The Bronze Horseman (The Bronze Horseman #1)

The Bronze Horseman (The Bronze Horseman #1) Page 68

15

After they had woken early and caught some trout and swum, Tatiana was crouching by the hearth showing Alexander how to make pancake batter. She didn’t know what it was with him, but he was not paying any attention. “Shura! I’m not going to keep teaching you how to make pancakes. Do you just refuse to learn?”

“I’m a man. I’m physically unable to learn how to cook for myself,” he said. He was lying on the wood floor very close to her as Tatiana mixed together the thick warm milk, flour, and sugar.

“But you made me ice cream.”

“That was for you. I said, cook for myself.”

“Shura!”

“What!”

“Why are you looking at me and not my batter?” He was sprawled on the floor, looking up at her with the sweetest face.

“I can’t take my eyes off you,” he said calmly, “because I find it profoundly arousing that you cook for me with such abandon. Anything I want. I can’t take my eyes off you,” he continued, less calmly, “because I am no longer hungry for pancakes.”

“Stop looking at me,” Tatiana said, trying to stay calm herself. “What are you going to do when you’re in the woods by yourself and need to eat?”

“Do I have to learn how to make batter? I’ll eat bark, berries, mushrooms.”

“Do yourself a favor — don’t eat the mushrooms,” Tatiana said. “Will you watch, please?”

He looked away from her and into the pot. “So? Milk, flour, sugar? Is that it? Am I done? Can I look at you again?”

With a twitch of the wooden spoon, Tatiana flicked a bit of batter into his face. “Hey!” she exclaimed. “Watch, I said.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Alexander stuck his hand into the batter and threw a handful into Tatiana’s face. “Who do you think you’re dealing with around here?”

“I don’t know,” she slowly replied, wiping the batter from her eyes and proceeding to stir. “But I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with around here.” Before he could move, Tatiana took the whole pot and poured it on him, then jumped up and ran outside.

When he caught her in the clearing, Alexander was dripping with batter. Hoisting her up, he rubbed his messy self all over her, into her, holding her mouth closed to stop her from laughing, but she wouldn’t stop, feeling desperate delight and desire. Tatiana’s whole body was shaking from laughter, and she could tell that it reminded her husband too much of her whole body shaking from pleasure, because he was already on to the next thing, but she was still laughing. Trembling, quickening, and sticky, their chests pressed together, they were poured like thick cream and warm sugar over one another, licking each other, stuck together and slippery, and afterward a panting and sated Alexander joyously asked, “If we don’t cook the pancakes but eat the batter raw, does that still count as breakfast?”

“I’m almost sure of it,” panted back Tatiana.

The sun was at full noon. Alexander was cleaning the trout at the small table he had built. He was using his army knife to scale the fish and cut off their heads. Tatiana stood by his side with a bag to catch the remnants and a pot of water to put the cleaned fish into. She was about to make fish soup with potatoes. They had only one sharp knife, and Alexander was very proficient with it. “As long as you don’t have to cook the food you catch, you’ll never starve, will you, Shura?” Tatiana said, watching him with admiration.

“Tania, if I had to, I would cook this fish on the fire that I build.” He glanced at her. “What?”

“Alexander, you fish, you build fires, you make furniture, you fight, you log. Is there anything you can’t do?” Tatiana blushed even as she was saying it.

“You tell me.” Alexander leaned over and kissed her deeply, not stopping until she moaned into his mouth. “Don’t be so delicious,” he whispered.

Clearing her throat, she murmured, “I’ve got to stop turning red.”

“Please don’t. And yes, there is one thing I can’t do. Can’t make pancakes.” He smiled at her.

“When are we going to go to Molotov to get our wedding pictures from the jeweler?”

“He’s going to want our gold rings for those pictures, I know it.”

Tatiana gazed at him, kissing his arm, pressing her face against him. “Do we have enough kerosene for the Primus stove?”

“Plenty, why?”

“After I put the ukha on, can we leave it for a little while?” She took a deep breath. “Shura? . . . Dusia asked me to come and help her at the church.” She looked at Alexander. “Please? I feel bad because I haven’t been over there much—”

“You’re over there way too much.” He stopped smiling.

“I thought I was your shadow?”

“Except when you’re over there way too much.” Alexander sighed. “What does she need this time?”

Relieved, Tatiana said, “One of the windows fell out. She was wondering if you could fix it. It’s her only stained glass window.”

“Oh, so she needs me this time.”

“I’ll come with you. She says she’ll give you some vodka for your trouble.”

“Tell her to leave you alone, and she’s got herself a deal.”

Leaving for a moment, Tatiana returned with a cigarette and a lighter. “Here,” she said. “Open your mouth.”

“How you talk,” Alexander said, opening his mouth. She watched him take a few puffs. Then, not knowing what to do with the cigarette, she smelled it, brought it to her mouth, took a drag, and immediately broke into a cough. Alexander motioned for the cigarette back, took three or four deep drags, and said, “I’m done. And don’t put it in your mouth again. I hear you breathing in the night — your lungs are struggling.”

“That’s not the TB,” she said, stubbing out the cigarette. “That’s you holding me.” She looked away.

Glancing at her, Alexander said nothing.

At the church Tatiana helped Alexander hold the small stained glass window. She stood on a stepladder while he caulked the edge of the window with a gooey mixture of water, pulverized limestone, and clay. “Shura?”

“Hmm.”

“Can I ask you a hypothetical question?”

“No.”

“What would we have done if Dasha were still alive? Do you ever think about that?”

“No.”

Tatiana paused. “Well, I do. Sometimes.”

“Like when do you think of that?”

“Like now.”

When he made no reply, Tatiana persisted. “Can you think about it? What would we have done?”

“I don’t want to think about it.”

“Do.”

Alexander sighed. “Why do you enjoy torturing yourself? Do you feel life has been too good to you?”

Tatiana stared at him. “Life has,” she said slowly, “been too good to me.”

“Hold the window steady,” he said. “It’s Dusia’s only stained glass window. I don’t think she’ll forgive even you for breaking it. Is it too heavy for you?”

“No, it’s fine. Here, let me come closer to the frame.”

“Just a minute longer. I’m almost done.”

Tatiana moved on the ladder, lost her footing, and came toppling down, letting go of the glass, which fell out of the frame and was caught by Alexander, who grabbed it, laid it down, and went to help Tatiana off the ground. She was shaken but not hurt. She had a scrape on the back of her ankle. She was, however, frowning at her husband.

“What?” Alexander said. “Like my reflexes? Dusia will now be praying for my life every day.” He tried to dust Tatiana off but just made her messier. “Look at my hands. I’m going to cement myself to you if I’m not careful.” He smiled, kissing her collarbone.

Still Tatiana frowned at him.

“What?”

“Love your reflexes,” she said. “Lightning quick. Good job. I just want to point out,” she added, “that given the choice between the glass and your wife, you chose the glass, admirably quick though you were.”

Laughing, Alexander helped Tatiana back onto the ladder, standing behind her on the ground. He didn’t touch her with his messy hands, but he softly bit her bottom through her dress. “I didn’t choose the glass,” he said. “You were already on the ground.”

“I didn’t see your legendary reflexes reach for me while I was being propelled downward like a rocket.”

“Oh? And what would have happened to you if that glass fell on top of you?” he asked. “You wouldn’t have been very happy with me then.”

“I’m not very happy with you now,” she said, but she was smiling, and he bit her bottom again and went to the window to finish caulking. Finally the glass was solidly back in. Dusia, who was inside the church, thanked Alexander up and down and even kissed him, telling him he was not a bad man.

Alexander bowed his head slightly, nodding at Tatiana. “What did I tell you?”

Tatiana pulled him by his shirt. “Come on, not-a-bad-man,” she said. “Let’s go. I’ll wash you.” They walked back home through the sap-smelling woods. At the house Tatiana went inside to get soap and towels.

“Tania, can you feed me first?”

“Shura, you can’t eat covered in muck like you are.”

“Watch me,” he said. “I know how the washing-me thing goes. I won’t be eating for two hours, and I’m starving now. Just put the soup in a bowl, take a spoon, and feed me.”

“Well, if you wouldn’t take two hours . . .” Tatiana muttered under her breath, the flame pit in her stomach opening up.

“Just feed me, Tatia. Rail at me later.” Alexander raised his brows, his eyes warming her like the fire. Her glad heart swelling, Tatiana obliged, and as she was feeding him, she resumed. “You didn’t answer my hypothetical question.”

“Blissfully, I forgot it.”

“About Dasha.”

“Oh, that.” He chewed and swallowed a mouthful of potato and fish, and said in a serious tone, “I think you know the answer to that.”

“I do?”

“Of course. You know if she were still alive, I would have had to marry her, as I had promised, and you would have had to go and have a bang with good old Vova.”

“Shura!”

“What?”

She shoved his leg. “I’m not going to talk to you about this if you’re not going to be serious.”

“Oh, good. Can I have some more soup?”

After lunch, when they were in the water and he was scrubbing his hands while Tatiana was soaping his back, Alexander said, “I could never have married Dasha if you were still alive. You know that. My truth would have had to come out here in Lazarevo. What about yours?”

Tatiana didn’t reply.

They were sitting in the river near the shore. Alexander took the bottle of shampoo and turned Tatiana’s back to him to lather her hair. Running his fingers through her soapy strands, he said, “You miss her.”

She nodded. “I wonder what being here in Lazarevo would have been like had she lived.” Leaning back into him, she said, “I miss my family.” She paused as her voice broke. “Like you must have missed your mother and father.”

“I didn’t have time to miss them,” said Alexander. “I was too busy saving my f*cking life.” He tilted her head back to rinse her hair.

But Tatiana knew the truth. “You know, sometimes I get a funny feeling about Pasha.”

“What funny feeling?”

She stood up and took the soap from him. “I don’t know. A train blew up, no bodies were retrieved. As if the not knowing for certain what had happened to him makes his death somehow less real.”

He stood up, too, and led her deeper into the water. “You’re saying you only believe it if you see the people you love die?”

“Something like that. Does that make sense?”

“Not at all,” said Alexander. “I didn’t see my mother die. I didn’t see my father die. They’re dead all the same.”

“I know.” She soaped him comfortingly. “But Pasha is my twin. He is like half of me. If he is dead, what about me?” She lathered her breasts and rubbed her hard, soapy nipples against his chest.

“I can answer that. You’re very much alive,” said Alexander. “I tell you what: you want to play this hypothetical game? I’ll play. I have a question for you,” he said, taking the soap out of her hands and pitching it onto the shore. “Say Dasha were still alive, and you and I had not yet married, but” — Alexander stopped talking while he lifted Tatiana onto himself — “but I had made love to you standing” — he paused between breaths — “like this—” They both groaned. “Here, in our Kama River . . . tell me, oh, my very alive wife, what would you have done? Would you have let me go then, knowing—”

She cried out.

“ — this?” whispered Alexander.

As if Tatiana could answer. “I don’t want to play this game anymore,” she moaned, wrapping her legs loosely around his waist and her arms tightly around his neck.

“Good,” said Alexander.

Afterward Tatiana sat collapsed in the shallow water against a boulder jutting out of the river, and Alexander lay before her, the back of his head against her chest. They were murmuring and looking out onto the Kama and the mountains when Tatiana noticed that Alexander had become quieter. He had fallen asleep, his legs stretched out in the gentle lap of the river, his bare upper body pressed against her. Smiling and holding him to her, Tatiana softly kissed his sleeping head, leaving her lips in his wet hair.

Blinking, blinking, she sat for a long time not moving, until at last she soaked in a breath, an afternoon breath of sap and fresh water and cherry blossoms nearby. Wet grass, old leaves, sand, earth, Alexander, and she whispered, “Once upon a time there lived a man, a shining prince among peasants, who was worshipped by a frail maiden. The maiden escaped into the land of lilacs and milk and waited impatiently for her prince, who came and handed her the sun. They had nothing to run to and everything to run from; they had no refuge and no salvation; they had nothing but their tiny kingdom, in which lived but two people — the master, the mistress, and two slaves.” Pausing for breath, Tatiana squeezed Alexander. “Each glorious day was a miracle from God. And they knew it. Then the prince had to leave, but that was all right because the maiden—” Tatiana stopped. She thought she heard him hold his breath. “Shura?”

“Don’t stop,” he murmured. “I’m very interested in what happens next. Why was it all right? What was the maiden going to do?”

“How was I doing so far?”

“Not bad. My favorite part was something about a master . . . ?”

Tatiana kissed his cheek.

“I reserve final judgment till the end.” Alexander rubbed the back of his head against her chest. “Tell me why it was all right.”

“It was all right,” Tatiana continued, trying to think quickly, “because the maiden patiently waited for him to come back.”

“Well, this is a fairy tale. And?”

“And he did.”

“And?”

“There’s an and after that? And . . . they lived happily ever after.”

After the longest mute minute Alexander asked, “Where?”

Tatiana stared at the Ural Mountains and made no reply.

Grunting, Alexander got up and turned to her. “That wasn’t a bad story, Tania.”

“Wasn’t bad? Why don’t you try?”

“I’m not much for making up stories.”

“Yes, you prefer to blow things up. Go ahead, try.”

“Fine.” Sitting with his legs crossed, he splashed water on his face, splashed water at her, and began. “Let’s see . . . Once upon a time there lived a fair maiden—” He looked at her. “A maiden like no other. And one renegade mercenary knight had the fortune to be loved by her.” He smiled. “Over and over.”

Tatiana nudged him with her foot, but her own pleased smile was, if anything, broader than his.

“The knight left to protect the kingdom against marauders,” Alexander paused. “And did not come back.” He stopped looking at her, staring at the riverbank instead. “The maiden waited for her knight for a suitable period—”

“What would that be?”

“I don’t know. Forty years?”

“Be reasonable.” Tatiana pinched his leg.

“Ouch. But finally she couldn’t wait anymore and gave herself to the liege of the local manor.”

“After forty years who’d want her?”

Alexander turned his gaze back to Tatiana. “But lo and behold, surprise! Her knight came back, only to find his maiden running the manor and romping with someone else—”

“Just like in Pushkin’s Evgeny Onegin,” said Tatiana.

“Oh, except unlike Onegin, this knight, feeling like an idiot, challenged the liege to a duel, fought for the maiden’s honor, such as it was, and lost. He was then drawn and quartered right in front of her very eyes, which she dabbed with her silken handkerchief, vaguely remembering the land of lilacs they had once lived in, and then shrugged nonchalantly and went in for tea.” Alexander laughed. “Now, that’s a story!”

“Yes,” Tatiana said, rising to her feet and walking to the cabin. “A stupid story.”

As she was getting ready to leave, Alexander sat and smoked. “Why do you always have to go to your stupid sewing circle?”

“Not always. It’s just for an hour.” Tatiana smiled, wrapping her arms around him. “You can wait an hour, can’t you, Captain?” she whispered huskily.

“Mmm,” he said, holding her with one arm. His cigarette was in the other hand. “Can’t they manage without you, for God’s sake?”

She kissed his damp forehead. “Shura, have you noticed the days have been getting hotter?”

“I noticed. Can’t you just sew here? I brought your sewing machine, your desk. I’ve made you a stool. I see you sewing; just the other day you were sewing all those dark clothes. What was that?”

“Nothing, just something silly.”

“Well, continue sewing something silly here.”

“I’m teaching them how to fish, Alexander.”

“What?”

“Give a man a fish and he’ll eat for a day,” said Tatiana. “Teach him how to fish and he’ll eat for a lifetime.”

Shaking his head and sighing, Alexander said, “All right. I’ll come with you.”

“Stop it. Church is one thing, but no soldier husband of mine is going to a sewing circle. It’ll unman you. Besides, you already know how to fish. Stay home. Play with your rifle or something. I’ll be back in an hour. Do you want something delicious to eat before I go?”

“Yes, and I know exactly what I want,” he said, laying her down on the blanket in the grass. The sun burned over their heads.

“Shura, I’m going to be late.”

“Tell them your husband was starving and you had to feed him.”