Daughters of the Night Sky(72)
“Too many years as a navigator,” she said. “Risk of the job.” She closed her book. “Speak. I won’t take you up in the air if you’re distracted.”
“It’s just odd to think of her with someone other than Papa, that’s all. The way she spoke about him, I thought she’d never love anyone else again. It’s disconcerting to find out it isn’t true.” I folded Mama’s letter and placed it back in the envelope and tucked it in with the rest of her letters and those from Vanya.
“That stands to reason,” Oksana said. “Our parents are supposed to be monoliths. Unchangeable. Solid. It’s unmooring when we discover they’re human.”
“Mama deserves her happiness,” I said, not wanting to imagine what this Grigory Yelchin might be like and how he’d managed to woo my mother after years of solitude.
“Write her to tell her so,” Polina said. “It will make you feel better.”
She passed me a sheet of her ivory stationery and a matching envelope. I accepted the papers, noticing there was something hard tucked in the envelope. I shook it out into my hand to reveal a small gold pendant encrusted with gleaming gems in pale blue and deep purple. In the center was a large gem—an aquamarine, I guessed—surrounded by a six-pointed star enameled onto fine gold filigree.
The shine caught Polina’s eye, and she leapt from her bed to retrieve it. “So sorry, I wondered where that had got to.”
“A Star of David?” Oksana asked.
“Yes. Silly to keep it, really. It belonged to my grandmother before she passed away. She wanted me to have it as a little keepsake of her. No one in the family has practiced in ages. Since my family joined the party in the revolution.”
“Wise,” Oksana said quietly. “It isn’t safe these days.”
“It isn’t safe for anyone to have faith these days,” Renata said, producing a cross from around her neck. She’d managed to conceal it for two years without a hint to the rest of us. “My family is Orthodox. Stalin tolerates us because of the war, but we still don’t crow in the streets. I’d never have been given a place here if the party knew.”
“Well, you needn’t worry,” Oksana said. “I’m your commander now, and I’m not sending you home. Just keep it from my superiors, and you won’t have a problem. Other than the problem we’re all facing right now, that is. Let’s move out,” Oksana said, closing her book.
Polina and Renata headed out for the airfield, Oksana several paces behind them. I tugged on her arm to keep her behind.
“That was kind of you to quell their fears,” I said. “Other commanders might not have been so understanding.”
“They’re excellent at their jobs,” Oksana said. “So long as that’s the case, the brass won’t question anything, and I have no desire to cause trouble for them. We all have our secrets.”
I thought about how close I had come to crossing the border—how willing I had been to escape with Vanya to save my own skin—and the truth of her words washed over me. People had lost their lives for less than what Vanya and I had done. I’d spent years becoming the perfect communist and dutiful patriot, but my actions were far more incriminating than those of my comrades, whose very identities could put them at risk.
“I need to chat with you,” Oksana greeted me one evening a few months later as I stood by the aerodrome after our last sortie of the night and mused over my coffee as the sun rose over the plains to the east. It was my moment of solitude, now that I hadn’t a spare half hour to meddle with my violin. More often than not these days I paired it with a cigarette, forcing myself to ignore the weakness in the little indulgence. It was early in the new year, but I made no plans to cast off this vice.
“What can I do for you, Major?” I answered, extinguishing the cigarette with the toe of my boot.
“Counsel. We’ve been offered some male support crews. It would save the backs of our armorers and get us a few more sorties per night.”
“I’d advise against it,” I said, taking a sip of the rapidly cooling brew. “The men won’t have the same work ethic, and they’d make the women nervous. We’re working as well as we are because we haven’t had male influence.”
“Well, I don’t think you’ll like the rest of what I have to say. Whether we take the support crews or not, we’re going to be stationed alongside another aviation regiment. I don’t have all the details yet, but they’re coming and we’ll be sharing an aerodrome.”
“Fantastic,” I muttered. The face of the arrogant, young captain—Fyodorov?—that had nearly cost me my career back in training came into my mind. Who would find themselves in such a predicament this time around? “I’d be sure to set down some ground rules with their commander. Let them know that you expect the same impeccable behavior from their men as you do from us.”
“A lecture will probably be as useful as a spun-sugar teapot, but I will speak to him,” Oksana said, cupping a tin mug full of piping-hot coffee in her hands as I did. “I’ll do as you suggest with the male crew—tell our superiors to send them elsewhere.”
“Thank you,” I said, grateful she’d sought my advice and taken it. “I think introducing men would be a mistake.”