The Bronze Horseman (The Bronze Horseman #1)

The Bronze Horseman (The Bronze Horseman #1) Page 24

4

Tatiana’s life was positively joyous in the hospital compared to what she encountered when she came back home in the middle of August.

When she returned, finally able to walk — badly — on crutches, Tatiana found Dasha cooking dinner for Alexander, and Alexander sitting behind the table happily eating, joking with Mama, talking politics with Papa, smoking, relaxing, and not leaving. And not leaving.

And not leaving.

Tatiana sat morosely and nibbled at her food like an overstuffed mouse.

When was he going to leave? It was getting so late. Didn’t he have taps?

“Dimitri, what time is taps for you?”

“Eleven,” Dimitri replied. “But Alexander has the night off tonight.”

Oh.

“Tania, did you hear? Mama and Papa are now sleeping in Deda and Babushka’s room,” Dasha said, smiling. “You and I have a room to ourselves, can you believe it?”

There was something in Dasha’s voice that Tatiana did not like. “No,” said Tatiana. When was Alexander leaving?

Dimitri went back to the barracks. Before eleven o’clock Mama and Papa got ready to go to bed. Mama leaned to Dasha and whispered, “He can’t stay overnight, do you hear me? Your father will go through the roof. He’ll kill us both.”

“I hear you, Mama,” Dasha whispered back. “He’ll leave soon, I promise.”

Not soon enough, Tatiana thought.

Their parents went to bed, and Dasha took Tatiana aside and whispered, “Tania, can you go up on the roof and play with Anton? Please? I just want to have an hour alone with Alexander — in a room, Tania!”

Tatiana left Dasha alone with Alexander. In her room.

She went to the kitchen and threw up in the sink. The nauseating din inside her head continued even after she went up onto the roof and sat with Anton, who was supposed to be on night duty. Anton was not a very good sky-watcher. He was sleeping. Fortunately the sky was quiet. Even from far away there was no sound of war. Tatiana sifted the sand in the bucket and cried in the moonless night.

I’ve done this, she thought. This is all because of me. Shuddering at herself, she laughed out loud. Anton twitched. I’ve done this to myself, and I have no one else to blame.

Had she not decided to single-handedly bring Pasha back, had she not joined the volunteers and walked off God knows where and got blown up and had her leg broken, she and Dasha would have left with Deda and Babushka for Molotov. And the unthinkable would not be happening in her room right now.

She sat on the roof until Dasha came upstairs sometime later and motioned for her to come to bed.

The following evening Mama told Tatiana that now that she was home by herself all day with a broken leg and nothing to do, she would have to start cooking dinner for the family.

All Tatiana’s life Babushka Anna, who did not work, had cooked. On the weekends Tatiana’s mother cooked. Sometimes Dasha cooked. During holidays like New Year everybody cooked; everybody, that is, except Tatiana, who cleared up.

“I’d be glad to, Mama,” said Tatiana. “If I only knew how.”

Dismissively Dasha said, “There is nothing to it.”

“Yes, Tania,” said Alexander, smiling. “There’s nothing to it. Make something delicious. A cabbage pie or something.”

Why not? Tatiana thought; while her leg was healing, she needed to busy her idle hands. She would try. She could not continue sitting in the room and reading all day, even if the reading was a Russian-English phrase book. Even if it was rereading Tolstoy’s War and Peace. She could not continue sitting in her room, thinking about Alexander.

The crutches had been killing her ribs, so Tatiana stopped using them. She hobbled to the store on her cast leg. The first thing she would cook in her life would be a cabbage pie. She would have also liked to make a mushroom pie but couldn’t find any mushrooms in the store.

The yeast dough took Tatiana three attempts and five hours in all. She made some chicken soup to go with the pie.

Alexander came for dinner, along with Dimitri. Extremely nervous about Alexander trying her food, Tatiana suggested that perhaps the two soldiers wanted to go back and eat at the barracks. “What, and miss your first pie?” Alexander said teasingly. Dimitri smiled.

They ate and drank and talked about the day and about war, and about evacuation, and about hopes for finding Pasha, and then Papa said, “Tania, this is a little salty.”

Mama said, “No, she just didn’t let the dough rise enough. And there are too many onions. Why didn’t you try to get something else besides cabbage?”

Dasha said, “Tania, next time cook the carrots a little longer in the soup. And put a bay leaf in. You forgot the bay leaf.”

Smiling, Dimitri said, “It’s not too bad for your first effort, Tania.”

Alexander passed Tatiana his plate, and said, “It’s great. Can I please have some more pie? And here’s my bowl for the soup.”

After dinner Dasha took Tatiana away and whispered in her pleading voice, “Can you and Dimitri go on the roof for a little while? It’s not going to be too late tonight. He’s got to get back. Please?”

Kids from the apartment building were constantly on the roof. Dimitri and Tatiana were not alone.

But Dasha and Alexander were alone.

What Tatiana needed was not to see her sister and him. Him for a lifetime. Her for two weeks. In two weeks, when the summer would end, Dasha’s infatuation would surely end, too. Nothing could survive the Leningrad winter.

But how could Tatiana not see Alexander? Maybe she could lie to everyone else, but she could not lie to herself. She held her breath the whole day until the evening hour when she would finally hear him walking down the corridor. The last two nights he stopped at her door, smiled, and said, “Hello, Tania.”

“Hello, Alexander,” she replied, blushing and looking down at his boots. She couldn’t meet his eyes without trembling somewhere on her body.

Then she fed him.

Then Dasha took Tatiana aside and whispered.

Tatiana had been ready, gritted teeth and all, to put Alexander away. She had known all along what the right thing was, and she was prepared to do it.

But why did her face have to be rubbed in the right thing night after night?

As the days went on, Tatiana realized she was too young to hide well what was in her heart but old enough to know that her heart was in her eyes.

She was afraid she would glance at Alexander and something in her look would catch Dimitri’s attention, something would make him think, wait a minute, why is she looking at him? Or worse, what is that in her eyes? Or worse still, why is she looking away? Why can’t she look at him like everyone else? Like I look at Dasha, like Dasha looks at me?

Looking at Alexander condemned Tatiana, but not looking at him equally betrayed her, maybe even more so.

And Dimitri seemed to catch it all. Every glance away, every glance toward, Dimitri’s quietly studying eyes were on Alexander, on Tatiana.

Alexander was older. He could hide better.

Most of the time he treated her as if he had never met her before last night or tonight, before an hour ago, maybe a witching hour, maybe a drunken hour, certainly a smoking hour, but he managed somehow to behave toward her as if she were nothing to him. As if he were nothing to her.

But how?

How did he hide their Kirov walks and their arms against each other, how did he hide his life that he poured into her, how did he hide his unstoppable hands on her breasts, and his lips on her, and all the things he had said to her? How did he hide Luga from them all? Luga, when he washed her bloodied body? When she lay naked against him as he kissed her hair and held her with his tender arms, while his heart beat wildly in his chest. How did he hide his eyes? When they were alone, Alexander looked at Tatiana as if there were no one else in the world but her.

Was that the lie?

Was this the lie?

Maybe that’s what grown-ups did. They kissed your breasts and then pretended it meant nothing. And if they could pretend really well, it meant they were really grown-up.

Or maybe they kissed your breasts and it really was nothing.

How was that possible? To touch another human being that way and have it mean nothing?

But maybe if you could do that, it meant you were really grown-up.

Tatiana didn’t know, but she was baffled and humiliated by it — imagining herself in Alexander’s hands when he could barely be bothered to call her by name.

Tatiana would lower her head and wish for them all to disappear. But every once in a while when Alexander would be sitting down at the table, and she was in the room, and everyone was talking while she was moving or picking up teacups, she would see him glance at her, and for a flicker she would see his true eyes.

All Tatiana had with Alexander were meaningless gestures. He would open the door for her, and as she walked by him, a bit of her brushed a bit of him, and that kept her going for a day. Or when she made him tea and handed him the cup, the very tips of his fingers would — accidentally? — touch the very tips of hers, and that kept her going for another day. Until the next time she saw him. Until the next time a part of him would brush against a part of her. Until the next time he said, “Hello, Tania.” But one time, when Dimitri had already walked inside and Dasha was elsewhere, with a big smile on his face Alexander said, “Hello, Tania! I’m home.” And it made her laugh, though she didn’t want to. And when she looked up at him, he was soundlessly laughing, too.

One night when Alexander tasted her cheese blinchiki, he said, “Tania, I think that’s the best yet.” And that lifted her spirits, until Dasha kissed him and said, “Tanechka, you really have been a godsend for us all.”

Tatiana didn’t smile, and then she saw Dimitri watching her not smiling, and then she smiled but knew it was not enough. Later, when Dasha and Alexander were sitting together on the couch, Dimitri said, “Dasha, I must say that I have never seen Alexander as happy with anyone as he is with you,” and everybody smiled, including Alexander, who did not look at an unsmiling Tatiana. Yes, and we have me to thank for it, she thought grimly, catching Dimitri’s eyes.

She continued to learn to cook new things, how to make sweet pies because she saw that Alexander liked them, finishing them off in one sitting, followed by his tea and cigarettes.

“Do you know what else I like?” he said once.

Tatiana’s heart stopped for a moment.

“Potato pancakes.”

“I don’t know how to make those.”

Where was everyone else? Mama and Papa were in the other room. Dasha had gone to the bathroom. Dimitri was not there. Alexander smiled into her face, and his smile was contagious, and it was for her. “Potatoes, flour, some onions. Salt.”

“Is that from—”

Dasha came back.

The next day Tatiana made potato pancakes ladled with sour cream, and the whole family devoured them, saying they had never tasted anything so delicious. “Where did you learn to make that?” asked Dasha.

The only small pleasure Tatiana had during her long days was feeding Alexander. The pleasure was most intense and most untinged by hurt in the hours before the family returned home, when she was making the food and looking forward to seeing his face. During dinner emotions were already gathering clouds, and soon after dinner two things happened: either Alexander left to go back to barracks, which was bad enough, or Dasha asked to be left alone with him, which was worse.

Where had they gone before they had a room of their own to go to? Tatiana could not conceive of the things Alexander had said to her in the hospital about alleys and benches. Dasha, always the protective older sister, certainly never talked to Tatiana about those things. Didn’t talk to Tatiana about anything.

No one talked to Tatiana about anything.

Tatiana never saw Alexander alone.

He hid everything.

But one evening after dinner, when they all went out onto the roof, Anton asked Tatiana if she wanted to play their dizzy geography game. Tatiana said she was going to have trouble twirling on one leg.

“Come on, try,” said Anton. “I’ll hold you up.”

“All right,” Tatiana said, wanting a bit of giddiness. She hopped around and around on her one good leg, while keeping her eyes closed. Anton’s friendly hands were on her arms, and he laughed hysterically as she got all the countries in the world completely out of whack, and when she opened her eyes, she saw Alexander looking at her with such a black expression that it hurt her even to breathe, as if her ribs were rebroken. She straightened herself out and went to sit next to Dimitri, thinking that perhaps even grown-ups couldn’t hide everything.

“That’s a fun game, Tania,” said Dimitri, putting his arm around her.

“Yes, Tania,” said Dasha, “when are you ever going to grow up?”

Alexander said nothing.

Of all the small mercies Tatiana was grateful for, the one she was most grateful for was her broken leg’s preventing her from going on solitary walks with Dimitri. She was also grateful for the constant buzz of people in the apartment that stopped her from being alone with Dimitri. But that night when they got back downstairs from the roof, Tatiana discovered to her panic that her parents had themselves gone for a walk in the balmy August night, leaving the two couples alone together.

Tatiana saw Dimitri’s insinuating smile and felt his insinuating closeness. Dasha smiled at Alexander and said, “Are you tired?”

Tatiana could barely continue to stand on one leg.

It was Alexander who came to her rescue. “No, Dasha,” he said, “I have to be going tonight. Come on, Dimitri.”

Dimitri said he didn’t have to be going, not taking his eyes off Tatiana.

Alexander said, “Yes, you do, Dima. Lieutenant Marazov needs to see you tonight before taps. Let’s go.”

Tatiana was grateful for Alexander. Though it was a bit like the Germans cutting off your legs and then wanting you to be grateful to them for not killing you.

When Mama and Papa came back from their walk, Tatiana quietly asked them never to leave the apartment in the evening again, not even for a cold glass of beer on a warm August night.

During the days Tatiana went out for slow walks around the block to check the local stores for any food. She had begun to notice an absence of beef and pork. She could not find even the 250 grams of meat a week per person that was allotted them. Only occasionally did she find chicken.

Tatiana still found the ever-present cabbage, apples, potatoes, onions, carrots. But butter was more scarce. She had to put less in her yeast dough. The pies started tasting worse, though Alexander still ate them cheerfully. She found flour, eggs, milk. She couldn’t buy a lot; she couldn’t carry a lot. She would buy enough to make one pie for dinner, and then in the afternoons she would take a nap and study her English words before turning on the radio.

Tatiana listened to the radio every afternoon, because the second thing her father said when he came home was, “Any news from the front?” The first thing he said was, “Any news?” leaving out the unspoken. Any news about Pasha?

So Tatiana felt obliged to listen to the radio to find out the minimum about the Red Army’s position, or about von Leeb’s army’s advance. She didn’t want to hear it. On occasion, yes — listening to bleak reports from the front lifted her spirits. Even defeat at the hands of Hitler’s men was better than what she had to endure inside herself every day. She turned on the radio in the hope that hopeless news elsewhere would cheer her up.

She knew if the announcer started listing open radio frequencies, then nothing extraordinary had happened that day. Usually there was some news. But even before the announcer came on, there was a series of dismal little rings and pauses, like a rat-ta-tat-tat of a typewriter. The radio information bulletin itself lasted a few seconds. Maybe three short sentences about the Finnish-Russian front.

“The Finnish armies are quickly regaining all the territory they lost in the war of 1940.”

“The Finns are coming closer to Leningrad.”

“The Finns are at Lisiy Nos, only twenty kilometers from the city limits.”

Then followed a few sentences about the German advance. The newsreader read slowly, stretching out the no-news bulletin to impart meaning that wasn’t there. After he listed the cities south of Leningrad that were under German control, Tatiana had to go and open a map.

When she found out that Tsarskoye Selo was in German hands, she was shocked and even forgot about Alexander for the moment it took her to get her bearings. Tsarskoye Selo, like Peterhof, was a summer palace of the old tsars, it was the summer writing place of Alexander Pushkin, but the worst thing was that Tsarskoye Selo was just ten kilometers southeast of the Kirov factory, which was located on the city limits of Leningrad.

Were the Germans ten kilometers from Leningrad?

“Yes,” Alexander said that night. “The Germans are very close.”

The city had changed in the month Tatiana spent in Luga and in the hospital. The golden spires of the Admiralty and Peter and Paul’s Cathedral had been spray-painted gray. Soldiers were on every street, and the NKVD militia in their dark blue uniforms were even more conspicuous than the soldiers. Every window in the city was taped against explosion; the people on the streets walked quickly and with a purpose. Tatiana sometimes sat on a bench near the church across the street and watched them. In the sky floated the ubiquitous airships, some round, some oval. The rations became slightly more restrictive, but Tatiana was still able to get enough flour to make potato pies, mushroom pies, and cabbage pies. Alexander often brought some of his rations with him when he came for dinner. There was chicken enough to make chicken soup with well-cooked carrots. Bay leaf was gone.

Dimitri got Tatiana out onto the roof while Dasha and Alexander were downstairs alone in Tatiana’s room. Putting his arm around her, Dimitri said, “Tania, please. I’m feeling so sad. How long am I going to wait? Just a little more tonight?”

Placing her hand on his arm, Tatiana asked, “What’s the matter?”

“I just need a little comfort from you,” he said, hugging her, kissing her cheeks, trying to bring his mouth to hers. There was something that felt almost unnatural in Dimitri’s touching her. She couldn’t put her finger on it. “Dima, please,” she whispered, moving slightly away from him and motioning for Anton, who skipped over and chatted with them until Dimitri got fed up and left.

“Thanks, Anton,” said Tatiana.

“Anytime,” he replied. “Why don’t you just tell him to leave you alone?”

“Anton, you wouldn’t believe it, but the more I do, the more he comes around,” said Tatiana.

“Older men are all like that, Tania,” said Anton with authority, as if he knew about such things. “Don’t you understand anything? You have to give in. Then he’ll leave you alone!” He laughed.

Tatiana laughed, too. “I think you may be right, Anton. I think that’s how older men work.”

She continued to busy Dimitri with cards or books, with jokes or vodka. Vodka, in particular, was good. Dimitri tended to have a little too much and then fall asleep on the small sofa in the hallway, and Tatiana would take her grandmother’s cardigan and go up onto the roof without him and sit with Anton and think of Pasha, and think of Alexander.

She passed the time with Anton, told jokes, read Zoshchenko and War and Peace, and looked at the Leningrad sky, wondering how much longer for the Germans to get to Leningrad.

Wondering how much longer for everything.

And after the other kids left to go to sleep, Tatiana continued to sit by the kerosene lamp on the roof and mouth little English words to herself from the dictionary and the phrase book. She learned to say “Pen.” “Table.” “Love.” “The United States of America.” “Potato pancakes.” She wished she had two minutes alone with Alexander to tell him some of the amusing phrases she was learning.

One night at the very end of August, with Anton asleep next to her, Tatiana tried to think of a way to make her life right again.

Once it had been right. As right as it could be. Suddenly after June 22 there was such havoc, constant, cheerless, and unending. But not all of it cheerless.

Tatiana missed the evening hour with Alexander at Kirov more than she could admit even to herself. The evening hour when they had sat apart and together and ambled through the empty streets; when they talked and were silent, and the silence flowed into their words as Lake Ladoga flowed into the Neva that flowed into the Gulf of Finland that flowed into the Baltic Sea. The evening hour when they smiled and the white of his teeth blinded her eyes, when he laughed and his laughter flew into her lungs, when she never took her eyes off him and no one saw but him, and he was all right with it.

The evening hour at Kirov when they were alone.

What to do? How to fix this? Somehow she had to make herself right again inside. For her own sake, for her sister’s, and for Alexander’s.

It was two in the morning. Tatiana was cold, wearing only an old sundress with a cardigan over it. She was thinking that she would rather spend the rest of her life on the roof than downstairs with Mama and Papa’s forlorn hope for Pasha, or with Dasha’s supplicating whisper . . . Tania, go away so I can be alone with him.

Tatiana thought about the war. Maybe if the German planes came whizzing by and dropped a bomb on our building, I could save everyone else but die in the process. Would they mourn me? Would they cry? Would Alexander wish things were different?

Different how?

Different when?

She knew that Alexander already wished things were different. He wished they had been different from the start.

But even at the start, on the bus still, together, untouched by anything but each other, was there a place where Tania and Shura could have gone when they wanted to be alone for two minutes to speak English phrases to one another? Other than the walk home from Kirov?

Tatiana didn’t know of such a place.

Did Alexander?

This was a pointless exercise, designed only to pummel herself further. As if she needed it.

All I want is some relief, Tatiana thought. Why is that too much to ask?

Nothing brought her relief. Not Alexander’s aloofness, not his occasional short temper with Dasha, not his moodiness, not his winning at cards all the time — nothing eased either Tatiana’s feeling for him or her need for him. He didn’t have many nights off. He usually had to be back for taps, while other nights he had sky duty at St. Isaac’s. He had only one or two evenings off each week, but it was one or two evenings too many.

And tonight was one of those evenings. Please, Tania, please go away so I can be alone with him.

She heard a distant rumble. Overhead the airships floated by.

The hours at night and at morning and at day before night break, again the hours. Something had to be done. But what?

Tatiana came downstairs. She made herself a cup of tea to warm her cold hands and was sitting exhausted on the kitchen windowsill, looking out onto the dark courtyard, when out of the corner of her eye she saw Alexander walk past the door. She heard his footsteps slow down and then trail back. He stood in the doorway. For a moment they did not speak.

“What are you doing?” he asked quietly.

She said coolly and bravely, “Waiting for you to leave, so I can go to bed.”

Alexander walked tentatively into the kitchen.

She glared at him.

He came closer. The thought of being able to smell him made Tatiana’s heart weak. He stopped short of that.

“I hardly ever stay late,” he said.

“Good for you.”

Now that no one was watching her, Tatiana stared unblinking at him.

Looking at her with remorse and understanding, Alexander said, “Tatiasha, it’s been very hard for you, I know. I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I blame myself. What did I tell you? I never should have come into your hospital room that night.”

“Oh, because before it was bearable.”

“It was better than this.”

“You’re right, it was.” Tatiana wanted to jump down from the sill and go to him. She wanted to ride the tram, to sit on the bench, to sleep in a tent with him. She wanted to feel him next to her again. On her again. But what she said was, “Tell me, did you arrange for Dima to be in Leningrad every night? Because every night that he is here, he tries to take liberties with me.”

Alexander’s eyes flared. “He told me he had taken some.”

“Really?” Is that why Alexander had been so cold? “What did Dima say?” Tatiana was too tired to be angry at Dimitri. Alexander came closer. Just a little more, she thought, and I’ll be able to smell you.

“Never mind that,” said Alexander, sounding pained.

“And you thought he was telling the truth?”

“You tell me.”

“Alexander, you know what?” She swung her legs off the sill and put down her cup.

Alexander came closer. “No, what, Tatia?” he said softly.

Tatiana smelled his maleness, his shampoo, his soap. Wanly she smiled. Then her smile vanished. “Please,” she said, “do me a favor and stay away from me. All right?”

“I’m doing my level best,” he said, taking a step back.

“No,” Tatiana said, and broke off. “Why are you coming over?” she whispered. “Don’t continue with Dasha.” She sighed deeply. “Like after Kirov. Go ahead. Go fight your war. And take Dimitri. He won’t take no for an answer, and I’m getting sick and tired of all this.” Of all of you, she wanted to say but didn’t. “Soon I’m going to get tired of saying no to him,” Tatiana added for effect.

“Stop it,” Alexander said. “I can’t leave now. The Germans are too close. Your family is going to need me.” He paused. “You are going to need me.”

“I’m not. I’m going to be fine. Please, Alexander . . . this is just too hard for me. Can’t you see that? Say good-bye to Dasha, say good-bye to me, and take your Dimitri with you.” She paused. “Please, please, go away.”

“Tania,” Alexander said, nearly inaudibly, “how can I not come and see you?”

She blinked.

“Who is going to feed me, Tania?”

Tatiana blinked again. “Well, that’s fine,” she said, very upset. “I’ll be making dinner for you and having it off with your best friend while you’re knocking my sister. Did I get the terms right this time? That is perfect, isn’t it?”

Alexander turned on his heels and walked out.

The first thing Tatiana did when she woke up the next morning was go and see Vera at Grechesky Hospital. While Vera was looking at her ribs, Tatiana asked, “Vera, is there anything for me to do around here? Is there any job for me at the hospital maybe?”

Vera’s kind face studied her. “What’s the matter? You look so sad. Is it because of the leg?”

“No. I’m . . .” The kindness got to Tatiana, who nearly opened her mouth and poured her heartache on Vera’s bleached and unsuspecting head. Nearly. She got hold of herself. “I’m all right. Just can’t go anywhere. Bored to tears. I stay on the roof all night, looking for bombs. Tell me, is there anything for me to do?”

Vera remained thoughtful. “We could use a hand around here.”

Tatiana instantly perked up. “Doing what?”

“There is so much to do. You can sit behind the desk and do paperwork, or you can serve food in the cafeteria, or you can bandage wounds or take temperatures or, when you get better, maybe even learn nursing.”

Tatiana smiled broadly. “Vera, that’s fantastic!” Then she frowned. “But what will I do about Kirov? I’m supposed to go back and make tanks there as soon as my cast comes off. When is it coming off, by the way?”

“Tatiana! The front is at Kirov,” exclaimed Vera. “You’re not going to Kirov. You’re not that brave. They give you a rifle there now and train you in combat before you can continue to work. You got out just in time, you know. But here we’re always shorthanded. Too many people volunteer, and not enough of them come back.” She smiled. “Not everyone can be lucky like you, having an officer dig you out of the rubble.”

If Tatiana could have skipped home, she would have.

That night at dinner, barely able to contain her enthusiasm, Tatiana told her family she had found a job close to home.

“That’s right! Go to work,” said Papa. “Finally! You can eat lunch there instead of eating here.”

“Tania can’t go yet,” said Alexander. “Her leg will never heal, and she’ll limp for life.”

“Well, she can’t continue doing nothing and getting a dependent ration!” Papa exclaimed loudly. “We can’t feed her. At work I heard they’re about to lower rations again. It’s only going to get harder.”

“I’ll go to work, Papa,” said Tatiana, still cheerfully. “And I’ll eat less, all right?”

Alexander glared at her from across the table, stabbing the mashed potatoes with his fork.

Papa threw down his fork. “Tania, this is all your fault! You should have left with your grandparents! It would be easier on our food situation, and you wouldn’t be placing yourself in danger by remaining in Leningrad.” He shook his head. “You should have left with them.”

“Papa, what are you talking about?” asked Tatiana, not cheerfully and a notch louder than she ever spoke to her father. “You know I couldn’t have left with Deda because of my leg.” She frowned.

“All right, Tania,” said Dasha, putting her hand on Tatiana’s arm. “Stop it.”

Mama threw down her fork. “Tania! If you hadn’t gone and done something idiotic, you wouldn’t have a broken leg in the first place!”

Tatiana ripped her arm from under Dasha’s and turned to her mother. “Mama! Maybe if you hadn’t said you would rather I had died instead of Pasha, I wouldn’t have gone and tried to find him for you!”

Mama and Papa stared speechlessly at Tatiana, while everyone else in the room was mute as well. “I never said that!” Mama cried, standing up from the table. “Never.”

“Mama! I heard you.”

“Never!”

“I heard you! ‘Why couldn’t God have taken our Tania instead?’ You remember, Mama? Remember, Papa?”

“Tania, come on,” said Dasha in a trembling voice. “They didn’t mean it.”

“Come on, Tanechka,” said Dimitri, placing his hand on Tatiana. “Calm down.”

“Tatiana!” shouted Papa. “Don’t you dare talk that way to us when this whole thing has been your fault!”

Tatiana tried to take a deep breath, but she could not, and she could not calm down. “My fault?” she yelled to her father. “It’s your fault! You’re the one who sent Pasha to his death and then sat and did nothing at all to get him back—”

Papa shot up and hit her across the face so hard that she fell sideways from her chair.

Alexander shot up and shoved Tatiana’s father away. “No,” he said. “No.”

“Get out!” yelled Papa. “This is family business. Get the hell out!”

Alexander helped Tatiana to her feet. They stood between the couch and the dining table, close to Dasha, who was holding her shaking head in her hands. She wouldn’t get up. She and Dimitri continued to sit. Papa and Mama both stood next to each other and panted.

Tatiana’s nose was bleeding. But now Alexander was between her and her father. Pressing herself against Alexander and holding on to his sleeve, Tatiana shouted, “Papa, you can hit me all you want. You can kill me, too, if you like! It still won’t bring Pasha back. And nobody is leaving, because there is nowhere for us to go!”

Screaming, Papa went for her again but couldn’t get past Alexander. “No,” Alexander said, shaking his head, one of his arms extended behind him holding Tatiana, one of his arms in front of Papa.

A wailing Dasha finally stood up and rushed to her father, grabbing his arms. “Papochka, Papochka, don’t, please.” Whirling to Tatiana, Dasha cried, “Look what you’ve done!” And tried to get around Alexander, who stopped her.

“What are you doing?” he asked quietly.

Uncomprehending, Dasha stared at him. “What, you’re defending her still? Look what she’s done!”

Mama was crying. Papa was still screaming, red in the face. Dimitri continued to stare into his plate. Tatiana was behind Alexander as he and Dasha squared off. “Stop it,” he said. “She hasn’t done anything. All of you, stop it. Maybe if you had listened to her back in June when you could have gotten Pasha out, you wouldn’t all be standing here fighting each other, and your son and brother might still be alive. Now it’s too late. But now you keep your hands off her.”

Turning to Tatiana, Alexander asked, “Are you all right?” Taking a napkin off the table, he handed it to her and said, “Hold the bridge of your nose to stop the bleeding. Go on. Quick.”

Then he faced Tatiana’s father. “Georgi Vasilievich,” said Alexander, “I understand you were trying to save your son.” He paused. “Believe me, I know what you were doing. But don’t take it out on Tania.”

Papa threw down his vodka glass, cursed, and stumbled into the next room. Mama followed him, slamming the door behind her. Tatiana heard Mama’s sobs. “It’s always like this,” she said unsteadily. “She cries, and someone goes in to apologize. Usually it’s me.”

Dasha was still standing glaring at Alexander. “I cannot believe,” she said, “that you just sided with her against me.”

“Don’t give me that shit, Dasha,” Alexander said loudly. “You think I sided against you because I wouldn’t let you hit your little sister who has a broken leg? Why don’t you pick on someone your own size? Or why don’t you hit me? I know why,” Alexander went on angrily. “Because you’d only be able to do it once.”

“You’re right,” Dasha said, and tried to slap him.

He grabbed her hand, pushing it hard away. “You’re out of control, Dasha,” he said. “And I’m leaving.”

Dimitri, who hadn’t said a word, sighed, stood and left with Alexander.

As soon as they were out the door, Dasha went for Tatiana, who couldn’t stand and fell onto the dining table, right against the mashed potatoes she had made an hour ago.

“Now look what you’ve done!” Dasha yelled. “Look what you’ve done!”

The door swung open, and Alexander came through. Grabbing Dasha by the arm and yanking her away from Tatiana, he said, “Tania, can you give us a minute, please?”

Tatiana went out, shutting the door behind herself, still holding the napkin to her nose.

She heard Alexander shouting and then Dasha shouting.

She and Dimitri stood in the hallway and looked at each other dumbly. Shrugging, Dimitri said, “He’s like that. He’s got that foundling temper.”

Tatiana wanted to say that she had never seen him lose it before tonight but remained silent, trying to listen. Dimitri said, “He needs to stay out of it and let the family take care of its own business. Don’t you think? Tomorrow it will all be better.”

Tatiana said, “Reminds me of that old joke: ‘Vasili, why do you beat me all the time? I haven’t done anything wrong.’ And Vasili replies, ‘You should be thankful. If I knew what you were doing, I’d kill you.’ ”

Dimitri laughed as if that were the funniest thing he had heard all day.

She heard Alexander’s voice from inside the room. “Can’t you see?” he was yelling at Dasha. “She isn’t driving me away, you are — by your behavior. How do you think I can ever take your side when you hit your sister?”

Dasha said something.

“Dasha, don’t give me your stupid apologies. I don’t need them.” Pause. “I can’t continue, no.”

From inside the door Tatiana heard hysterical sobbing. “Please, Alex, please don’t go, please, I’m sorry, you’re right, my love, you’re right. Please don’t go. What can I do? Do you want me to apologize to her?”

“Dasha, if you touch your sister again, I will finish with you instantly,” Tatiana heard Alexander say. “Do you understand?”

“I will never hit her again,” Dasha promised.

Silence from the room.

Tatiana was dumbstruck.

Not knowing where to look, she wiped her bleeding nose and looked at Dimitri, shrugging her shoulders. “Can’t have a moment alone even to fight,” she said. “Well, at least that worked out.” Her body began to slide down.

Dimitri picked her up, sat her on the sofa in the hallway, and wiped her face, patting her back. “Are you all right?” he kept saying.

The Sarkovs knocked on their hall door, also wanting to know if everything was all right. One fight in the communal apartment and everyone knew. Everyone heard. Everything.

“It’s great,” said Tatiana. “Just a little argument. Everything is fine.”

Summarily, Dasha walked out of the room and apologized sullenly to Tatiana. She went back inside to be with Alexander and closed the door. Tatiana asked Dimitri to go and then limped upstairs to the roof, where she sat and prayed for a bomb.

She saw Alexander walk out of the stairwell doors and come toward her. Tatiana was sitting talking to Anton, and though her heart had skipped a beat, she didn’t acknowledge him. Her hands were in Anton’s hands. Anton nudged her and stopped talking. Sighing, Tatiana turned to Alexander. “What?” she said unhappily.

“Give me your hand,” he whispered.

“No.”

“Give me your hand.”

Loudly she said, “Anton, you remember Dasha’s Alexander? Shake hands, why don’t you?”

Anton let go of Tatiana and shook hands with Alexander, who said, “Anton, will you excuse us for a moment?”

Reluctantly Anton scooted away on his haunches, still staying close enough to overhear.

“Let’s move away from him,” Alexander said to Tatiana.

“It’s hard for me to move around so much. I’m fine right here.”

Without arguing further, Alexander picked Tatiana up and walked a few steps away to set her down in the corner of the roof where there was no Anton and no Mariska — the seven-year-old girl who practically lived on the roof because her parents were drunk down on the second floor.

“Give me your hands, Tania.”

Unwillingly Tatiana complied. Her hands were shaking. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly. “Does this happen often?”

“I’m fine. It happens every once in a while.” She shook her head, “Why?”

“I will never let anyone hurt you,” he said.

“But what good is it? Now they’re all angry at me. You’ve just had a bit of Dasha, you’re going to leave, but I’m still here, in that bed, in that room, in that hallway. I’m still the trash.”

His face was full of pity and feeling. “I haven’t had a bit of Dasha. I will not let them hurt you. I don’t give a shit if Dasha finds out about us, or if Dimitri—” He broke off. Tatiana strained to listen. “I don’t give a shit if I expose us to all the world. I will not let anyone hurt you.” He paused, peering into her face. “And you know it. So if you don’t want to see me hang, or ruin your plans to spare Dasha from the truth, I suggest you be more careful around people who might hit you.”

“Where do you come from?” she asked. “Do they not do this in your America? Here in Russia, parents hit their children, and the children take it. Big sisters hit their little sisters, and the little sisters take it. That’s just how it is.”

“I understand,” Alexander said. “But you’re too small to let anyone hit you. Plus, he is drinking too much. It makes him more volatile. You must be more careful around him.”

His hands were soothing and warm. Tatiana half-closed her eyes, imagining only one thing. Her mouth parted in a silent moan.

“Babe, don’t do that,” Alexander said, his hands holding hers tighter.

“Shura, I’m lost,” said Tatiana. “I don’t know what to do. I’m completely lost.”

Suddenly she pulled her hands away and with her eyes motioned behind him. Dasha was coming toward them from the stairwell.

She stopped near them and said, “I came to see my sister.” She looked from Alexander to Tatiana. “I didn’t know you were still here. You said you had to go.”

“I did have to go,” Alexander said, standing up. He gave Dasha a quick peck. “I’ll see you in a few days, and you, Tania, go and get your nose looked at. Make sure it’s not broken.”

Tatiana was barely able to nod.

After he left, Dasha sat next to her. “What did he want?”

“Nothing. He wanted to see if I was all right.” In that instant something overcame Tatiana, and before she opened her mouth and told Dasha everything, she said, “You know what, Dasha? You’re my older sister and I love you, and I’m going to be all right tomorrow, but right now you’re the last person I want to talk to. I realize I do it too often — bow to you when you want me to talk, or to go away, or whatever. Well, tomorrow I will bow to you again, but right now I don’t want to talk to you. I just want to sit here and think.” Tatiana paused and said pointedly, “So please, Dasha, go away.”

Dasha didn’t move. “Look, I’m sorry, Tania, I really am. But you shouldn’t have said what you said to Papa and Mama. You know how broken up they are about Pasha. You know they already blame themselves.”

“Dasha, I don’t want to hear your backhanded apology!”

“What’s gotten into you?” asked Dasha. “You never talked that way before. To anyone.”

“Please, Dasha, please. Go away.”

Tatiana sat on the roof until morning, wrapped in the old cardigan, her legs cold, her face cold.

She was stunned by her unwavering intimacy with Alexander. Though they hadn’t spoken much, though he had been cool to her, though the last words they had exchanged were bitter, she had no doubt as she laid into her mother and father that if she needed defending, the man who went to find her at Luga would stand up for her. That conviction had given her the strength to yell at Papa, to say the insulting thing to him, no matter how true it was. No matter how much she had wanted to say it, she never would have dared had she not felt Alexander’s strength.

And when Tatiana stood behind him, she felt even braver, not caring for her bleeding nose, for her throbbing ribs. She knew he would not let even Dasha hurt her; she knew this as she knew her own heart, and that knowledge in the dark of night suddenly made her at peace with herself, at peace with her life, and at peace even with Dasha.

Dimitri, for all his purported feelings for Tatiana, had done nothing, as she knew he wouldn’t. Her opinion of Dimitri hadn’t changed a whit. Dimitri was a Soviet man. She did not blame Dimitri for this — for being true to his nature.

Yet she was using all her strength to deny her own: Tatiana knew that she belonged irrevocably to Alexander.

She thought she could extricate herself from him, that she could go on with her life somehow, that he could go on with his.

It was all a sham.

This wasn’t a way of getting over a passing crush on your older sister’s swain. This was the moon of Jupiter and the sun of Venus aligning in the sky over her head.