And she did.

Woozy and disoriented, she didn’t want to see his tilted head looking at her solicitously. She smelled him, something pleasant and masculine, not alcohol or sweat like most Russians. What was it? Soap? Cologne for men? Men in the Soviet Union did not wear cologne. No, it was just him.

“I’m sorry,” Tatiana said weakly, attempting to stand up. He helped her. “Thank you.”

“Not at all. Are you all right?”

“Absolutely. Just hungry, I think.”

He was still holding her. The perimeter of her upper arm was inside his hand, which was the size of a small country, perhaps Poland. Trembling slightly, Tatiana straightened herself, and he let her go, leaving a warm empty space where his hand had been.

“Sitting on the bus, now out in the sun . . .” the soldier said with some concern in his voice. “You’ll be all right. Come on.” He pointed. “There’s our bus.”

The bus came, driven by the same driver, who looked at them with raised eyebrows and said nothing.

This time they sat together, Tatiana near the window, the soldier with his uniformed arm draped over the wooden back of the seat behind her.

Looking at him in this proximity was truly impossible. There was just no hiding from his eyes. But it was his eyes that Tatiana wanted most to see.

“I don’t normally faint,” she said, looking out the window. That was a lie. She fainted all the time. All someone had to do was bump a chair against her knee and she was on the floor unconscious. The teachers at school used to send home two or three notes a month about her fainting.

She glanced at him.

Smiling irrepressibly, the soldier said, “What’s your name anyway?”

“Tatiana,” she said, noticing the slight stubble on his face, the sharp line of his nose, his black brows, and the small gray scar on his forehead. He was tanned under the stubble. His white teeth were outstanding.

“Tatiana,” he repeated in his deep voice. “Tatiana,” he said, slower, gentler. “Tania? Tanechka?”

“Tania,” she replied and gave him her hand. Before he told her his name, he took it. Her small, slender, white hand disappeared in his enormous, warm, dark one. She thought he must have heard her heart through her fingers, through her wrist, through all the veins under her skin.

“I am Alexander,” he said.

Her hand remained outstretched in his.

“Tatiana. Such a good Russian name.”

“Alexander, too,” she said and lowered her eyes.

Finally, reluctantly, she pulled her hand away. His large hands were clean, his fingers long and thick, and his nails trimmed. Neat nails on a man were another anomaly in Tatiana’s Soviet life.

She looked away onto the street. The window of the bus was dirty. She wondered who washed it and when and how frequently. Anything not to think. What she felt though, was almost as if he were asking her not to turn away from him, almost as if his hand were about to come up and turn her face to him. She turned to him, lifted her eyes, and smiled. “Want to hear a joke?”

“Dying to.”

“A soldier is being led to his execution,” Tatiana began. “ ‘Some bad weather we’re having,’ he says to his convoy. ‘Look who’s complaining,’ they say. ‘We have to go back.’ ”

Alexander laughed so instantly and loudly, his merry eyes never leaving her face, that Tatiana felt herself — just a little bit — melting within.

“That’s funny, Tania,” he said.

“Thank you.” She smiled and said quickly, “I have another joke: ‘General, what do you think about the upcoming battle?’ ”

Alexander said, “I know this one. The general says, ‘God knows it will be lost.’ ”

Tatiana continued, “ ‘Then why should we try?’ ”

And Alexander finished, “ ‘To find out who is the loser.’ ”

They both smiled and looked away from each other.

“Your straps are untied,” she heard him say.

“My what?”

“Your straps. At the back of the dress. They’ve come undone. Here, turn your back to me a little more. I’ll tie them for you.”

She turned her back to him and felt his fingers pulling on the satin ribbons. “How tight do you want them?”

“That’s good,” she said hoarsely, not breathing. It occurred to her that he must be seeing down to the small of her bare back underneath the straps, and she became suddenly and keenly self-conscious.

When she turned to him, Alexander cleared his throat and asked, “Are you going to get off at Polustrovsky? To see your cousin Marina? Because it’s coming up. Or do you want me to take you home?”

“Polustrovsky?” Tatiana repeated, as if hearing the word for the first time. It took her a moment. “Oh, my.” Placing her hand on her forehead, she said, “Oh, no, you won’t believe — I can’t go home. I’m going to get in so much trouble.”

“Why?” Alexander said. “What can I do to help?”

Why did she think he meant it? And moreover, why did she suddenly find herself relieved and strengthened and not afraid of going home?

After she told him about the rubles in her pocket and the failed quest for food, Tatiana finished with, “I don’t know why my father would delegate this task to me. I’m the least capable of anyone in my family of actually succeeding.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Tatiana,” said Alexander. “Besides, I can help you.”

“You can?”

He told her he would take her to one of the officers-only army stores called Voentorgs, where she could buy many of the things she needed.

“But I’m not an officer,” she pointed out.

“Yes, but I am.”

“You are?”

“Yes,” he said. “Alexander Belov, first lieutenant. Impressed?”

“Skeptical,” she said. Alexander laughed. Tatiana didn’t want him to be old enough to be a first lieutenant. “What’s the medal for?” she asked, looking at his chest.

“Military valor,” he said with an indifferent shrug.

“Oh?” Her mouth lifted in a timid, admiring smile. “What did you do that was so military and valiant?”

“Nothing much. Where do you live, Tania?”

“Near Tauride Park — on the corner of Grechesky and Fifth Soviet,” she instantly replied. “Do you know where that is?”

Alexander nodded. “I patrol everywhere. You live with your parents?”

“Of course. With my parents, my grandparents, my sister, and my twin brother.”

“All in one room?” Alexander asked, without inflection.

“No, we have two!” Tatiana exclaimed happily. “And my grandparents are on a housing list to get another room when one becomes available.”

“How long,” asked Alexander, “have they been on this housing list?”

“Since 1924,” replied Tatiana, and they both laughed.

They were on the bus forever and a second.

“I’ve never known anyone who was a twin,” said Alexander as they got off. “Are you close?”

“Yes, but Pasha can be very irritating. He thinks because he is a boy he always has to win.”

“You mean he doesn’t?”

“Not if I can help it,” said Tatiana, glancing away from his teasing eyes. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“No,” said Alexander. “I was my mother and father’s only child.” He blinked and then quickly continued, “We’ve come full circle, haven’t we? Fortunately, we’re not far from the store. Do you feel like walking, or do you want to wait for bus 22?”

Tatiana watched him.

Did he just say, was?

Did he just say, I was my mother and father’s only child? “We can walk,” Tatiana let out slowly, staring thoughtfully into his face and not moving. From his high forehead to his square jaw, his facial bones were prominent and clearly visible to her curious eyes. And all were set in what seemed like cement at the moment. As if he were grinding his teeth together. Carefully, she asked, “So where are you from, Alexander? You have a slight . . . accent.”

“I don’t, do I?” he asked, looking down at her feet. “Are you going to be all right walking in those shoes?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine,” she replied. Was he trying to change the subject? Her dress strap had fallen off her shoulder. Suddenly Alexander reached out and with his index finger pulled the strap back up, his fingertip tracing her skin. Tatiana turned red. She hated that about herself. She turned red all the time for no reason.

Alexander stared at her. His face relaxed into — what was that in his eyes? It looked almost like bedazzlement. “Tania—”

“Come on, let’s walk,” Tatiana said, mindful of the protracted daylight and the burning embers and his voice. There was something nauseating about these sudden feelings clinging to her like wet clothes.

The sandals were hurting her feet, but she didn’t want to let him know it. “Is the store far from here?”

“Not far,” he said. “We will have to stop at the barracks for a minute. I’ve got to sign out. I’ll have to blindfold you the rest of the way. I can’t have you knowing where the soldiers’ barracks are, can I?”

Tatiana was not about to look at Alexander to see if he was joking.

“So,” she said, trying to sound casual, “here we are, and we haven’t talked about the war.” She put on her purposeful serious face. “Alexander, what do you think of Hitler’s actions?”

Why did he look infinitely amused by her? What had she said that was so amusing? “Do you really want to talk about the war?”

“Of course,” she maintained. “It’s a grave matter.”

The look of wonder did not leave his eyes. “It’s just war,” he said. “It was so inevitable. We’ve been waiting for it. Let’s go this way.”

They walked past Mikhailovsky Palace or Engineer’s Castle, as it was sometimes called, over the short Fontanka Canal bridge at the aqueous intersection of the Fontanka and Moika canals. Tatiana loved the slightly arched granite bridge, and sometimes she would climb on top of the low parapets and walk the ledge. Not today, of course. She wasn’t going to be a child today.