The Bronze Horseman (The Bronze Horseman #1)

The Bronze Horseman (The Bronze Horseman #1) Page 81

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Tatiana was dragging her feet. She was hanging around her last patients even though it was long past her sign-out time. She was a little hungry, but cooking for herself was such a displeasure, she wished she could nourish her body intravenously, like some of the wounded. Working with critically injured men and women was preferable to being in her room by herself.

Finally she left and, not lifting her head, slowly walked home down Grechesky in the dark.

She walked through the communal apartment. Inga was sitting on the couch in the hallway and casually drinking tea. Why was she in Tatiana’s home? It was so incongruous that she and Stan should remain. “Hello, Inga,” said Tatiana tiredly as she took off her coat.

“Hmm. Someone was here for you.”

She squared her shoulders. “Did you do as I asked and not let anyone in?”

“Yes, I did as you asked,” Inga replied shortly. “He wasn’t too pleased, though. Another soldier—”

“What soldier?”

“I don’t know.”

Coming up to Inga and lowering her voice, Tatiana whispered, “Who was it? It wasn’t the same soldier, was it—”

“No. Different. Tall.”

Tatiana’s heart jumped. Tall!

“Where—” she stammered. “Where did he go?”

“I don’t know. I told him he couldn’t come in. He didn’t want to hear anything after that. You have quite a contingent of soldiers following you around, don’t you?”

Without even grabbing her coat, Tatiana swirled around the small hallway, swung open the door, and there in front of her stood Alexander.

“Oh,” she gasped, her knees buckling. “Oh, God.” Seeing the expression in his darkened eyes, she knew what he was feeling. She didn’t care. Her eyes filling with tears, she leaned her head into his coat.

He didn’t even put his arms around her. “Come on,” he said coldly, taking her by the arm. “Let’s go inside.”

Inga said, “Tania told me not to let anyone in, Captain — Tania, aren’t you going to introduce us?” She had put down her cup.

“No,” said Alexander, pushing Tatiana into the room and kicking the door shut behind him. She came to him instantly, her shaking arms open, her face overflowing. She could barely get his name out of her emotional mouth. “Shura . . .”

He put his palms out. “Don’t come near me.”

Not listening, Tatiana came to him, and said, “Shura, I am so happy to see you. How are your hands?”

He pushed her hard away, saying loudly, “No, Tatiana! Stay away from me.”

He walked through the room to the window. It was cold by the window. Tatiana followed him. Her need to lay her hands on him and to have him touch her was so desperate that she forgot the pain left by Dimitri’s visit, by the missing five thousand dollars, by her own twisted feelings. “Shura,” Tatiana said, her voice breaking. “Why are you pushing me?”

“What have you done?” Alexander’s eyes were bitter and angry. “Why are you here?”

“You know why I’m here,” Tatiana said to him. “You needed me. I came.”

“I don’t need you here!” he yelled. Tatiana flinched but did not move away. “I don’t need you here,” he repeated. “I need you safe!”

“I know,” she said. “Please let me touch you.”

“Stay away from me.”

“Shura, I told you, I cannot be away from you. I didn’t think you could feel me all the way in Lazarevo. You need me close to you.”

“Close to me? Not close to me, Tatiana,” he said nastily, standing against the windowsill. It was dark in the room, the only light coming from the street. Alexander’s face was dark, his eyes were dark.

“What are you talking about?” Her voice was trembling in supplication. “Of course, close to you. Close to who?”

“What the f*ck were you thinking,” he yelled, “going to the barracks and asking for Dimitri?”

“I didn’t ask for Dimitri!” she exclaimed faintly. “I went to find you. I didn’t know what happened to you. You stopped writing to me.”

“You didn’t write to me for six months!” he said loudly. “You could have waited two weeks, no?”

“It was over a month, and I couldn’t have, no,” she said. “Shura, I’m here for you.” Tatiana came a step closer. “For you. You told me never to look away from you. Here I am. Look into my eyes and tell me what I feel.” Pleadingly she opened her hands to him. “What do I feel, Shura?” she whispered.

Alexander blinked, his teeth grinding. “Look into my eyes and tell me what I feel, Tatiana.”

She clasped her hands together.

“You promised me!” Alexander said. “You promised me. You gave me your word!”

Tatiana remembered. She looked into his face. She was so weak and wanted him so much. And she could see that he needed her, if anything, even more. He just couldn’t see past his anger. Like always. “Alexander, husband, it’s me. It’s your Tania.” She almost cried as she opened her palms to him. “Shura, please . . .”

When he didn’t reply, Tatiana took off her shoes and came to stand in front of him at the window. She felt more vulnerable than ever, standing in her white uniform in front of him, with his black hair, black boots, and black trench coat looming over her, so emotional, so upset. “Please, let’s not fight. I am so happy to see you. I just want . . .” She would not lower her eyes from him, would not. “Shura,” she said, her body trembling, “don’t . . . push me away.”

He turned his face from her. Tatiana unbuttoned the front of her uniform and took hold of Alexander’s hand. “Kiss the palm of your hand and press it against your heart, you wrote to me,” she whispered, kissing the palm of his hand and then putting it on her bare breast, his large, warm, dark hand, the hand that had carried her and caressed her, and she closed her eyes and moaned.

“Oh, my God, Tatiana . . .” Alexander said, pulling her to him, his hands attacking her body. He pushed her down on the couch, his incensed lips not leaving her mouth, his hands in her hair. “What do you want from me?” He yanked off her uniform, vest, and underwear, leaving her naked except for her garters. Gripping her bare thighs above the stockings, he whispered, “Tania, God, what do you want from me . . . ?”

Tatiana couldn’t even answer. His body on hers was making her speechless.

“I’m furious with you.” He was kissing her as if he were dying. “You don’t care I’m furious with you?”

“I don’t care . . . take your anger out on me,” Tatiana groaned. “Go ahead, take it out on me, Shura . . . now.”

He was inside her in seconds.

Her hands clutching his head, Tatiana whispered, “Cover my mouth,” ready to scream.

Alexander hadn’t taken off his coat, nor his boots.

There was a knock on the door. “Tania, are you all right?” Inga’s voice sounded.

His hand over Tatiana’s mouth, Alexander yelled, “Get the hell away from the door!”

“Cover my mouth, Shura,” Tatiana whispered, crying from happiness. “Oh, God, cover it.”

“No, don’t get off me, don’t get off me, please,” she murmured, holding on to his coat, to his head, grasping on to any part of him. “How are your hands?” In the dark, she couldn’t see them. They felt scabbed.

“They’re fine.”

Tatiana was kissing his lips, his chin, his stubble, his eyes — she couldn’t take her lips away from his eyes — holding his head close to her. “Shura, darling, don’t get off me, please, I’ve missed you so much, stay right here. Stay where you are . . .” For a few dark moments Tatiana pressed herself against Alexander. “Don’t pull away from me, feel how warm I am? Don’t pull out into the cold . . .” She lay underneath him and tried not to cry. And failed. “Is that why you hadn’t written to me? Because of your hands?”

“Yes,” Alexander said. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“You didn’t think the absence of your letters would make me crazy?”

“You know,” he said, getting off her, “I had hoped you would just wait.”

“Darling, lovely husband, are you hungry?” Tatiana murmured to him. “I can’t believe I’m touching you again. I can’t be this lucky. What can I make for you? I have some pork, some potatoes. Do you want food?”

“No,” Alexander said, helping her sit up. “Why is it so cold in here?”

“Stove’s broken. Bourzhuika is in the other room, remember? Slavin lets me use his Primus stove in the kitchen.” She smiled, her hands running up and down his coat. “Honey, Shura, do you want me to make you some tea?”

“Tania, you’ll freeze. Do you have anything else to wear? Something warm?”

“I’m burning,” she said, her hands on his coat. “I’m not cold.” She hung on to him.

“Why is the sofa in the middle of the room?”

“My bed is behind the couch.”

Alexander looked over the back of the couch to see Tatiana’s cot. Pulling a blanket off it, he covered her. “Why are you sleeping between the sofa and the wall?”

When she didn’t answer, Alexander reached over and touched the wall with his hand. They stared at each other in the dark. “Why did you give them the warm room, Tania?”

“I didn’t give it to them. They took it. There are two of them, only one of me. They’re sad. He’s got a bad back. Shura, how about a hot bath? I’ll run you one.”

“No. Get dressed. Right now.” Alexander buckled his belt and walked out of the bedroom, still in his coat. Disheveled and barely buttoned, Tatiana followed him. He walked past Inga in the hallway into the bedroom, where Stan was sitting reading the newspaper, and asked Stan to switch rooms with Tatiana. Stan said he wasn’t switching. Alexander replied that indeed Stan was, and he and Tatiana started moving all of Inga and Stan’s things into the cold room and all of Tatiana’s things into the warm room.

For fifteen minutes Tatiana heard Stan grumbling, standing with Inga in the hallway, and at one point as she passed him, she whispered, “Stanislav Stepanich, shh. Please. Don’t provoke him.”

Stan did not heed her warning. As Alexander was walking past carrying Stan’s trunk, Stan seethed, “Who do you think you are? You don’t know who you’re dealing with. You’ve got no right to treat me this way.”

Dropping the trunk, Alexander grabbed his rifle and jammed Stan against the wall with the barrel under his throat. “Who the f*ck do you think you are, Stan?” Alexander said loudly. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with! What, you think I’m going to be scared of you, too, you bastard? You’ve come to the wrong man. Now, get into the other room, and don’t f*ck with me, because I’m not in the mood.” He gritted his teeth. “And don’t ever upset her again, you hear me?” Giving Stan a last jolt under the chin, Alexander stepped away from him and kicked his heavy trunk, rolling it over. “Here, carry your own f*cking trunk.”

Tatiana, who watched Alexander, did not come to Stan’s rescue, even though she thought Alexander looked angry enough to really hurt Stan. Inga mumbled, “What kind of sick people come and see you here, Tania? Come on, Stan, let’s go.”

Rubbing his throat, Stan started to stay something, and Inga yelled, “Come on, Stan. Shut your mouth and let’s go!”

In the warm room Tatiana quickly stripped off Inga and Stan’s bedding, throwing it out into the hall, and put clean sheets on her old bed.

“That’s better, don’t you think?” Alexander said, sitting on the sofa and motioning Tatiana to him.

Tatiana shook her head. “Oh, you, Alexander. Do you want some food?”

“Later. Come here.”

“Will you take off your coat this time?”

“Come here and I’ll let you know.”

She fell into his arms. “Leave your coat on. Leave everything on.”

Tatiana ran a hot bath for Alexander, took him by the hand into the small bathroom, undressed him, and soaped him and scrubbed him and rinsed him, and cried over him, and kissed him. “Your poor hands,” she kept saying. His red fingers looked pretty bad to her, but Alexander assured her they would heal almost without scarring. His wedding ring was not on his finger but on a rope around his neck — just like hers.

“Is the water warm enough for you?”

“It’s fine, Tania.”

“I can boil another pot.” She smiled. “And then I’ll come in here and pour the boiling water over you. Remember?”

“I remember,” he said, and did not smile.

“Oh, Shura . . .” she whispered, kissing his wet forehead, turning his face to her as she knelt beside the bath. “I know,” she said, brightening. “We can play a game.”

“No games right now,” he said.

“You’ll like this one,” she murmured. “Let’s pretend we’re in Lazarevo, and I’m you, stroking my fingers in the dishpan. Remember?” She immersed her arms up to her elbows in the soapy hot water.

“I remember,” said Alexander, closing his eyes and reluctantly smiling.

While he was drying and dressing, Tatiana went outside into the kitchen and made him dinner, cooking him almost all the food she had — potatoes, carrots, and a bit of pork meat — and then took him into the bedroom and breathlessly sat by him on the couch, watching him eat. “I’m not hungry,” she said. “I ate at the hospital. Eat, darling, eat.”

During their senseless, sleepless night, Tatiana told Alexander about everything Dimitri had told her — the NKVD general, Lisiy Nos, and the other allusions. Alexander stared at the ceiling. “Are you waiting for me to answer you before you ask me?”

“No,” Tatiana said. “I’m not asking you anything.” She was lying in his arms, playing with his wedding ring.

“I’m not talking to you about Dimitri here.”

“That’s fine.”

“Because the walls have ears.” Alexander banged loudly on the wall with his fist.

“Well, then, they’ve already heard everything.”

He kissed her forehead. “Everything else he told you — about me — it’s not true.”

“I know.” She laughed lightly. “But, Shura, tell me, how many knocking joints are there in Leningrad, and why would you have to go to all of them?”

“Tania, look at me.”

She gazed at him.

“It’s not true. I—”

“Shura, darling — I know.” She kissed his chest and covered them both up with two wool blankets. “There is only one thing true nowadays, Alexander.”

“Only one,” he whispered, staring at her intensely in the dark. “Oh, Tatia.”

“Shh.”

“Do you have a picture of yourself here? A picture I can take with me?”

“Tomorrow I’ll find you one. I’m afraid to ask. When are you leaving?”

“Sunday.”

Her heart squeezed shut. “So soon.”

“My commander puts his head on the butcher block every time he lets me have special leave.”

“He is a nice man. Thank him for me.”

“Tatiana, someday I will have to explain to you the concept of keeping a promise. You see, when you give your word, you have to keep your word.” He was stroking her hair.

“I know what keeping a promise means.”

“No, you only know what making a promise means,” Alexander said. “You are very good at making the promise. It’s keeping the promise you have a problem with. You promised me you would stay in Lazarevo.”

Thoughtfully Tatiana said, “I promised because that’s what you wanted me to do.” She squeezed tighter into the crook of his arm. “You didn’t give me much choice.” She couldn’t lie close enough to him. “At the point you were asking for my promise, I would have promised you anything.” Under his arm was no good. She climbed on top of him. “And did.” She kissed him softly. “You wanted me to promise. I promised. I always do what you want me to do.”

His hands tenderly moving down her back, Alexander said, “No, you always do as you please. You certainly make the right noises.”

“Mmm,” she said, rubbing herself into him.

“Yes, that you do,” Alexander said, his hands more insistent. “You certainly say the right things. Yes, Shura; of course, Shura; I promise, Shura; maybe even, I love you, Shura, but then you just do as you please.”

“I love you, Shura,” Tatiana said, her tears falling into his face.

All the agonizing words Tatiana had meant to say to Alexander, she kept inside, slightly surprised that he kept his own agonizing words to her under control, and she could tell he had plenty. But she knew — the endless November Leningrad night was too short for misery, too short for what they were feeling, too short for them. Alexander wanted to hear her moan, she moaned for him, indifferent to Inga and Stan just centimeters of thin plaster away. Under the flickering light of the open bourzhuika Tatiana made love to her Alexander, yielding to him, clutching him, clinging to him, unable to keep herself from crying each time she came, each time he came, each time they came together. She made love to him with the abandon of the skylark’s last flight south when the bird knows he is going to either make it to the warmth or die.

“Your poor hands,” she was whispering as she kissed the scars on his fingers and wrists. “Your hands, Shura. They’ll heal, right? They won’t scar?”

“Your hands healed,” he said. “Yours didn’t scar.”

“Hmm,” she said, remembering putting out the fire on the roof last year. “I don’t know how.”

“I know how,” Alexander whispered. “You healed them. Now heal mine, Tania.”

“Oh, soldier.” Tatiana was on top of him, desperately pressing his head to her naked breasts.

“I can’t breathe.”

She was embracing him the way he used to embrace her in Lazarevo. And for the same reason. “Open your mouth,” she whispered, leaning into his face. “I’ll breathe for you.”