The Irony of it All

15

Dobro pozhalovat' v moskovskiy aeroport. Pozhaluysta, podozhdite, poka ogni remney bezopasnosti ne pogasnut, prezhde chem otstegnut'. (Welcome to Moscow Airport. Please wait for the seat belt lights to go off before unbuckling.)” 

Natasha let out a soft breath she didn’t know she’d been holding as they landed. She reviewed her plan in her head as she absent mindedly rubbed her thumb over her swollen bump hidden under the thick sweater. 

After she had fled the scene of the ambush, she’d run into a small clothing store and bought a shirt, sweater, extra underwear, socks, pants, a hat, a jacket, another pair of sneakers, and a backpack all with some of the cash she always kept hidden on her body. She then entered the nearest McDonald’s bathroom and changed. She cut off all the tags, threw away the receipt, and tore some of the clothing items along the edges to cause fray and make them look less new. She packed her scarlet hair into the beanie and stuffed the extra underwear, socks, and jacket into the backpack. Then she smashed her phone and threw that away as well. 

She went to another building, where she had a contact and she kept one of her stashes. In her stashes, she kept cash, guns, fake passports, drivers licences, birth certificates, and other forged official documents. She ditched the guns, and moved everything else into her backpack. Then she used some of the cash to buy herself a one way ticket to Moscow, Russia. She couldn’t risk trying to smuggle a gun onto the plane. 

True, she had a lot of enemies in Russia. But she also had a lot of allies. Despite the horrors she’d caused here, and the horrors she’d been through, Russia was her birthplace, and the country her parents had called home. 

As she got off the passenger jet and picked up her bags, she felt an odd sense of comfort as she was immersed in the sound of her mother tongue. She heard a woman’s voice and she turned to see a woman who had been sitting just across from her on the plane. She had a young girl and she was heavily pregnant, trying to keep a hold on her child while also carrying their bags. Natasha couldn’t help herself. She swung her backpack around so she could support the weight on both of her shoulders instead of just the one, and moved towards the brunette woman. 

“YA mogu vam pomoch'? (Can I help you?)” She asked. The woman looked up at her. 

“Oy. YA ne khotel by navyazyvat'. (Oh. I wouldn’t want to impose.)” 

“Eto ne navyazyvaniye voobshche. Pozvol' mne nesti eto. (It’s not an imposition at all. Let me carry those.” She took the suitcases from the woman and carried them easily. They were heavy, but not as heavy as an unconscious Steve in the middle of a mission. 

“Menya zovut Irina Orlova, a eto moya doch' Lyuda. (My name is Irina Orlova, and this is my daughter, Lyuda.)” Natasha stopped herself from introducing herself as Natalia. The woman was so at ease with her that it just almost slipped out. She cleared her throat and used the name on her papers instead.

“YA Alyona Morozov. Priyatno poznakomit'sya. (I’m Alyona Morozov. It’s nice to meet you.)”

“Vy byli v samolete s nami. YA videl tebya cherez prokhod. (You were on the plane with us. I saw you across the aisle.)”

Natasha chuckled. “Da. YA uznal tebya. (Yes. I recognised you.)” After a beat of silence, Natasha, out of curiosity asked, “Kogda nastupayet srok vashego platezha? (When are you due?)”

“Vsego za dva mesyatsa (In just two months),” Irina answered with a sigh. 

Natasha didn’t know why she did it, but something compelled her to and so to both her and the woman’s surprise, she said, “YA uznal, chto ya tozhe ozhidayu. (I found out that I’m also expecting.)”

“Pozdravlyayem! Kak daleko vy? (Congratulations! How far along are you?)

“Tri mesyatsa. (Three months.)” She had no idea why she was telling the woman all of this. Something about her just felt so warm. 

The woman’s eyes widened. “Ty takoy malen'kiy, ya dazhe ne podozrevala! Khotya i na toy stadii, na kotoroy u menya byla beremennost', ya yeshche nichego ne pokazyval. Eto vse yeshche dovol'no legko spryatat'. No tol'ko podozhdi. Cherez neskol'ko nedel' vnezapno stanet ochevidno, chto ty beremenna. My nazyvayem eto pop-muzykoy. (You're so tiny, I didn't even suspect! Though, I wasn't showing much yet either at that stage in both my pregnancies. It's still pretty easy to hide. But just you wait. In a few weeks, it will suddenly become obvious you're pregnant. We call it the pop.)” 

Natasha eagerly swallowed the woman’s words. It felt so nice to talk to someone about something that was deemed so normal.

“Nu, eto moya ostanovka. Eto moy muzh tam. (Well, this is my stop. That’s my husband over there.)” She said, waving to a tall blonde man that reminded Natasha of Steve in a way, causing her heart to throb with a dull ache. As she passed the suitcases over, she felt a tug on her pant leg. She looked down to see the blonde little girl staring up at her. 

“Mogu ya zadat' vam vopros? (Can I ask you a question?)” She asked. 

“Konechno. (Of course.”

“Kto ty? (Who are you?)”

Natasha smiled in thought as she squatted down so she could be at the small girl’s level. “Nu, kem ty khochesh', chtoby ya byl? (Well who do you want me to be?)” She asked.

The girl thought for a moment. “Tantsor! ( A dancer!)” She exclaimed. 

Natasha chuckled. “Samoye smeshnoye, chto ya na samom dele byl tantsorom. Ran'she ya byla balerinoy. (The funny thing is, I actually was a dancer. I used to be a ballerina.)”

“V samom dele? (Really?!)”

“V samom dele. (Really.)”

“YA khochu byt' balerinoy. (I want to be a ballerina.)” Natasha smiled.

“Vy by sdelali krasivuyu balerinu. (You would make a beautiful ballerina.) The small girl grinned and Natasha was shocked to feel her small lips suddenly against her cheek before she giddily hopped away to hug her father.

“Spasibo (Thank you),” Irina said. 

“Mne bylo priyatno (It was my pleasure),” She answered, before she continued on her way out. She had just stepped outside the automatic, sliding airport doors when she felt the cold muzzle of a gun press against her spine. 

“S vozvrashcheniyem, dorogaya sestra. Vy dolzhny byli pozvonit' zaraneye (Welcome back, dear sister. You should have called ahead.”

“Yelena.” Natasha whispered, feeling her blood run cold. 

“Natalia.” The gun urged her forward as a white van pulled up and the door swung open. 

“Chego ty khochesh' (What do you want)?” Natasha asked, as Yelena pushed her harshly into the van and shut the door.

“Chto ty vzyal u menya (What you took from me).” Natasha’s vision went black as the butt of the gun rammed against her temple.