“You’re too young to get married,” Alexander said quietly.

“I know,” Tatiana said, as always a little defensive about her age. “But I’m not too young.”

Too young for what? Tatiana wondered, and no sooner had she wondered than in a measured voice Alexander said, “Too young for what?”

The expression in his eyes was just too much for her. Too much on the Neva, too much in the Summer Garden, too much.

She didn’t know what to say. What would Dasha say? What would a grown-up say?

“Not too young to serve in the People’s Volunteers,” she finally said. “Maybe I can join? And you could train me?” She laughed and then lost herself in her embarrassment.

Unsmiling, Alexander flinched a little but said, “You are too young for even the People’s Volunteers. They won’t take you until—” He did not finish. And she felt his unfinished sentence but couldn’t grasp the meaning of the hesitation in his voice, nor of the palpitations of his lips. There was an indentation in the middle of his bottom lip, almost like a soft nesting crevice—

Suddenly Tatiana could not look at Alexander’s lips for a second longer while the two of them sat by the river in the sunlit night. She shot up from the bench. “I’d better be heading home. It’s getting late.”

“All right,” Alexander said, also standing, much more slowly. “It’s such a nice evening.”

“Yes,” she quietly agreed without looking at him. They started to walk along the river.

“Alexander, your America, do you miss it?”

“Yes.”

“Would you ever go back if you could?”

“I suppose,” he replied evenly.

“Could you?”

He looked at her. “How would I get there? Who would let me? What claim do I have on my American name?”

Tatiana had an urge to take his hand, to touch him, to ease him somehow. “Tell me something about America,” she asked. “Did you ever see an ocean?”

“Yes, the Atlantic, and it’s quite something.”

“Is it salty?”

“Yes, and cold and immense, and it’s got jellyfish and white sailboats.”

“I saw a jellyfish once. What color is the Atlantic?”

“Green.”

“Green like the trees?”

He looked around, at the Neva, at the trees, at her. “Green a little bit like the color of your eyes.”

“So kind of muddy, murky green?” Emotion was pressing hard on her chest, making it difficult for her to breathe. I don’t need to breathe now, she thought. I’ve breathed all my life.

Alexander suggested walking back through the Summer Garden.

Tatiana agreed but then remembered the sinuous lovers. “Maybe we shouldn’t. Is there a quicker way?”

“No.”

The tall elms cast long shadows as the sun fell behind them.

They walked through the gate and down the narrow path between the statues.

“The park looks different at night,” she remarked.

“You’ve never been here at night?”

“No,” she admitted, quickly adding, “but I’ve been out at night in other places. Once I—”

Alexander leaned in to her. “Tania, you want to know something?”

“What?” she said, leaning away.

“The less you’ve been out at night, the better I like it.”

Speechless, she staggered ahead, looking at her feet.

He walked alongside, narrowing his soldier’s stride to stay by her. It was a warm night; her bare arms twice touched the rough material of his army shirt.

“This is the best time, Tatiana,” Alexander said. “Do you want to know why?”

“Please don’t tell me.”

“There will never be a time like this again. Never this simple, this uncomplicated.”

“You call this uncomplicated?” Tatiana shook her head.

“Of course.” Alexander paused. “We’re just friends, walking through Leningrad in the lucent dusk.”

They stopped at the Fontanka Bridge. “I’ve got duty at ten,” he said. “Otherwise I’d walk you home—”

“No, no. I’m going to be fine. Don’t worry. Thank you for dinner.”

Looking into Alexander’s face was not possible. Her saving grace was her height. Tatiana stared at his uniform buttons. She was not afraid of them.

He cleared his throat. “So tell me,” he asked, “what do they call you when they want to call you something other than Tania or Tatiana?”

Her heart jumped. “Who’s they?”

Alexander said nothing for what seemed like minutes.

Tatiana backed away from him, and when she was five meters away, she looked at his face. All she wanted to do was look into his wonderful face. “Sometimes,” she said, “they call me Tatia.”

He smiled.

The silences tormented her. What to do during them?

“You are very beautiful, Tatia,” said Alexander.

“Stop,” she said — inaudibly — as sensation left her legs.

He called after her, “If you wanted to, you could call me Shura.”

Shura! That’s a marvelous endearment. I would love to call you Shura, she wanted to tell him. “Who calls you Shura?”

“Nobody,” Alexander replied with a salute.

Tatiana didn’t just walk home. She flew. She grew brilliant red wings, and on them she sailed through the azure Leningrad sky. Closer to home, her heavy-with-guilt heart brought her down and the wings disappeared. She tied up her hair and made sure his books were at the very bottom of her bag. But she couldn’t go upstairs for a number of minutes as she stood against the wall of the building, clenching both fists to her chest.



Dasha was sitting at the dining table with — surprisingly — Dimitri.

“We’ve been waiting for you for three hours,” said Dasha petulantly. “Where have you been?”

Tatiana wondered if they could smell Alexander walking next to her through Leningrad. Did she smell of fragrant summer jasmine, of the warm sun on her bare forearms, of the vodka, of the caviar, of the chocolate? Could they see the extra freckles on the bridge of her nose? I’ve been walking under the lights of the North Pole. I’ve been walking and warming my face with the northern sun. Could they see it all in her exquisitely anguished eyes?

“I’m sorry you’ve been waiting. I work too late these days.”

“Are you hungry?” Dasha asked. “Babushka made cutlets and mashed potatoes. You must be starved. Have some.”

“I’m not hungry. I’m tired. Dima, will you excuse me?” said Tatiana, going to wash.

Dimitri stayed for another two hours. The grandparents wanted their room back at eleven, so Dimitri and Dasha and Tatiana went out onto the roof and sat until dusk fell after midnight, talking in the waning light. Tatiana couldn’t talk much. Dimitri was friendly and light on the tongue. He showed the girls blisters on his hands from digging trenches for two straight days. Tatiana would feel him glancing at her, seeking eye contact and smiling when he got it.

Dasha, said, “So tell me, Dima, are you very close to Alexander?”

“Yes, Alexander and I go back a very long way,” replied Dimitri. “We are like brothers.”

Tatiana, through her haze, blinked twice as her brain tried to focus on Dimitri’s words.

Dear God, Tatiana prayed in bed that night, turning to the wall and pulling the white sheet and the thin brown blanket over herself. If You are there somewhere, please teach me how to hide what I never knew how to show.


6


All Thursday long, as she worked on the flamethrowers, Tatiana thought about Alexander. And after work he was waiting for her. Tonight she didn’t ask why he had come. And he didn’t explain. He had no presents and no questions. He just came. They barely spoke; just their arms banged against each other, and once when the tram screeched to a stop, Tatiana fell into him, and he, his body unmoving, straightened her by placing his hand around her waist.

“Dasha talked me into coming by tonight,” he said quietly to Tatiana.

“Oh,” Tatiana said. “That’s fine. Of course. My parents will be glad to see you again. They were in a great mood this morning,” she continued. “Yesterday Mama got through to Pasha on the telephone, and apparently he is doing great—” She stopped talking. Suddenly she felt too sad to continue.

They walked as slowly as they could to tram Number 16 and stood silently, their arms pressed against each other, until it stopped at Grechesky Hospital.

“I’ll see you, Lieutenant.” She wanted to say Shura but could not.

“I’ll see you, Tatia,” said Alexander.



Later that night was the first time the four of them met at Fifth Soviet and all went out for a walk together. They bought ice cream, a milk shake, and a beer, and Dasha clung to Alexander’s arm like a barnacle. Tatiana maintained a polite distance from Dimitri, using every faculty in her meager possession of faculties not to watch Dasha clinging to Alexander. Tatiana was surprised at how profoundly unpleasant she found it to look at her sister touching him. Dasha going to see him in some nebulous, unimagined, unexplored Leningrad, unseen by Tatiana’s eyes, was infinitely preferable.

Alexander seemed as casual and content as any soldier would be with someone like Dasha on his arm. He barely glanced at Tatiana. How did Dasha and Alexander look together? Did they look right? Did they look more right than she and Alexander? She had no answers. She didn’t know how she looked when she was close to Alexander. She knew only how she was when she was close to Alexander.

“Tania!” Dimitri was talking to her.

“Sorry, Dima, what?” Why did he raise his voice?

“Tania, I was saying don’t you think Alexander should transfer me from the rifle guard division to somewhere else? Maybe with him to the motorized?”

“I guess. Is that possible? Don’t you have to know how to drive a tank or something in the motorized?”

Alexander smiled. Dimitri said nothing.