said in low voice, "Excuse me!" and quickly ran towards the bunker, not letting anyone see her.
"North Star" (Северная звезда) by Glinka, also known as the wedding song
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