The media piled up their microphones under the commander's chin: journalists from tabloids and popular broadcasters took advantage of even the smallest loopholes. Natalia sneaked around the corners of the military airport, hiding in the back of her unit and avoiding the glare of the cameras.
"I am proud to be the first woman to get in here, sure."
"And I think my grandfather would be too."
"But I think it's better not to become a subject of political agendas."
"Discretion brings peace."
Her less than five-and-a-half-foot height helped her disperse through the crowd. The commanders took all the questions so the rest of the unit could enjoy the serenity of six in the evening.
"Are you in a hurry?" Henderson asked, revealing a carefree smile, even though he was walking with two crutches under his shoulders.
"I'm not very much into this kind of stuff," she replied.
"A little fame doesn't hurt, you know?"
"I'm not worried about it, to be honest."
"Well, I expected you were going to say that."
Henderson followed her along the same path, skirting the hubbub of the arrivals area. The waiting room was reserved for soldiers. Some returnees were already taking some of the tables, waiting for families and friends to fetch them home.
She could hear — beyond the walls of the waiting room — the words of the commander on the platform, praising the name of the unit and celebrating the success of the urban control operation.
Meanwhile, Henderson took one of the adjacent tables.
"Natalia," he called her name out, grabbing her attention. "I don't know how to thank you, honestly."
"Stay alive and enjoy life," she replied. "It's just that easy."
"Well then, when my walkers get better, I'll remember to pay you a visit," Henderson promised, pointing at his wounded legs.
Her voice, however, didn't sound as smooth as before. Her words, ridden with a strange feeling, left a bitter taste in her mouth — it didn't matter how sweet she said it. Getting out of that alive was surely a deliverance; but it didn't feel like a victory as well. Not even bittersweet — as there was no sugarcoating for what had happened in that urban warfare.
"The stuffy breaths among those ruined walls of sand and concrete."
"It still lingers in my nose."
Fragmented, as if part of her had been lost under the wrecks and rubbles. Stick and stones may break her bones; but the cold handle of the rifles shattered her spirit. The dispersed gaze, the frowning face, the prominent posture and the sharp intuition. The girl she once was had been finally buried under all her facade.
"Tell me, what's it like being a Lieutenant-Colonel at that age?" he asked, pulling her out of her thoughts. "I would be proud if I were you.
"Lieutenant-Colonel, is it?" she replied. "It's fine, I guess?
"Fine?" he laughed. "You say only 'fine'?"
Medals of bravery tinkled in the pocket of her uniform, reminding her of her own merit. Nothing but his own urges had lifted his conquests to that level. It was deserved pride, without presumption, from the people she'd saved. From the battles she'd won.
"Will Mom and Dad finally be proud of me?" Natalia pondered.
Henderson stared into her.
And it was such a shame.
Such deviousness now mirrored in the gloomy blue of her eyes.
Her demons wouldn't ever be defeated; but learned to live with.
* * *
Pointers skirted around the clock on the wall, stealing her glances. Natalia tapped fingers over the table and her boots under the chair, waiting. As the time ran, she thought and played out every single possibility in her mind. All of the words she could say. All of those she wanted to hear.
Home hadn't ever a meaning until that point. She couldn't wait for it anymore. Everything she could ever want was a single moment of serenity and tenderness. An embrace. A late-night dinner under the roof of some family restaurant.
After those eight months, for a day, the years in the didn't matter anymore. As it was better this way, because all she wanted was a single moment of serenity. Tenderness.
"To forget."
"To enjoy."
"And to forgive."
Watching each of her mates' families arrive made her heart skip a beat. Henderson, too, was no exception. The two daughters he had talked about so much in the Middle East came along with his wife, welcoming him with the widest of smiles and the sincerest of tears.
It didn't take long also.
After talking to him, one of them came right to her.
"Are you Natalia?" said the eldest of the daughters, breaking through her thoughts.
Natalia brought her gaze back from her oblivion and looked at her.
A moment of silence and then her answer:
"The woman herself," she replied. "Why do you ask?"
"My father told me a lot about you."
She laid her hand on Natalia's shoulder and said, with the same gentle smile as him:
"I just wanted to thank you for everything you've done for us."
Gratitude was stamped on her face, of whom had heard everything there was to hear. Her words comforted Natalia. It made her record. Made her remember once more about the words that she wanted to hear, waiting for her dear moment with her parents.
"But I have to thank him too: the experience wasn't worse because he was always by my side," said Natalia. "He stood up for me when people talked about me. Even though I didn't care, he acted like he was my father."
"Yeah, that's totally him." His daughter laughed. "The old man may be a little dorky sometimes; but he is an honest man."
"That, I don't have any doubt." Natalia weaved a half-smile on her lips.
She, then, let go of her hand and took pen and paper from her pocket.
"If you need our help with anything," she said, writing down the numbers on the paper, "just call one of these numbers, alright?"
Considerate: like father, like daughter.
"I will, for sure," Natalia replied.
There was also another strange thing about it all: even whilst talking to her and hearing all those compliments about her, something felt out of place. A lack of vehemence in her words. Her desire was to laugh as that family did. Something to take her out of the solitude's misery.
She wanted to tell someone all the good things.
She wanted someone to listen to her.
A moment only for she, her and herself.
* * *
Natalia stamped her feet on the floor; swinging her legs as if she was in a rocking chair. She laid her beret on the table, stroking the black fabric and tousling the knotted bun of her hair, winding her fingers around her blonde locks.
Yet, none of her parents in sight.
"Four hours?"
"Five hours?"
"I don't even remember anymore."
Amid the deep silence, the ceiling fans roared as turbines. Only her and one other soldier remained, waiting until the last toll of the night.
The Special Air Service airport would close after midnight, with the commanders' solemnity ending. The ticking of clocks rang in her ears, louder and louder. Stomach turning. A lump in the throat. A relentless pressure on her chest.
But Natalia gritted her teeth and swallowed her fear, composing herself once more. She looked to the side and saw that soldier quiet and still. Waiting patiently, just like her.
"I'm thinking too much."
"I just need to calm down."
But it didn't matter what she said to herself. The minutes would continue to run as they had to. On and on, on and on — no matter how much she waited by herself. She glanced at her phone screen; but nothing. They got the message twenty minutes ago and had read it five ago; but nothing. Her feet and hands were lost in the rhythm of their beats.
And from so much fear she swallowed, it choked again.
This time, no matter how deep she breathed or how much she clenched her fists, those horrible thoughts never left her. There was still hope. As long as that soldier was also alone, she could bear not being "truly alone".
"I'm thinking too much."
"Too much..."
But there was nothing more fragile than the comfort sustained by the pain of the other: an old lady arrived in the hallway. That soldier didn't even wait for her to come the rest of the way: he got up at once and ran towards her, drawing the widest of joys on his face.
"But what am I thinking?"
"Desiring this… 'feeling'... for others?"
She weaved a sigh and counted to three; but it was no use. The clock counted forty more minutes. Twenty to midnight. Now, it was just her and the painful silence of loneliness — as lancinating as her bandaged wounds.
"They will come, won't they?"
"Won't they?"
"Won't they...?"
After everything that had happened to her, she felt that, at the very least, she had to feel the evil of the century; but she never did, fighting her sorrows. Her goals always spoke louder than her personal problems — sadness had no place in the face of motivation and hard work.
However, sadness was, always was, above all, quintessentially necessary. For so long, she was able to maintain this austerity — this disregard she had for what she felt so much. And at that moment, she could no longer tell what was drawn on her face. Which expression she had. Whatever was it that she showed the world through her countenance.
As she had no more control.
"Why...?"
"What did I... do to deserve this?"
And what was it that weaved on her lips? And that wet feeling under her eyes? Why couldn't her hands stop shaking? Maybe it was the consequence of deluding herself; but was it really her fault?
"Was I really such a nasty child?"
A desire to let it all out and cry; but she just couldn't be so pathetic in front of everyone, right? There was no one there, though. So, what difference would it make? What difference would it make if they saw her or not? Who was she even trying to prove herself to anymore?
She grasped the golden crucifix that hung around her neck.
"If he was alive..."
"He'd come... wouldn't he?"
She rubbed her hands over her cheeks, wiping tears away as sobs buried her words. The remaining twenty minutes flew by and the clock struck midnight, ending the long wait with a bitter resolution.
They wouldn't come anymore.
"Did they forget me?"
"Or am I not as important as he is?"
"Are they still resentful that I didn't live the life they designed for me?"
She had no place to stay and no bed to sleep — not even a shoulder to grieve over that nagging, piercing feeling. Of all the sorrows of her life, it was only there that she finally felt her most intimate loneliness.
How many chances of happiness had she wasted? When what she wanted most was to prove to everyone that she didn't need to prove anything to anyone?
The lights went out with the curfew.
"Six hours."
The sobs muted her voice, leaving her as silent as the shadows around.
"Whilst looking at the time."
And she cried like a child.
"Smiling."
Along with her child self.
"Waiting."
Those were the tears she had swallowed so much and for so long.
"Longing."
Natalia crossed her arms, laying them on the table. She laid her cheek on her elbow and drowned her sorrows under her own loneliness, as she had nowhere to go but deeper into her own silence.
"They must really hate me."
And in that lapse of austerity, she remembered.
Under the lingering light from the windows, she peeked at the numbers on the paper and considered dialing. She hesitated at first, but did it at last. Henderson's daughter answered the moment Natalia called, leaving no room for wait.
"How was it like?"
"The feeling of being loved?"