Ch 35 "Natasha!"

"I decide to be widow with mama together. Auntie, join us…"

Natasha wasn't able to stay at her big sister's apartment for too long before she had to return to the base. The troop only approved her for one day's leave and most of the time would be spent on the road. But no matter how much she hurried her steps, she felt that she couldn't escape from her sister's home. Looking through the frozen tears on her eyelashes, she thought that it was not snowflakes that were falling down the sky, but women's miserable crying that overwhelmingly surrounded her from everywhere.

Sister's crying, mother's crying, niece's crying, and the cryings of all the female neighbors who had already or would soon become widows. Only her little nephew's crying wasn't out of grief, but to prove to the world of his own existence. The only one not crying was her brother-in-law inside photo frames. From the walls, through the glass top on the desk, and from the crumpled letter of death notice, he gazed upon the orphaned children and widowed mothers' fate without sorrow nor pain.

The cursed fate of women! Before the war, Natasha searched for the stories of wonderful women in literature. Even though their fates were somehow ungratifying, they all had breathtaking love affairs nonetheless. In War and Peace, there was Natasha Rostova; in Rodin, there was Natasha Rasonskaya; even Pushkin's wife, "the most beautiful woman in Russia", was called Natasha Goncharova. As for herself—could Natasha Braginskaya, an ordinary student from Moscow, become one of those women in real life? Would Tolstoy write out her stories? Would Turgenev feel gloomy for her? Or would Pushkin fell down in the duel for her? So, she decided to become a singer. Only on the stage could she become a graceful and empowered woman who could love and suffer without losing her self-esteem.

She graduated from high school with a long blond plait and a beautiful low voice for singing. But before she was able to encounter a wonderful love story, the war came toward her. She only met Toris Lorinaitis. So far, she would only admit that he was a dependable person. Ever since that starry night of new year's eve under his out-of-tuned accordion's accompaniement, she sang a song about a girl missing her fiance, something seemed to have changed.

…But nothing seemed to have changed.

As she arrived the base with a myriad of emotions inside, that quiet and polite young man didn't show up in her sight as usual. Instead, the quartermaster handed her a letter and blamed her,

"Young lady, why didn't you tell someone before you took your leave? And returned at this hour… This is from Lorinaitis."

Maybe he was still shy and put his words on paper—he could just tell her in front of her. Anything, really…at least she thought so as she opened the letter.

"Dear Natasha, my singing little star! I will become twenty years old by February 16. But I want to tell you everything in the remaining time of my nineteenth years of life. In this difficult but wonderful year of nineteen, I found you again. You must have been to the Baltic seaside in the spring of 1932, right? I was ten years old then, taking a walk at the seaside park. In front of me came a little blond girl. When we went past each other, I discovered the radiance of joy in her eyes, as if all the light and beauty of the entire world belonged to her. I stood there watching her back for a long time, as if bewitched. If I wasn't so shy at the time, I would run up to her for her name…Because of this, my good friend Feliks had a quarrel with me. Later, when I grow up, I realized that I had loved her since that very moment, like loving life. Even though life had taken away so much from me, it still loves me—and brought me to meet you again nine years later. Yes, after the first sight, I recognized that you were that lovely girl. I'm not afraid of fighting, because I know what I am fighting for—for the life upon this land and for all the bright and beautiful things in life. Among everything, there is you…"

Natasha raised her head looking towards the distance; there were traces of tears in her eyes.

"But I have never been to the Baltic Sea in my life! Never!" she uttered, "But what does it matter? Shall I tell him the truth and disappoint him…thereby, disappointing myself?"

As Natasha moved her eyes back to the letter, a sentence that she missed jumped into her sight, "I will report to the 55th army by February 14…"

"Oh my God." She murmured nervously, "Oh my God…"

It was not that she never heard of the rumor about Toris' redeployment these days, but it seemed to be complete nonesense to her. This Lithuanian young man had unwittingly become a part of her life. Now, he was going to leave her—how absurd, how cruel, and how unimaginable.

She hurriedly looked around like a person drowning in water and the first one she saw was the quartermaster. Natasha ran over and grabbed his arm, "When? Really? When did he leave…"

"Yesterday when you left to Moscow without telling anyone. Lorinaitis had no time to say goodbye to you, so he wrote a letter and asked me to give it to you. He just left about two hours ago and will take the train from Moscow…"

Natasha didn't hear the rest as she already ran onto the road, stopped a logistic truck heading to Moscow and hopped on. The quartermaster shouted from far behind, "They will ground you…"

As the truck passed the Bryansk train station in Moscow, she hopped down, hurried inside but found no sign of military trains. She remembered that Moscow had nine train stations.

He would be transferred to 55th army…The 55th army was fighting around Leningrad…The train to Leningrad would usually leave from October station…" October station!" She pressed one hand on her chest and called out loud in an almost manly voice.

But the truck that brought her here already left. Natasha had to take the trolley bus. When she finally ran onto the crowded platform of October station, a sea of army coats led to her desperate realization that it would be almost impossible to find one person.

"Has the military train to Leningrad already left yet?" she asked to a dispatcher near her. It was a tired-looking middle-aged woman wearing babushka. Since most men had already gone to the front, women assumed many jobs such as this.

"They will report to the Paveletsky station and go from there. It will go through the line of October station but there's no stop…" Perhaps the dispatcher noticed the girl's tearful swollen eyes, "Are you going to Leningrad? You won't catch the train from Paveletsky for sure. It's passing here very soon, but it won't slow down. Young girl, wait till tomorrow. You'll only be late for one day…"

"…Only late for one day…" Natasha murmured and covered her face. She could feel her tender little hands had become rough from exposure to the harsh weather at the front. She belonged to the front. Everyone at the front should be faithful to their jobs. No, she could not go to Leningrad…

—But she just wanted to see him once more before their parting, even if just one glance…And perhaps, if possible, tell him something…Wasn't that people would always say something to each other before they part? She remembered that when Andrei left for the war, her big sister said, "I will wait for you…"

All of a sudden, from the deepest of her soul burst out a shrill wail. The thundering rumble came from one end of the rail. The military train to Leningrad, departed from Paveletsky station, was about to pass the station.

"Back off, back off!" the dispatcher waved a small flag and shouted to the crowd on the platform. "This train doesn't stop! This train doesn't stop…"

But Natasha had already been running with the train. The wheels carrying the sounds of accordions, singings and soldiers' conversations clanked against the rails and flew past her.

"Natasha!"

The loud calling hit her head-on, as if a young man grabbed her running body and pulled into his embrace.

There, beside an open door stood him, Toris Lorinaitis. He held the door with one hand and the other hand waved his cap at her. The brown messy hair in the wind that covered his face felt more intimate than ever. The lower hem of his army coat rattled in wind, like spreaded wings of an eagle before the take-off.

"Natasha!"

She felt like she was flying. Hurry, call out something to him in this fleeting moment. Even just his name! But she couldn't make a sound, perhaps from too haste of the running…

"Natasha!"

The train had already carried him away and disappeared into the far distance, but she could still hear her own name been called. Not just from him, but from the wooden ties and rail tracks, the handrails, the crowds on the platform, and what behind her—the entire Moscow that remained the last stand—they all called out to her, "Natasha!"

Natasha sat on the ground and cried out loud. It was not weeping, but in a terribly dreadful sound like a country woman wailing for husband.

Several people knelt down beside her, trying to help her up. The female dispatcher's tiring voice came to her ears, "Young girl, who are your sending off? Your brother?"

"No…"

"Then who? Husband?"

She couldn't breathe from the crying. All she could do was nodding neurotically.

And thus, Natasha married herself off. Her wailing was the wedding music. Her worn-out army coat was the bride's wedding dress. All the people on the platform who had gone through and would continue to go through the cruel test of war were the most honourable guests on the wedding.