The Bronze Horseman (The Bronze Horseman #1)

The Bronze Horseman (The Bronze Horseman #1) Page 57

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Lazarevo was ten kilometers through deep pine woods.

The forest wasn’t just pine; it was mixed with elms and oaks and birches and nettles and blueberries all drifting their pleasing way into his senses. Alexander walked carrying his rucksack, his rifle, his sidearm and ammunition, his large tent and blanket, his helmet, and a sack filled with food from Kobona. He could hear the nearby rush of the Kama River through the trees. He thought of going and washing, but by this point he needed to keep moving forward.

He picked a few blueberries off the low bushes as he walked. He was hungry. It was very warm, very sunny, and Alexander was suddenly filled with a pounding hope. He walked faster.

The woods ended, and in front of him was a dusty village road, flanked on both sides by small wooden huts, overgrown grasses, and old falling-down fences.

To the left, past pines and elms, he could see the glimmer of the river, and past the river, past more voluminous, voluptuous forest, the round-topped, evergreen-covered Ural Mountains.

He inhaled deeply. Did Lazarevo smell of Tatiana? He smelled firewood burning and fresh water and pine needles. And fish. Alexander saw the smokestack of a fishing plant on the outskirts of the village.

He continued down the road, passing a woman sitting on the bench outside her house. She stared at him; he understood. How often did these people see a Red Army officer? The woman got up and said, “Oh, no! You’re not Alexander, are you?”

Alexander didn’t know how to answer that. “Oh, yes,” he finally said. “I am Alexander. I’m looking for Tatiana and Dasha Metanova. Do you know where they live?”

The woman started to cry.

Alexander stared at her. “I’ll just ask someone else,” he muttered, walking on.

The woman ran after him in small steps. “Wait, wait!” She pointed down the road. “On Fridays they have a sewing circle in the village square. Straight ahead, over there.” Shaking her head, she walked back.

“So they are alive?” Alexander said in a weak voice, flooded with relief.

The woman could not answer. Covering her face, she ran back to her house.

She said they? They meaning . . . he asked for two sisters; she replied they. Alexander slowed down, lighting a cigarette and taking a drink out of his flask. He walked on but stopped before he got to the village square thirty meters ahead.

He couldn’t come straight up the road. Not yet.

If they were alive, then in a moment he was going to have different problems from the ones he had imagined, and he thought he had imagined them all. He would deal with this one as he dealt with everything, but first—

Alexander walked through someone’s garden, apologizing hastily, opened the back gate, and was on the village back path. He wanted to come a roundabout way to the square. He wanted to see Tatiana for a moment without her seeing him. Before there was Dasha, he wanted an instant of being able to look at Tatiana the way he wanted to look at her, without hiding.

He wanted proof of God before God looked upon the man with His own eyes.

The elms were standing tall in a green canopy around the small square. A group of people sat beneath the trees at a long wooden table. Most were women; there was, in fact, only one young man. It was a sewing circle, thought Alexander, moving nearer to the table to get a better look.

He was obstructed from their view by a fence and a sprawling lilac tree. The flowers got into his face and nose. Breathing in their ripe fragrance, he peeked out. He did not see Dasha anywhere. He saw four old women seated around the table, a young boy, an older girl, and a standing Tatiana.

At first Alexander could not believe it was his Tania. He blinked and tried to refocus his eyes. She was walking around the table, gesturing, showing, leaning forward, bending over. At one point she straightened out and wiped her forehead. She was wearing a short-sleeved yellow peasant dress. She was barefoot, and her slender legs were exposed above her knee. Her bare arms were lightly tanned. Her blonde hair looked bleached by the sun and was parted into two shoulder-length braids tucked behind her ears. Even from a distance he could see the summer freckles on her nose. She was achingly beautiful.

And alive.

Alexander closed his eyes, then opened them again. She was still there, bending over the boy’s work. She said something, everyone laughed loudly, and Alexander watched as the boy’s arm touched Tatiana’s back. Tatiana smiled. Her white teeth sparkled like the rest of her. Alexander didn’t know what to do.

She was alive, that was obvious.

Then why hadn’t she written him?

And where was Dasha?

Alexander couldn’t very well continue to stand under a lilac tree.

He went back out onto the main road, took a deep breath, stubbed out his cigarette, and walked toward the square, never taking his eyes off her braids. His heart was thundering in his chest, as if he were going into battle.

Tatiana looked up, saw him, and covered her face with her hands. Alexander watched everyone get up and rush to her, the old ladies showing unexpected agility and speed. She pushed them all away, pushed the table away, pushed the bench away, and ran to him. Alexander was paralyzed by his emotion. He wanted to smile, but he thought any second he was going to fall to his knees and cry. He dropped all his gear, including his rifle. God, he thought, in a second I’m going to feel her. And that’s when he smiled.

Tatiana sprang into his open arms, and Alexander, lifting her off her feet with the force of his embrace, couldn’t hug her tight enough, couldn’t breathe in enough of her. She flung her arms around his neck, burying her face in his bearded cheek. Dry sobs racked her entire body. She was heavier than the last time he felt her in all her clothes as he lifted her into the Lake Ladoga truck. She, with her boots, her clothes, coats, and coverings, had not weighed what she weighed now.

She smelled incredible. She smelled of soap and sunshine and caramelized sugar.

She felt incredible. Holding her to him, Alexander rubbed his face into her braids, murmuring a few pointless words. “Shh, shh . . . come on, now, shh, Tatia. Please . . .” His voice broke.

“Oh, Alexander,” Tatiana said softly into his neck. She was clutching the back of his head. “You’re alive. Thank God.”

“Oh, Tatiana,” Alexander said, hugging her tighter, if that were possible, his arms swaddling her summer body. “You’re alive. Thank God.” His hands ran up to her neck and down to the small of her back. Her dress was made of very thin cotton. He could almost feel her skin through it. She felt very soft.

Finally he let her feet touch the ground. Tatiana looked up at him. His hands remained around her little waist. He wasn’t letting go of her. Was she always this tiny, standing barefoot in front of him?

“I like your beard,” Tatiana said, smiling shyly and touching his face.

“I love your hair,” Alexander said, pulling on a braid and smiling back.

“You’re messy . . .”

He looked her over. “And you’re stunning.” He could not take his eyes off her glorious, eager, vivid lips. They were the color of July tomatoes—

He bent to her—

With a deep breath Alexander remembered Dasha. He stopped smiling, letting go of Tatiana and stepping slightly away.

She frowned, looking at him.

“Where’s Dasha, Tania?” he asked.

What Alexander saw pass through her eyes then . . . there was hurt and sadness and grief and guilt, and anger — at him? — all of it, and in a blink it was all gone, and then an icy veil clouded her eyes. Alexander watched something in Tatiana shut against him. She looked at him coolly, and though her hands were still trembling, her voice was steady and low. “Dasha died, Alexander. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Tania. I’m sorry.” Alexander reached out to touch her, but she backed away from him. She didn’t just back away from him. She staggered away from him.

“What?” he said, perplexed. “What?”

“Alexander, I’m really sorry about Dasha,” Tatiana said, unable to meet his eyes. “You came all this way . . .”

“What are you talking—”

But before he had a chance to continue or Tatiana a chance to respond, the other members of her sewing circle surrounded them. “Tanechka?” said a small, round salt-and-pepper woman with small, round eyes. “Who is this? Is this Dasha’s Alexander?”

“Yes,” said Tatiana. “This is Dasha’s Alexander.” Glancing at him, she said, “Alexander — meet Naira Mikhailovna.”

Naira started to cry. “Oh, you poor man.” She didn’t just shake Alexander’s hand, she hugged him. Poor man? He stared at Tatiana.

“Naira, please,” Tatiana said, backing farther away from him.

Sniffling, Naira whispered to Tatiana, “Did he know?”

“He didn’t know. But he does now,” replied Tatiana. That provoked a sustained wail out of Naira.

Tatiana made further introductions. “Alexander, meet Vova, Naira’s grandson, and Zoe, Vova’s sister.”

Vova was precisely the kind of strapping lad Alexander hated to think about. Round-faced, round-eyed, round-mouthed, a dark-haired version of his small and compact grandmother, Vova shook Alexander’s hand.

Zoe, a large, black-haired village girl, hugged him, shoving her big breasts into his uniform tunic. She held Alexander’s hand in hers and said, “We’re so pleased to meet you, Alexander. We’ve heard so much about you.”

“Everything,” said a bright, curly-haired woman, whom Tatiana introduced as Naira’s older sister, Axinya. “We’ve heard everything about you,” Axinya said energetically and vocally. She hugged Alexander, too.

Then two more women moved front and center. They were both gray-haired and frail. One of them had a shaking disorder. Her hands shook, her head shook, her mouth shook as she spoke. Raisa was her name. Her mother’s name was Dusia, who was taller and broader than her daughter and wore a large silver cross over her dark dress. Dusia made the sign of the cross on Alexander, and said, “God will take care of you, Alexander. Don’t you worry.”

Alexander wanted to tell Dusia that having found Tatiana alive, he had nothing to worry about, but before he could say anything, Axinya asked Alexander how he was feeling, which was followed by a second round of hugs and a second round of tears.

“I’m feeling fine,” said Alexander. “Really, there is no need to cry.”

He might as well have been speaking English. They continued to cry.

Alexander looked at Tatiana perplexed. But not only did she stand off to the side, but Vova stood by her.

“You are just the — oh, I can’t, I can’t, I just can’t,” cried Naira.

“Then don’t, Naira Mikhailovna,” Tatiana said mildly. “He is all right. Look. He’ll be fine.”

“Tania is right,” Alexander said. “Really.”

“Oh, dear man,” said Naira, grabbing his sleeve. “You’ve traveled so far. You must be exhausted.”

He wasn’t until five minutes ago. He looked at Tatiana and said, “I am a little hungry.” And smiled.

She did not smile back when she said, “Of course. Let’s go eat.”

Nothing was making any sense to a tired and hungry Alexander, who found himself suddenly losing his patience. “Excuse me, please,” he said, extricating himself from Axinya, who was standing in front of him, and making his way through the sea of people to Tatiana. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Tatiana backed away from him, averting her face. “Come on. I’ll make you dinner.”

“Can we” — Alexander found himself having trouble getting the words out — “just for a moment, talk, Tania?”

“Alexander, of course,” said Naira. “We’ll talk. Come, dear, come to our house.” She took him by the arm. “This must be the worst day of your life.”

Alexander didn’t know what to think about this day.

“Let us take care of you,” Naira continued. “Our Tania is a very good cook.”

Their Tania? “I know,” Alexander said.

“You’ll eat, you’ll drink. We’ll talk. We’ll talk plenty. We’ll tell you everything. How long are you here for?”

“I don’t know,” Alexander said, not even trying to catch Tatiana’s eye anymore.

They started walking, amid all the commotion forgetting their sewing. “Oh, yes,” said Tatiana blankly and went back to the table. Alexander followed her. Zoe ran alongside him, and he said, “Zoe, I need a moment alone with Tania,” and without even waiting for a response, hurried to catch up with Tatiana.

“What’s the matter with you?” he said to her.

“Nothing.”

“Tania!”

“What?”

“Talk to me.”

“How was your trip here?”

“That’s not what I mean. It was fine. Why didn’t you write to me?”

“Alexander,” she said, “why didn’t you write to me?”

Taken aback, he said, “I didn’t know you were alive.”

“I didn’t know you were alive either,” she replied, almost calmly, if only he didn’t see through the veil. Under it there was a storm she was not letting him near.

“You were supposed to write to me and tell me you made it here safely,” Alexander said. “Remember?”

“No,” Tatiana said pointedly. “Dasha was supposed to write to you and tell you. Remember? But she died. So she couldn’t.” She gathered up the material — the needles, the thread, the beads and buttons and paper patterns — stuffing it all into a bag.

“I’m so sorry about Dasha, I’m so sorry. Please.” Alexander touched her back.

Tatiana flinched from him and blinked back tears. “Me, too.”

“What happened to her? Did you make it out of Kobona?”

“I did,” Tatiana said quietly. “She didn’t. She died the morning we got there.”

“Oh, God.”

They didn’t look at each other, and they were silent.

Dragging Dasha down the slope to Ladoga, begging her to hold on, to walk, while Tania herself could not keep upright, yet pushing her sister forward, willing her to live.

“I’m sorry, Tatia,” Alexander whispered.

“Seeing you,” Tatiana said, “brings it all back, doesn’t it? The wounds are still so raw.” That’s when she raised her eyes and looked at him. And Alexander saw the wounds.

Slowly they walked back to everyone else.

Vova slapped Alexander on the shoulder and asked, “So how’s the war going?”

“The war is good, thanks.”

“We hear our guys are not doing so great. The Germans are near Stalingrad.”

“Yes,” Alexander said. “The Germans are very strong.”

Vova slapped Alexander’s shoulder again. “I see they have to keep you fit in war. I’m joining. I’m seventeen next month.”

“I’m sure the Red Army will make a man out of you,” Alexander said, trying to sound more cheerful. He watched Tatiana carry the large bag of sewing. “Want me to carry that?” Alexander asked her.

“No, it’s all right. You’ve got enough of your own things.”

“I brought you something.”

“Me?” Tatiana didn’t look at him when she said it.

What was going on? He said quizzically, “Tania . . . ?”

“Alexander,” Naira said, “tomorrow is our day to go to the banya. Can you wait until then?”

“No. I’ll wash tonight in the river.”

“Surely you can wait one day?” said Naira.

He shook his head. “I’ve been on trains for four days. I haven’t had water on me for too long.”

“Four days!” exclaimed Raisa, shaking. “The man has been on trains for four days!”

“Yes,” cried Naira, wiping her face, “and for what, for what? Oh, what a wasteland this war is, what waste, what tragedy.” The other ladies sniffled in agreement.

Alexander heard a small muffled groan escape Tatiana. He wanted her to look at him. He wanted to look into her face. He wanted her to tell him what was wrong. He wanted to touch her bare arms. He wanted to touch her so badly that . . . but his hands were full of his things. “Tatia . . .” he whispered, leaning deeply into her, nearly touching her hair with his mouth.

He heard her breath stop for a moment, and then she moved away.

In slight frustration he straightened up, noticing that Vova did not stray far from Tatiana’s side, and she did not appear to move away from him.

They ambled down the road. From the small village houses, neighbors poured out in milky lines, some shaking their heads, some pointing, some dabbing their eyes. Many saluted him. One middle-aged lady came over and gave Alexander a sympathetic hug. One old man said, “You make us all proud.” Why did Alexander think it wasn’t for his effort in the war? “The way you came here for your Dasha.” The man pumped his hand. “Anything you need, anything at all, you come to me. I’m Igor.”

Alexander asked quietly, “Tania, why do I feel as if everybody knows me here?”

“Oh, because they all do,” Tatiana said flatly, staring straight ahead. “You are the captain in the Red Army, who has come to marry my sister. They all know that. Unfortunately, she has died. And they all know that, too. And everyone is very sorry.” Her voice remained almost steady.

Sobs from Dusia from behind and Naira from the front. “Alexander,” Naira said, “at home we’ll give you plenty of vodka, and we’ll tell you everything.”

“We?” He glanced at Tatiana. He was hoping the we wasn’t going to be more than two. Why did he suspect it might be?

“Tania, how have you been?” Alexander asked. “How did—”

“Oh, she’s been great,” Vova interrupted, putting his arm around Tatiana. “She’s much better now.”

Alexander stared straight ahead, his gaze clouding. The tick inside him was multiplying.

It was at that moment — when he set his teeth and turned his face away — that Tatiana moved away from Vova to Alexander and put her hand on him. “You must be exhausted, hmm?” she said gently, peering into his face. “Four days on trains. Have you eaten today?”

“In the morning,” he replied, not looking at her.

Tatiana nodded. “You’ll feel better once you’re clean and fed,” she said, smiling. “And shaved.” She squeezed his arm.

He felt better and smiled back. He was going to have to talk to her about Vova. Alexander saw unresolved things in Tatiana’s eyes. The last time they had peace or energy to resolve anything was St. Isaac’s. A moment with her alone and things would get better, but first he had to talk to her about Vova.

“Alexander,” Axinya echoed, “we pulled our Tanechka right out from the jaws of death.” There was a loud wail.

Alexander looked at Tatiana walking next to him, feeling a liquid warmth ooze through him. “Please, let me carry that,” he said.

She was about to give him her sewing bag when Vova intercepted it, saying, “I’ll carry it.”

“Tania,” Alexander asked, “you didn’t by any chance run into Dimitri in Kobona, did you?”

Naira quickly turned around and hissed at Alexander, her eyes bright imploring cups. “Shh. We don’t talk about Dimitri.”

“That bastard!” exclaimed Axinya.

“Axinya, please!” said Naira, turning to Alexander and nodding. “She is right, though. He is a bastard,” she whispered.

Alexander stared at them all, wide-eyed. “Tania,” he said, “am I to assume that you did run into Dimitri in Kobona?”

“Hmm,” she said, and nothing else.

Alexander shook his head. He was a bastard.

Zoe on his left leaned in and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Another reason we don’t talk about Dimitri is because our Vovka’s got a big thing for Tania.”

Moving away from Zoe and toward Tatiana, Alexander muttered, “Really?”

Naira’s house at the top end of the village toward the river was white, wooden, and square. And small. “You all live here?” Alexander asked, glancing at Tatiana, who walked ahead.

“No, no,” Naira said, “just us and our Tania. Vova and Zoe live with their mother on the other side of Lazarevo. Their father was killed in the Ukraine last summer.”

“Babushka,” said Zoe, “I don’t think there’s going to be room in your house for Alexander.”

Alexander looked at the house. Zoe may have been right. In the front garden there were two goats, and three chickens in a wire coop. It looked as if they had plenty of room.

Following Tatiana inside, Alexander walked up a couple of wooden steps into a roomy glassed-in porch that had two small couches at one end and a long, rectangular wooden table at the other. Coming through the porch, he stood in the doorway looking into the darkened parlor room in the middle of which stood a wood-burning stove.

Taking up nearly the entire back of the room, the stove had a long cast-iron hearth and three compartments — the center for burning wood and two side ones for baking. The chimney went up and to the left. Above the stove was a flat surface covered with quilts and pillows. In many village huts across the Soviet Union, the top of the stove was frequently used as a bed. After the fire below went out, it was very warm up there.

In front of the hearth stood a high table for food preparation, and at the back was a sewing machine on a desk, and a black trunk. On the right were two doors, leading to what Alexander guessed were bedrooms.

Tatiana was by his side. “Let me guess,” he said to her. “You sleep up there?”

“Yes,” she replied without meeting his eyes. “It’s comfortable. Come inside for a minute.” She walked through to the desk on the side of the stove.

“Wait, wait,” said Naira from behind. “Zoechka is right. We really don’t have much room.”

“That’s all right, I have my tent,” said Alexander, following Tatiana.

“No, no tent,” said Naira. “Why don’t you stay with Vova and Zoe? They have room for you; they have a nice bedroom they could put you in. With a proper bed and everything.”

“No,” said Alexander, turning around to Naira. “But thank you.”

“Tanechka, don’t you think it would be more comfortable for him? He could—”

“Naira Mikhailovna,” said Tatiana, “he already said no.”

“We know,” said Axinya, walking through the porch. “But it really would be more—”

“No,” repeated Alexander. “I will sleep in my tent, right outside. I’ll be fine.”

Tatiana motioned him to her. He couldn’t get to her fast enough. They were alone long enough for her to say, “Sleep here, on top of the stove. It’s very warm.”

He kept his voice even when he said, “And where are you going to sleep?”

Her face turned red, and he couldn’t help himself — he burst out laughing and kissed her cheek. That made her even more red.

“Tania,” he said, “you’re the funniest girl.”

She backed away practically into the porch.

Smiling at her, he said, “Listen, I’m going to go—”

“Go with Zoe and Vova?” said Naira, coming into the room. “That’s a great idea. I knew our Tanechka could convince you. She can talk the devil into a new dress. Zoe!”

“No!” exclaimed Tatiana.

Alexander wanted to kiss her.

“Naira Mikhailovna, he’s not going,” Tatiana said. “He didn’t come all this way to stay with Vova and Zoe. He’ll stay here. He’ll sleep up here.”

“Oh,” Naira said, her breath taken out of her a bit. “And you?”

Could she keep herself from blushing? No, she couldn’t. “I’ll sleep on the porch.”

“Tania, if he’s staying, why don’t you change the linen on your bed so he’ll have fresh sheets.”

“I will,” agreed Tatiana.

“Don’t you dare touch them,” whispered Alexander.

Saying she was going to get Alexander fresh towels, Naira disappeared to her room.

Instantly they turned to each other. She couldn’t manage to look up at him, but she was turned to him and close to him, and — was she smelling him?

“I’m going to go and wash, and I will be right back,” said Alexander, smiling. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. He wanted to take hold of hers. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“I’m right here. Do you need soap?”

He shook his head. “Got plenty.”

“I’m sure you do. But look what else I’ve got.” Out of her desk drawer she pulled out a small bottle of shampoo. “Found it in Molotov. Cost me twenty rubles.” She handed it to him. “Real shampoo for your hair.”

“You spent twenty rubles on a bottle of shampoo?” he said, mock aghast, taking it from her and grabbing her fingers.

“Better than two hundred and fifty rubles on a cup of flour,” she replied, quickly pulling her fingers away and trying to change the subject.

“Was that twenty of my rubles?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “The rubles in your book came in very handy. Thank you.” She did not look at him. “Thank you for everything.”

“I’m glad they did, and you’re welcome. For everything.” He could not tear his eyes away from her. “Tatiasha, you’ve gotten so blonde.”

She shrugged casually. “It’s the sun.”

“And so freckled—”

“The sun.”

“And so—”

“Let me point you to the river.”

“Wait. Look what I’ve brought for you.” Crouching near his bag, he showed her many cans of tushonka, some coffee, a large bag of lump sugar, rock salt, cigarettes, and bottles of vodka. “And I got you another English-Russian book,” he said. “Have you been practicing your English?”

“Not really,” Tatiana replied. “I haven’t had time. I can’t believe you carried all that. It must have been so heavy.” Pausing, she said, “But thank you. Come on outside.”

Taking a towel from Naira, they walked through the porch and down the steps to the back garden. Alexander stood as close to Tatiana as possible without his body actually touching hers. He knew that six pairs of eyes were on them from the porch. Tatiana pointed. Alexander wasn’t even looking at where she was pointing. He was looking at her blonde eyebrows. He wanted to touch them with his fingers.

He wanted to touch her with his fingers.

Missing a breath, he touched the faint scar above the brow where she had been injured during the fight with her father. “That’s almost gone,” he said quietly. “Can’t even see it.”

“If you can’t see it,” Tatiana said lightly, “then why are you touching it?” She didn’t look at him. “Alexander,” she said, “can you look where I’m pointing? It’s right through the pines. Will you look? Just cross the road, and there’s a path between the trees. Walk down a hundred meters into the clearing. I do the laundry there. You can’t miss it. The Kama is a big river.”

“I’ll get lost, for sure,” said Alexander, bending to her ear and lowering his voice. “Come and show me.”

“Tania has to cook dinner,” said Zoe, coming up to them. “Why don’t I show you?”

“Yes,” Tatiana said, backing away. “Why doesn’t Zoe show you? I really do have to start cooking if we’re to eat tonight.”

Alexander said, “No, Zoe. Excuse us,” and he pulled Tatiana away. “Come with me to the river,” he repeated. “You can tell me what’s upsetting you, and I’ll—”

“Not now, Alexander,” Tatiana whispered. “Not now.”

Sighing, he let go of her and went by himself. When he returned, clean and shaven, dressed in his Class-Bs, he saw that Zoe was shamelessly interested in him. Alexander wasn’t surprised. In a town with no young men, he could have had one eye and no teeth and Zoe would have been interested. Tatiana was another story. She obstinately avoided meeting his eyes. While leaning over the hearth and her frying pans, she said, “You’ve shaved.”

“How would you know?” He was staring at her back and hips as she leaned over in her yellow dress. Her waist tapered into her tight, round-as-a-moon hips, and the backs of her bare thighs peeked out below the short hem. He was pulsing inside. “Tania, this village life agrees with you,” Alexander said after a few moments.

Straightening up, she was about to walk to the porch when he grabbed her hand and put it to his cheek. “Do you like it better smooth?” He rubbed her hand back and forth against his face and then kissed her fingers.

Gently she pulled her hand away. “I haven’t seen much of you clean-shaven,” she muttered. “Either way is fine. I’m covered in onions, Alexander,” she said. “I don’t want to get you all messy. You just got so nice and . . . clean.” She cleared her throat and averted her eyes.

“Tatia,” he said, not letting go of her floury hand, “it’s me. What’s the matter?”

She raised her eyes to him and blinked, and he saw hurt in her eyes, hurt, and warmth, and sadness, but hurt foremost, and he started to say, “What—”

“Alexander, dear, come in here with us. Let Tania finish making dinner. Come, have a drink.”

He went out to the porch. Naira handed him a shot of vodka. Shaking his head, Alexander said, “I’m not drinking without Tatiana. Tania! Come.”

“She’ll drink the next one with us.”

“No,” he said. “She’ll drink the first one with us. Tania, come out here.”

She came out, smelling sweetly of potatoes and onions, and stood next to him.

Naira said, “Our Tanechka doesn’t even drink.”

“I’ll drink to Alexander,” Tatiana said. Alexander handed her his vodka glass, his fingers touching hers. Naira poured him another. They raised their glasses. “To Alexander,” said Tatiana, her voice breaking. Her eyes were filled with tears.

“To Alexander,” they echoed. “And to Dasha.”

“And to Dasha,” Alexander said quietly.

They drank, and Tatiana went back inside.

A dozen people from the village came by before dinner, all wanting to meet Alexander, all bringing small gifts. One woman brought an egg. One old man a fishhook. Another man a fishing line. One young girl a few hard candies. Every one of them shook his hand, and some bowed, and one woman got on her knees, crossed herself, and kissed the glass he was holding. Alexander was moved and exhausted. He took out a cigarette.

Vova said, “Why don’t we take that outside? Our Tania has a hard time with smoke in the house.”

Alexander put away his cigarette, swearing under his breath. To have Vova look out for Tania’s welfare was too much. But before he could say another word, he felt Tatiana’s hand on his shoulder and her face right in front of him as she put an ashtray on the table. “Smoke, Alexander, smoke,” she said.

Petulantly Vova said, “But, Tania, the smoke bothers you. That’s why we all go outside.”

“I know I said that, Vova,” Tatiana declared. “But Alexander didn’t come all the way from the war to smoke outside. He’ll smoke where he pleases.”

Shaking his head, Alexander said, “I don’t need to smoke.” He wanted her hand on his shoulder and her face in front of him again. “Tania, do you need help?”

“Yes, you can help by getting up and eating my food. It’s dinnertime.”

The four ladies sat on one side of the long table that was flanked by two benches. “Usually Tatiana sits on the end. So she can get up and get stuff, you know?” Zoe smiled.

“Oh, I know,” said Alexander. “I’ll sit next to her.”

“Usually I sit next to her,” said Vova.

Shrugging and not interested in dealing with Vova, Alexander looked at Tatiana and raised his eyebrows.

She wiped her hands on a towel and said, “How about if I sit between Alexander and Vova.”

“Fine,” said Zoe. “And I’ll sit on the other side of Alexander.”

“Fine,” said Alexander.

Tatiana had made a cucumber and tomato salad and cooked some potatoes with onions and tushonka. She opened a jar of marinated mushrooms. There was white bread, some butter, milk, cheese, and a few hard-boiled eggs.

“What can I get you, Shu—?” asked Tatiana, sliding in next to him. “Do you want some salad?”

“Yes, please.”

She stood up. “What about some mushrooms?”

“Yes, please.”

Tatiana spooned food onto his plate, standing near him. The only reason Alexander let her continue and didn’t get the food himself was because her bare leg was touching his trousers and her hip was pressing into his elbow. He was going to have her get him seconds and thirds to keep her standing this close to him. His urge was to put his arm around her waist. He took his fork instead. “Yes, please, some potatoes, too. Yes, that’s plenty. Some bread, yes, that’s good, butter, yes.”

Alexander thought she would sit down, but no, she walked around the table and ladled out food for the old ladies.

And then she served Vova. Alexander’s heart tightened when he saw her serve Vova with casual familiarity. Vova thanked her, and she smiled lightly, looking right at him.

At Vova she looked. At Vova she smiled. For God’s sake, thought Alexander. The only thing that prevented him from feeling worse about it was that in Tania’s eyes he saw nothing for Vova.

Finally she sat down.

“Tania,” he said, “I’m so glad to see food in front of you again.”

“Me, too,” she replied.

The rooms were so dark that he could not see her well, but he could see blood trickling from her mouth as she cut the black bread for him, for Dasha, and, last, for herself. Now she was eating white bread, and butter, and eggs. “Much better, Tatia,” he whispered. “Thank God.”

“Yes,” she said, and nearly inaudibly, “Thank you.”

Zoe’s annoying elbow intermittently and purposefully rubbed against Alexander’s. Zoe played the game very well. Alexander wondered if Tatiana even noticed Zoe.

Moving away from Zoe, Alexander scooted closer to Tatiana. “Just to give you a bit more room, Zoe,” he said with an indifferent smile.

“Yes, but look,” said Naira, who was sitting across from them, “now poor Tanechka is all squished.”

“I’m fine,” said Tatiana. Under the table her leg was flush with his. He nudged her once.

“So,” Alexander said, eating hungrily, “have I had enough to drink for you to tell me what happened to you?”

Tears. Not from Tatiana, from the four ladies. “Oh, Alexander! We don’t think you’ve had enough to drink to hear it all.”

“Can I hear some of it?”

Naira said, “Tania doesn’t like us to talk about it, but, Tanechka, for Alexander, can we tell him what happened?”

“For Alexander, yes, tell him what happened.” Tatiana sighed.

“I want Tania to tell me what happened,” Alexander said. “Do you want more vodka?”

“No,” she replied, pouring one for him. “Alexander, there is really not much to tell. Like I told you, we got to Kobona. Dasha died. I came here and was sick for a while—”

“Near death, I tell you!” exclaimed Naira.

“Naira Mikhailovna, please,” said Tatiana. “I was a little sick.”

“Sick?” Axinya cried. “Alexander, that child got to us in January and was at death’s door until March. What didn’t she have? She had scurvy—”

“She was bleeding from the inside out!” mouthed Dusia. “Just like our former Tsarevich Alexis. Just like him. Bled and bled.”

“That’s scurvy for you,” said Alexander gently.

“The Tsarevich did not have scurvy,” said Tatiana. “He had hemophilia.”

“Have you forgotten about her double pneumonia?” cried Axinya. “Both her lungs collapsed!”

“Axinya, please,” said Tatiana. “It was only one lung.”

“It was the pneumonia that almost killed her. She couldn’t breathe,” Naira stated, sticking her hand across the table for Tatiana to pat.

“It wasn’t pneumonia that nearly killed her!” Axinya exclaimed. “It was TB. Naira, you’re so forgetful. Don’t you remember her coughing up blood for weeks?”

“Oh, my God, Tania,” whispered Alexander.

“Alexander, I’m fine. Really,” said Tatiana. “I had a mild case of TB. They cured it even before I got out of the hospital. The doctor said soon I should be as good as before. The doctor said by next year the TB would be all gone.”

“And you were going to let me smoke inside.”

“So what?” she said. “You always smoke inside. I’m used to it.”

“So what?” cried Axinya. “Tania, you were in an isolation tent for a month. We sat by her, Alexander, as she lay, coughing, spitting blood—”

“Why don’t you tell him how you got TB?” said Naira loudly.

Alexander felt Tatiana shudder next to him. “That I’ll tell him later.”

“When later?” whispered Alexander out of the corner of his mouth. She did not whisper back.

“Tania!” exclaimed Axinya. “Tell Alexander about what you had to go through to get here. Tell him.”

“Tell me, Tania,” he said, looking at her with feeling. The food she made was so good; otherwise he would have lost his appetite.

As if it was a great effort to her, Tatiana said, “Look, me and hundreds of others were piled on into trucks and then driven to the train, near Volkhov . . .”

“Tell him about the train!”

“It wasn’t the best of trains. There were a lot of us . . .”

“Tell him how many!”

“I don’t know how many,” said Tatiana. “We were . . .”

“What happened when the people died on the trains?” said Dusia, crossing herself.

“Oh, they just threw them out. To make more room.”

Naira said, sniffling, “There was more room when they got to the Volga River.”

Axinya exclaimed, “Alexander, the railroad bridge across the Volga had been blown up, and the train couldn’t get across. All the evacuees, including our Tanechka, were told they had to cross the ice on foot in their frightful condition. What about that?”

Alexander blinked and blinked again. He didn’t take his eyes off Tatiana’s bemused and slightly wearied face.

“How many people crossed that, Tania? How many people died on the ice? Tell him.”

“I don’t know, Axinya. I wasn’t counting . . .”

“Nobody,” said Dusia. “I’m sure nobody survived it.”

“Well, Tania survived it,” said Alexander, his elbow pressing into Tatiana’s arm, his leg pressing into hers.

“And other people survived it,” said Tatiana. Lowering her voice, she added, “Not many.”

“Tania, tell him,” Axinya exclaimed, “how many kilometers you had to walk, tubercular, pneumatic, in the snow, in the blizzard, to the next rail station because there weren’t enough trucks to carry all of you sick and starving to the train. Tell him how many.” She widened her eyes. “It was, like, fifteen!”

“No, dear,” Tatiana corrected. “It was maybe three. And there was no blizzard. It was just cold.”

“Did they give you anything to eat?” Axinya demanded. “No!”

“Yes,” said Tatiana. “I had a little food.”

“Tania!” cried Axinya. “Tell him about the train, tell him how there was no place for you to lie down, how you stood for three days from Volkhov to the Volga!”

“I stood for three days,” said Tatiana, stabbing her food with a fork. “From Volkhov to the Volga.”

Wiping her eyes, Dusia said, “After the Volga crossing, so many people died that Tatiana had a shelf on the train to lie down on, right, Tania? She lay down—”

“And never got up again!” stated Axinya.

“Dear,” said Tatiana, “I did eventually get up.” She shook her head.

“No,” said Axinya. “There I’m not exaggerating. You didn’t. The conductor asked where you were going, and he couldn’t wake you to ask you . . .”

“But finally he woke me.”

“Finally, yes!” cried Axinya. “But he thought you were dead.”

Raisa added, “She got off the train at Molotov and asked how far Lazarevo was, and when she heard it was ten kilometers, she . . .”

Loud crying from all four ladies.

Tatiana said to Alexander, “Sorry you have to hear all this.”

Alexander stopped eating. He placed his hand on her back, patting her gently. When he saw she didn’t move away and didn’t flinch and didn’t blush, he left his hand on her for another long moment. Then he picked up his fork again.

“Alexander, do you know what she did when she heard Lazarevo was ten kilometers from Molotov?”

“Let me guess,” said Alexander, smiling. “She fainted.”

“Yes! How did you know?” asked Axinya, studying him.

“I faint all the time,” said Tatiana. “I’m a big wimp.”

Naira said, “After she came out of isolation, we sat next to her hospital bed, holding her oxygen mask to her face to help her breathe.” Wiping her face, she said, “When her grandmother died—”

The fork dropped from Alexander’s hand. Involuntarily. Mutely he sat and looked into his plate, unable to turn his head even to Tatiana. It was she who turned her head to him, gazing at him with softness and sorrow. “Where is that vodka, Tania?” Alexander said. “Clearly I haven’t had enough.”

She poured it for him and poured a small glass for herself, and then they lifted their glasses, clinking lightly, and stared at each other, faces full of Leningrad, and Fifth Soviet, and her family and his family, and Lake Ladoga, and night. Tatiana whispered, “Courage, Shura.”

He couldn’t reply. He swallowed the vodka instead.

The rest of the people at the table fell quiet until Alexander asked, “How did she die?”

Naira wiped her nose. “Dysentery. Last December.” She leaned forward. “Personally, I think that after she lost Tania’s grandfather, she just didn’t want to go on.” Naira glanced at Tatiana. “I know Tania agrees with me.”

Tatiana nodded. “She wanted to,” she said. “She just couldn’t.”

Naira poured Alexander another drink. “When Anna was dying, she said to me, ‘Naira, I wish you could see all my granddaughters, but you’re probably never going to see our baby Tania. She’ll never make it here. She is so frail.’ ”

“Anna,” said Alexander, downing the vodka, “was not such a good judge of her granddaughters.”

“She said to us,” Naira continued, “ ‘If my granddaughters come, please make sure they’re all right. Keep my house for them — ’ ”

“House?” asked Alexander, instantly perking up. “What house?”

“Oh, they had an izba—”

“Where is this izba?”

“Just in the woods a bit. By the river. Tania can show you. When Tania got better and came to Lazarevo with us, she wanted to live in that house,” Naira said, widening her eyes meaningfully, “all by herself.”

“What was she thinking?” questioned Alexander.

Beaming, the ladies all loudly agreed, scoffing and snorting in unison. Naira said, “No granddaughter of our Anna is going to live by herself. What kind of nonsense is that? Who lives by themselves? We said, you are our family. Your beloved Deda was my first husband’s cousin by marriage. You come and live with us. It’s so much better for you here. And it is, isn’t it, Tanechka?”

“Yes, Naira Mikhailovna.” Tatiana served Alexander some more potatoes. “Are you still hungry?”

“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure what I am anymore,” said Alexander. “I will certainly continue to eat.”

Naira said, “Our Tania is better now, but she has to watch herself. She still goes to Molotov every month to get checked out. TB can come back at any time. That’s why we all smoke outside—”

“Gladly,” piped up Vova, putting his arm on Tatiana’s shoulder.

Alexander was going to have to talk to Tatiana about Vova, and soon.

Axinya said, “Alexander, you have no idea how thin she was when she came to us . . .”

“I have some idea,” said Alexander. “Don’t I, Tania?”

She whispered, “Some idea, Shura.”

“She was skin and bones,” said Dusia. “Christ Himself almost could not save her.”

“It’s good that we don’t live in a collective farming village like our cousin Yulia, right, Naira?” said Axinya. “Yulia lives in Kulay near Archangelsk, and though she is fifty-seven, she works in the field all day, and then the Kolkhoz takes her food away. Here they just take our fish, but we can barter our eggs and goat milk for some butter or cheese or even some white flour.”

“Poor Yulia,” sniffed Naira. “But look at our Tanechka.”

Axinya smiled and looked affectionately at Tatiana. “We’ve fattened you up, haven’t we, honey? Eggs every day. Milk. Butter. We’ve fattened her up good, don’t you think, Alexander?”

“Hmm,” said Alexander, reaching underneath the table and lightly squeezing Tatiana’s thigh.

“She’s like a warm bun,” added Axinya.

“A warm bun?” Alexander repeated, his grinning face turning to Tatiana, who was a deep red. Her short dress wasn’t long enough to cover her thighs. His bare hand caressed her bare leg, under the table, during dinner, in front of six strangers. Alexander had to take his hand away. Had to. He lost his breath, along with his reserve, and his self-control.

“Alexander, want more?” Tatiana said, standing and picking up the frying pan. Her hands were unsteady. “There is plenty.” She smiled at him, breathing through her parted mouth. “Plenty.” Her face was flushed.

“I think I’ll have a drink instead,” Alexander said, unable to look up at her for a change.

Axinya said, “Alexander, we want you to know that we weren’t happy with Tanechka. We want you to know we were on your side.”

“Tania, what did you do to upset these nice women?” said Alexander lightly.

Why did Tania stop smiling and glare at Axinya?

Naira, mouth full of fried potatoes, said, “We told her to write to you and tell you what happened to Dasha so you wouldn’t come all this way expecting to marry your longtime love and be devastated. We told her. Spare him a trip to the middle of the country. Write to him and tell him the truth.”

“And she refused!” Axinya exclaimed.

Alexander, the fire in his heart unsubsided, but the temper in his heart also unsubsided, stared at Tatiana. “Why did she refuse, Axinya?”

“She wouldn’t say. But let me tell you, the thought of you coming here for your Dasha was killing us. We could talk about nothing else.”

“Nothing else, Alexander,” Tatiana said. “More drink?”

“Maybe if you had written to me, they would have stopped talking,” he said, less friendly. “And yes, more drink.”

She poured it for him so fast she nearly spilled it.

Alexander’s head was swimming.

“We read all of Dasha’s letters to Anna,” said Naira. “The way that girl raved about you.” She shook her head. “You were her shining knight, you know.”

He finished his glass of vodka in two swallows.

“Tania, we told you to write to him!” Dusia exclaimed. “But our Tania can be very stubborn sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Alexander took the glass from Tatiana and finished her vodka, too.

Dusia crossed herself. “I said, you can do it, you can write that letter. But she said no. Not even with God’s help she couldn’t.” She looked at Tatiana with disapproving eyes. “Alexander, we were hoping maybe God would spare you pain and let you die at the front.”

Alexander raised his eyebrows. “You were hoping I would die at the front?”

“Tania and I prayed for your soul every day,” said Dusia. “We didn’t want you to suffer.”

“Thank you, I think,” Alexander said. “Tania, were you praying for my death every day?”

“Of course not, Alexander,” she replied quietly, unable to be cold, unable to be insincere, unable to lie, or to look at him, or to touch him. Unable. Whatever sat inside her rendered her unable to deal with him. He looked around the crowded table.

“Oh, Alexander!” exclaimed Axinya. “That was some letter you wrote to Dasha. You’re a poet. It was so full of love! When we read that nothing was going to stop you from coming and marrying her this summer, you just about broke our hearts.”

“Yes, Alexander,” said Tatiana. “Remember that poetic letter?”

Suddenly when he looked into her face—

He studied her. He was starting to lose focus in his brain. “Yes,” he said. He had written that letter wanting to reassure Dasha. He didn’t want Tatiana to face her sister by herself. “Should’ve written back, Tania,” he said with reproach. “And told me about Dasha.”

Bolting up, Tatiana started clearing the table.

“Never mind,” Alexander said with a shrug. “Perhaps Tania was too busy? Who’s got time to write nowadays? Especially during village life. There are sewing circles, there is cooking—”

She grabbed his plate. “How was your dinner, Alexander?” she asked. “Did you enjoy it?”

Too many things to say.

Nowhere to say them.

Just like before.

“Yes, thank you. More drink?”

“No,” she snapped. “No, thank you.”

Vova asked, “Alexander, so now what are you going to do? Are you going back?”

Another sharp intake of breath from Tatiana. Alexander held his own breath for a moment. “I don’t know.”

“You stay as long as you like,” declared Naira. “We love you like family. You might as well already be Dasha’s husband, that’s how we feel about you.”

“But he is not,” said Zoe adamantly and flirtatiously, placing her hand on Alexander’s arm and smiling. “Don’t worry, Alexander. We’ll cheer you up around here. How long is your furlough?”

“A month.”

“Zoe,” said Tatiana, “how is your good friend Stepan? Are you seeing him later tonight?”

Zoe took her arm away from Alexander, who, smiling and amused, glanced at Tatiana. So she is not entirely oblivious to Zoe, he thought.

She was clearing the table. Alexander looked around. No one else moved. Not even Zoe or Vova. As he started to stand up, Tatiana asked, “Where are you going? Smoke at the table.”

“To help you clear up.”

“No, no, no!” cried a chorus of voices. “What are you thinking? No. Tatiana does it.”

“I know she does,” said Alexander. “But I don’t want her to do it by herself.”

“Why?” asked Naira with genuine surprise.

“Honestly, Alexander,” Tatiana said. “You didn’t travel all this way to clear the table.”

Alexander sat back down, turned to Zoe, and said, “I admit I’m a little tired. Could you help her?” He didn’t smile at her. Zoe seemed to like that even better, giving him a large smile, as big as her breasts, and reluctantly going to help.

Tatiana made tea and poured a cup for Alexander first, and then for the four ladies and then for Vova and then for Zoe, and then for herself. She brought out the blueberry jam and was just climbing in to sit next to Alexander when Vova said, “Tanechka, before you sit, pour me another cup of tea, will you?”

Tatiana, legs straddling the bench, took Vova’s cup when Alexander grabbed her wrist. The cup rattled on the saucer. “You know what, Vova?” Alexander said, lowering Tatiana’s hand to the table. “The kettle of water is on the hearth, the teapot is right in front of you. Sit down, Tania. You’ve done plenty. Vova can pour his own tea.”

Tatiana sat down.

Everybody at the table stared at Alexander.

Vova went and poured his own tea.

Finally it was time for Zoe and Vova to go home. The time couldn’t come fast enough for Alexander, until Vova said, “Tania? Walk me out?”

Without acknowledging Alexander, Tatiana went outside with Vova. Alexander pretended to listen to Zoe and to Naira, but he watched Tatiana outside.

He wished he had had less vodka. He really needed to talk to Tania. When she came back, Alexander wanted her to look at him. She did not.

Zoe said, “Alexander, want to go for a smoke and a walk?”

“No.”

“Tomorrow a group of us are going swimming down in the hole. You want to come?”

“We’ll see,” he said noncommittally. He didn’t even look up. Soon she left.

“Tania, come and sit down,” Alexander said. “Sit down next to me.”

“I will. You want something else?”

“Yes. You to sit.”

“What about something else to drink? We have a little cognac.”

“No, thanks.”

“What about—”

“Tania. Sit down.”

Carefully she sat down on the bench next to him. He moved over to her. “You must be so tired,” he said gently. “Want to come outside with me? I need a smoke.”

Before Tatiana could reply, Naira said, “I’ll tell you, Alexander, it was very hard for our Tania at first.”

Tatiana got up with a sigh and disappeared into one of the bedrooms.

“She doesn’t want us to talk about it,” said Axinya in hushed tones.

“Of course not,” Alexander said. He didn’t either.

They continued unheeded. “She was in a bad way. She was just an apparition.” The women all bent their heads toward him, clucking with tears in their eyes. He would have been almost amused by them, if only they weren’t stopping him from getting two words alone with his horse and cart. Naira said, “No, but can you just imagine, losing your whole—”

“I can imagine,” Alexander interrupted. He did not want to be talking to these women about it. He stood up, about to excuse himself and go after Tatiana.

“Alexander, and that’s not even the half of it,” Naira whispered. “Tania really doesn’t like us to talk about what happened in Kobona. We didn’t want to tell you before, but—”

“Oh, but that Dimitri is a right bastard!” Axinya exclaimed again.

Alexander sat back down. “Tell me quickly.”

Tatiana came back with a slam of the door.

“I’m sorry, Tanechka,” Axinya said, “but I just want to beat that man with a stick.”

“Please stop talking about Kobona,” Tatiana said.

Dusia said, “Woe betide Dimitri. Someday he is going to fall alone, and no one will be there to help him up.”

Rolling her eyes, Tatiana left again with another slam of the door.

Axinya said, “I think that bastard broke her heart. I think she loved him.”

Alexander was finding it difficult to remain upright.

Dusia shook her head vehemently. “Absolutely not,” she said. “He never would have fooled her for a second. Our Tania sees through people right from the start.”

“She does, doesn’t she, Dusia?” said Alexander.

Axinya lowered her voice and said, “We still think there’s another story to this, maybe some kind of love thing.”

“Not a love thing,” said Alexander, widening his eyes.

Naira shook her head. “You think so, Axinya. But I say no. I disagree. The girl lost everyone. She was devastated. There was no love.”

“I think there was,” said Axinya firmly.

“You’re wrong,” Naira said.

“Oh? Then why does she keep going to the post office to see if there is any mail for her?” Axinya asked triumphantly. “She’s got no one left, who is she waiting for mail from?”

“Good point,” said Alexander. Was he about to go do something? He couldn’t remember. The day had been too long. Right now he couldn’t remember the last thing anyone had said.

Axinya said, “And have you noticed how during the sewing circle at the square she always picks a place to sit so she can see the road?”

“Yes, yes!” agreed the other three ladies. “Yes, she does do that. She watches that road obsessively, as if she is waiting for somebody.”

Alexander lifted his gaze. Tatiana stood behind the old ladies, her expressive, eternal eyes on him.

“Are you, Tatiasha?” he asked emotionally, his voice full. “Are you waiting for somebody?”

“Not anymore,” she replied emotionally, her voice just as full.

“You see?” said Naira with satisfaction. “I told you there was no love thing!”

Tatiana sat down next to Alexander.

Naira said, “Tanechka, you don’t mind that we gossip about you, do you? You know you’re the most interesting thing that’s happened to Lazarevo in years. Vova certainly thinks so.” She laughed and to Alexander said, “My grandson has quite a crush on Dasha’s little sister, you know.”

Without a word Alexander blinked at Tatiana. He would have said a word, if he could have found one in his head.

All Alexander wanted was two seconds, maybe one conscious second alone with Tatiana — why was that too much to ask? Maybe conscious was out of the question, but why was putting his two hands somewhere on her repaired, fed, warm body out of the question?

He went outside to smoke, to wash. When he returned, he wanted to undress, to take off his boots. Instead he heard a constant stream of “Tanechka, darling, can you get me my medicine?” “Tanechka, dear, can you come and fix my blankets?” “Tanechka, sweetheart, can you get me a glass of water?” Finally he couldn’t wait anymore. He took off his boots. “Tania, honey,” he said, and then put his head down on the table and was instantly asleep. He woke up to feel himself being lightly shaken, lightly stroked. It was dark. “Come on, Shura,” her voice whispered. She was trying to get him to stand up. “Come on, can you make it up? Please, wake up and go lie down. Please.”

He got up on the hearth, hopped up onto the bed on top of the warm stove, and was asleep in his uniform. Through semiconsciousness he felt her taking off his socks, unbuttoning his tunic, unbuckling his belt and pulling it out from the loops. He felt her soft lips on his eyes, on his cheek, on his forehead. He felt fine feathers on his face. It must have been her hair. He wanted to wake up, but it was impossible.