Sapphire Skies (36 page)

T
he afternoon was turning dark and icy when Lily arrived at Novodevichy Cemetery. Oksana was waiting for her by the gate, clutching an oversized handbag. At that hour the cemetery was too cold and spooky for the tourists, which was how the women had planned it. They wanted as few people around as possible.

‘I’ve had a look at the grave,’ Oksana told Lily. ‘There’s a gap under the base of the statue that opens into the tomb itself. We can slip the box in there. It’s a much better plan than our one of scattering the ashes around the grave. I’m sure Natasha would approve.’

When they reached Natalya Azarova’s grave, Lily was touched to see that the number of bouquets of brightly coloured flowers that covered it hadn’t diminished with the cold weather.

Oksana opened her bag and took out the wooden box that contained Natasha’s ashes. She and Lily held the box together and recited the Lord’s Prayer. Then they each kissed the box reverently, and Oksana showed Lily the gap she’d found earlier.

‘I declare that Senior Lieutenant Azarova is no longer missing,’ Lily announced, and she and Oksana pushed the box through the gap. It landed inside the tomb with a thud.

‘There,’ said Oksana, ‘Svetlana and Natasha are together again. And when people come to visit this grave, they will be honouring both of them.’

They spent some moments at the grave in contemplation, then the two women linked arms and walked back to Oksana’s car. They were pleased — and somewhat amazed — that they’d accomplished their sacred task without being seen, or stopped by the cemetery officials.

‘Natasha must have been watching out for us,’ Oksana said.

Valentin Orlov had visited Novodevichy Cemetery every day since the funeral. He liked to come early in the morning or last thing in the afternoon to avoid the tourists, students and other visitors. It was bitterly cold that afternoon as he stepped out of the taxi and noticed the two women who passed him, deep in conversation. He recognised the younger of the two as the woman who had lost her keys near Natasha’s grave. He wondered what her interest in his beloved was. He was tempted to follow her and ask her, but the cemetery gates would close soon.

He placed the single rose he always brought with him among the bouquets left by admirers. He had hoped that once Natasha’s body and plane were recovered, and she’d been recognised officially as a heroine of the Great Patriotic War, he would gain a sense of finality. But the feeling never came. Time was supposed to heal all wounds, but his was still a black hole inside him. The skeleton he and Ilya had discovered in Orël Oblast was buried here, but Natasha’s essence wasn’t. I found her and yet I didn’t find her, he thought.

But the sculpture on the grave captured Natasha’s femininity and strength, and it was something tangible that he could touch, like the photograph he kept at home of himself and Natasha standing by his Yak. That was why he came to the cemetery every day: to have some contact with her. He expected his life would continue in this same melancholic manner until he was too old and weak to come any more. But then something happened that changed everything.

He was standing by the grave, looking at the flowers, when he saw a flash of light. Now, the bouquets shimmered with vivid colours. A warm sensation surrounded him and he felt a gentle pressure at his side. It was her, Natasha! He knew it!

He couldn’t see her but he could hear her. She was saying something, but not using words that were part of any human language. Then she laughed and Orlov found himself laughing too, and his whole being seemed to rise above the earth and expand with joy.

He remembered when she had first joined the regiment in Stalingrad. It had been exactly like this: she had come into his life and unshackled him.
Did you ever consider the possibility that I might surprise you?
she’d asked him; and she had. After all these years of separation, she had returned to him.

Orlov touched his side. ‘Natasha?’

This time she spoke clearly and straight into his heart: ‘I love you, my dear Valentin. We will meet again in heaven.’

‘I love you too,’ he said out loud. ‘I never stopped waiting.’

‘I know.’

Then she was gone.

Orlov sat on a bench near the grave, trying to digest what had happened. The weight that had pressed on his chest for so long had lifted. The ever-present regret had fallen away. The world seemed to be adjusting itself into a new pattern and he was filled with a sense of optimism. If he didn’t feel so peaceful, he might have wondered if he’d lost his mind.

I’m eighty-three, he told himself. Maybe I have one year left. Maybe I have ten. Why waste them?

His mind drifted to Leonid and Irina and their children, Nina and Anton. Fine people, all of them. They had said that they wanted to know him better. Well, maybe that could happen, he thought. After all, I’ve lived an interesting life.

He stood and touched the gravestone one more time. He knew that he wouldn’t come to the cemetery again. Natasha wasn’t here. She was in his heart, where she always had been, and where she would always remain.

‘I love you, Natasha,’ he said. ‘We will meet again in heaven.’ Then he turned and walked towards the cemetery gate.

Wait for Me

To Valentina Serova

Wait for me, and I’ll come back.

Wait with all you’ve got.

Wait, when dreary yellow rains

Tell you, you should not.

Wait when snow is falling fast,

Wait when summer’s hot,

Wait when yesterdays are past,

Others are forgot.

Wait, when from that far-off place,

Letters don’t arrive.

Wait, when those with whom you wait

Doubt if I’m alive.

Wait for me, and I’ll come back.

Wait in patience yet

When they tell you off by heart

That you should forget.

Even when my dearest ones

Say that I am lost,

Even when my friends give up,

Sit and count the cost,

Drink a glass of bitter wine

To the fallen friend —

Wait. And do not drink with them.

Wait until the end.

Wait for me and I’ll come back,

Dodging every fate.

‘What a bit of luck,’ they’ll say,

Those that would not wait.

They will never understand

How amidst the strife,

By your waiting for me, dear,

You had saved my life.

Only you and I will know

How you got me through.

Simply — you knew how to wait —

No one else but you.

Konstantin Simonov, 1941

Sapphire Skies
is a fictional story set against a historical background. While I was inspired by the glamorous Soviet female fighter ace Lydia Litvyak, who disappeared in combat and was denied the distinction of Hero of the Soviet Union until her body was discovered in the late 1970s, Natalya Azarova is a fictional character. I found Litvyak a fascinating woman, but I wanted to create a character of my own in order to show what life was like under Stalin, and to invent a fictional mystery with my imagination.

Marina Raskova was a famous female aviator who formed women’s air regiments during the Great Patriotic War, the most well known of which is the 46th Guards Night Bomber Aviation Regiment. The members of this highly successful regiment were nicknamed ‘Night Witches’ by the German army because of their tactic of cutting their engines and gliding quietly in for an attack at night. There are many resources, including documentaries and books, about Raskova’s regiments, and if
Sapphire Skies
has sparked your interest, then I encourage you to learn more about these amazing and courageous heroines.

Moscow Animals is an organisation that saves dogs and cats from the street and has the space dog Laika on their emblem. You can find out more about them here: www.moscowanimals.org. The rescue and socialisation techniques for stray cats described in this book are based on my experience as a volunteer with the World League for Protection of Animals, Australia. I am very proud to now be the patron of this wonderful organisation: www.wlpa.org. Valentino and Versace are two cats I rescued this way and are now part of the bevy of beautiful felines that keep me company when I write.

A note about transliteration of Russian words and names

The system used to transliterate Cyrillic words in this book is mainly the British Standard System. However, where there is a common English spelling, that spelling has been used in preference to strictly observing the system; for example, using Alexander instead of Aleksandr. Similarly if there is a simpler way of transliterating a name than the system provides, that has usually been preferred; for example, Anatoly instead of Anatoliy. (Occasionally I have used the version of the name that sounded most exotic to suit my purpose.) This latitude would not be acceptable in an academic text, but my aim here is to make Russian words and names as easy on the eye and tongue as possible for English-speaking readers, while still giving something of the essence of the Russian language and the culture in which the story is set.

A thank you to readers

Sapphire Skies
is my sixth book, and as I’ve progressed in my writing career I’ve been very pleased to have collected along the way a loyal following of readers. I want you to know that I think of you all when I am writing and always give each book the very best of myself with you in mind.

Please feel free to join the friendly community of readers on my Facebook page: facebook.com/BelindaAlexandraAuthor.

I am also happy to receive mail, but please be sure to write your name and address clearly on your letter so that I can reply to you. It breaks my heart when someone has taken the trouble to write to me but I can’t reply to them because there isn’t a legible address.

I would like to thank the wonderful people who helped me with
Sapphire Skies
. In particular, I would like to express my sincere gratitude to my legendary literary agent, Selwa Anthony, for her enthusiastic support and her sage advice. I’m also thankful for the brilliant team at HarperCollins Publishers Australia. In particular: Anna Valdinger; Shona Martyn; James Kellow; Sarah Barrett; Simon Milne; Michael White; Jessica Bramwell; Mary Rennie; Karen-Maree Griffiths; and Kelly Fagan.

Sapphire Skies
has an intricate and detailed plot line and I was fortunate to have the talented Nicola O’Shea as my editor to work with me on it. I’d also like to thank Drew Keys and Pam Dunne for proofreading.

I’m grateful to the experts and scholars who shared their knowledge with me: Paul Wesley of the Australian Federal Police; Paul Marelic of the Royal Australian Air Force; Irina McCarthy for advice about the Russian language and Russian cultural issues; Professor Konrad Kwiet for answering my questions about Auschwitz. Pauline O’Kane and the staff at Ku-ring-gai Library deserve a special mention for all the assistance they gave me with sourcing research materials.

Finally, I would like to thank my beautiful friends and family for their constant support and encouragement. I would especially like to thank my husband, Mauro, my father, Stan, and my brother, Paul; and at the risk of sounding a little nutty, I’d also like to thank my cats — Gardenia, Lilac, Gucci, Valentino and Versace — for their excellent and amusing company while writing this novel.

Thank you all from my heart.

Be swept away …

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BELINDA ALEXANDRA

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