Lukas's eyes fluttered open, and he was met with the unfamiliar sight of a small, worn building. He tried to sit up, but a wave of pain washed over him, forcing him back onto the makeshift bed. As he looked up, he saw the words "Клиника" (Clinic) scrawled on the roof in faded Russian letters.
He listened intently, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Two women were conversing in hushed tones nearby. An elderly woman with a kind face, Babushka, and a younger woman, Anastasia, with a hostile expression. Lukas's ears perked up as he recognized the Russian language, a skill he'd acquired during his university days.
"...Why did you bring him here?" Anastasia asked, her voice laced with venom. "He's a German soldier. He's probably responsible for the deaths of countless innocent people."
Babushka replied, "I found him on the road, barely clinging to life. I couldn't just leave him there to die."
Anastasia's expression turned even more hostile. "Who helped you bring him?. You're risking our lives by helping him. What if he's dangerous, what if the Soviets find out?"
Lukas's curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to intervene. "Я не опасен" (I'm not dangerous), he said in Russian, his voice weak but clear.
Babushka's eyes lit up with amusement, and she chuckled. "Ah, vy govorite po-russki, no ne sovsem pravil'no" (You speak Russian, but not quite correctly). Her tone was warm, but her words hinted at Lukas's imperfections in the language.
Anastasia's gaze narrowed. "You think speaking our language makes you less of a monster?" she spat. "You're still a German soldier, and you'll still be treated as such, This is not a friendly spot for you."
Lukas tried to explain, but Anastasia cut him off. "Your words mean nothing to me. You're a killer, and you'll be treated as one."
As the women continued to discuss his fate, Lukas's anxiety grew. Anastasia's hostility was palpable, and he knew he had to tread carefully to avoid provoking her further.
Babushka placed a gentle hand on Anastasia's arm, her voice soft but firm. "Anastasia, let's just let it be. I'll vouch for him with my life. He's not worth the risk of stirring up trouble."
Anastasia's expression remained skeptical, but she seemed to consider Babushka's words. Lukas tried to capitalize on the moment, attempting to appear as non-threatening as possible. "I'm not a monster," he said in broken Russian, hoping to convey his sincerity.
Anastasia's gaze snapped towards him, her eyes flashing with anger. "Don't try to sweet-talk us," she spat. "Even if I don't react, what about the rest of the village? They don't know you're a German soldier, but the fact that you're German is enough to spook them."
Babushka intervened, her voice calm. "They don't need to know. Since he speaks Russian, we'll just pretend he's one of us."
Anastasia's rebuttal was harsh. "Pretend? You think his looks won't give him away? Those eyes, that hair... he's a German through and through."
Babushka's response was gentle. "I only see him as human, Anastasia. That's all that matters."
Anastasia's voice dripped with venom. "There's a difference between us, Babushka. He's a killer, and we're not. We can't forget that."
Babushka's expression turned stern, but her voice remained calm. "If we watch him closely and he doesn't blunder himself out, he'll be on his way as soon as his injuries heal. I'm asking you to be patient, Anastasia. For my sake, and for the sake of our community."
Anastasia's gaze lingered on Lukas, her eyes filled with a mix of anger and uncertainty. Eventually, she nodded, though it was clear she didn't fully agree. "Fine. But I'll be watching him. Closely."
As the two women left the room, Lukas's gaze followed them before turning to his surroundings, practically immobile. He took in the small, worn building, the makeshift bed he lay on, and the faded Russian letters on the roof.
Meanwhile, Anastasia and Babushka walked side by side, the tension between them palpable. Anastasia spoke up, her voice laced with concern. "Babushka, this is a bad idea. What if he escapes? What if the Soviets find out we're harboring a German soldier? It'll put our entire community at risk."
Babushka's expression remained serene, her eyes fixed on the path ahead. "We've been over this, Anastasia. We'll watch him closely. He'll be fine."
Anastasia's frustration simmered just below the surface. Babushka's calm demeanor seemed to irritate her further. "You know why I'm worried," Anastasia said, her voice tight with emotion.
Babushka's gaze turned gentle, her voice soft. "Anastasia, you said something that surprised me earlier. You said there's a difference between us and him. Why did you say that? You've always believed in treating everyone with kindness and respect, regardless of their background or actions."
Anastasia's eyes flashed with emotion. "Because he's a German soldier, Babushka. That's what they are – killers. They've taken everything from us."
Babushka's expression turned compassionate. "Anastasia, you shouldn't judge. You haven't seen the reality of war from all perspectives..."
Anastasia stopped suddenly her voice cracked as tears welled up in her eyes. "You know I have, Babushka. You know what I've seen." Her voice broke, and she turned away, storming off down the path, leaving Babushka to watch her go with a mixture of concern and understanding.
Anastasia stood alone, lost in thought, as memories of the past seemed to wash over her. A small figure approached her, and she looked down to see her younger sister, little Natasha, with a curious expression on her face.
"Anastasia, what's wrong?" Natasha asked, looking up at her with concern.
Anastasia forced a smile. "Nothing, Natasha. Just thinking about things. What are you doing out here?"
Natasha shrugged. "I was looking for you. Babushka said dinner would be ready soon."
Anastasia nodded, and Natasha continued to chat about her day. Anastasia listened, her mind elsewhere, before asking a question that had been on her mind. "Natasha, what do you think about Germans?"
Natasha's expression turned thoughtful. "Babushka says everyone is good in their own way. She says we shouldn't hate people just because of who they are or where they're from."
Anastasia's eyes narrowed, a mix of emotions swirling inside her. She felt a surge of anger, wondering what kind of world Babushka was teaching them to live in. But as she looked at Natasha's innocent face, her anger melted away, replaced by a deep sadness. She smiled, feeling a pang of jealousy towards Natasha's innocence.
Natasha's words had struck a chord within Anastasia. She knelt down and wrapped her arms around her sister, holding her close as tears welled up in her eyes. "I'm just glad you're okay, Natasha," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
As she held her sister, Anastasia's mind wandered back to the memories she had been trying to suppress. She remembered the sounds of gunfire, the smell of smoke, and the cries of the wounded. She wasn't sure if she hated anyone, but the pain and the loss still lingered, tainting her gentle, loving soul.