“No, what does the Party say, comrade?” Alexander asked, glancing down at Tatiana, who stood beside him holding his hand.

“Being determines consciousness, doesn’t it? We live like this long enough, and we’ll all get used to it. Soon we’ll all become changed human beings.”

“But, Stan,” Inga said plaintively, “I don’t want to live like this! We had a nice apartment. I want that back.”

“We’ll get it back, Inga. The council promised us a two-bedroom.”

Alexander said, “How long do you think, Stan, we’ll have to live like this before we’re changed? And changed into what?” He stared bleakly at Tatiana, who said, peering up into his face, “Shura, I have some kasha. Darling, I’ll make you some?” Smoking as if it were his breakfast, Alexander nodded. She didn’t like the look in his eyes.

When she came back inside with two bowls of kasha and a cup of coffee for him, Tatiana overheard Stan telling Alexander that he and Inga, married for twenty years, were both engineers and long-standing members of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union.

Alexander barely excused himself before he went to eat his kasha inside the room, not even asking Tatiana to follow him.



Tatiana ate her kasha with Inga and Stan, refusing to answer Inga’s curious questions about Alexander. Then she washed the dishes from the night before, cleaned the kitchen, and finally and reluctantly joined him inside the room. Tatiana knew she was procrastinating. She did not want to face Alexander alone.

He was collecting her things into her black backpack. Glaring at her, he said, “You wanted to come back for this? You missed this? Strangers, Communist Party strangers, listening to your every word, your every moan? You missed all this, Tania?”

“No,” Tatiana said. “I missed you.”

“There is no place for me here,” he said. “There is hardly a place for you.”

After watching him for a moment she asked, “What are you doing?”

“Packing.”

“Packing?” she repeated quietly, closing the door behind her. Here it starts, Tatiana thought. I didn’t want it. I wished we didn’t have to have it. But here it is. “Where are we going?”

“Across the lake. I can get you across easily to Syastroy, and then I’ll take you in an army truck to Vologda. From there you’ll catch a train. We have to go now. It’ll take me a while to get back, and I must return to Morozovo tomorrow evening.”

Vigorously Tatiana shook her head.

“What?” Alexander snapped. “What are you shaking your head for?”

She shook her head.

“Tatiana, I’m warning you. Don’t provoke me.”

“All right. But I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yes you are.”

In a small voice she said, “No. I’m not.”

Alexander raised his voice. “You are!”

In the same small voice Tatiana said, “Don’t raise your voice to me.”

Dropping her backpack with a thud to the wooden floor, Alexander came up to her and, leaning down, said into her face, “Tatiana, in a second I’m going to raise more than my voice to you.”

Tatiana felt so sad inside. But she squared her shoulders and did not look away. Quietly she said, “Go ahead, Alexander. I’m not afraid of you.”

“No?” he said, gritting his teeth. “Well, I’m terrified of you.” He stepped away and picked up the backpack. Tatiana remembered the first day of the war, she remembered Pasha telling her father, no, I don’t want to go, and being sent away anyway, and dying.

“Alexander, stop it, I said. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Oh, you are, Tania,” he said, whirling to her, his face distorted by anger. “You are. I will take you to Vologda, if have to carry you there myself, kicking and screaming.”

Tatiana backed away from him, just a little bit, half a step, and said, “Fine. But I will not be kicking, I will not be screaming. As soon as you leave, I will come back.”

Alexander threw the backpack against the wall, close to Tatiana’s head. He came at her with clenched fists and smashed the wall near her so hard that the plaster crumbled and his hand went through the hole.

Her legs trembling, her eyes closed, Tatiana backed away another half a step and stopped moving.

“For fuck’s sake!” Alexander screamed in a rage, punching the wall next to her face. “What will it take for you to listen to me, just once, just fucking once, what will it take for you to do as I say?” He grabbed her by the arms and pinned her roughly against the wall.

“Shura, this is not the army,” Tatiana whispered tremulously, afraid to look at him.

“You are not staying here!”

“I am,” she said faintly.

There was a knock. Alexander went to the door, ripped it open, and shouted, “What?”

Inga, her face red, muttered, “I just wanted to see if Tania was all right. Tania? I heard yelling — banging—”

“I’m fine, Inga,” Tatiana said, stepping away from the wall on unsteady legs.

“You’ll hear a lot more before we’re done,” Alexander said to Inga. “Just put the fucking glass to the wall,” and slammed the door shut. Whirling around, he came for Tatiana, who backed away from him, her hands up, whispering, “Shura, please . . .” but, unstoppable and crazed, he came at her just the same and shoved her down onto the couch. She fell back and covered her face. Bending over her, Alexander knocked her hands away. “Don’t cover your face!” he shouted, grabbing her cheeks between his fingers and shaking her. “Don’t make me more crazy!”

Tatiana cried out and tried to push him away, but it was useless. “Stop!” she panted. “Stop . . .”

“Safe or dead, Tania?” he yelled. “Safe or dead? What will it be?”

Clutching helplessly at his arms, she wanted to answer him but couldn’t speak. Dead, she wanted to say. Dead, Shura.

“You can see what it’s doing to me, your being here!” Alexander squeezed her face harder and harder as she struggled to break free. “You can see. But you just don’t give a shit.”

She ceased fighting him, placing her hands over his. “Please,” Tatiana whispered, trying to catch his eye. “Please . . . stop. You’re hurting me.”

Alexander eased his hold on her but did not let go of her face, nor did Tatiana pull away, even though she could hardly breathe. Underneath him, she lay on the couch, panting. Covering her with his body, he lay on top of her, panting. Through the crashing noise in her head Tatiana remotely heard the air-raid siren and explosive sounds outside her windows. She moved her mouth away from his hands a little. She was suffocating. Her own hands went around his back to clasp him. “Oh, Shura,” she whispered.

Alexander got off Tatiana, stood miserably before her, and then dropped to his knees. “Tatiana,” he said in a broken voice, “this frantic wretch begs you, please leave. If you feel any love for me at all, please go back to Lazarevo. Be safe. You just don’t know what kind of danger you’re in.”

Still short of breath, her body trembling, her face aching, Tatiana sat up at the edge of the couch and pulled Alexander to her. She couldn’t bear to see him so upset. “I’m so sorry you’re angry,” she said, holding his face. “Please don’t be angry with me.”

Alexander moved her hands off him. “Do you hear the bombs? Do you hear, or are you deaf? Do you see there is no food?”

“There’s food,” she said quietly, putting her hands back on him. “I get 700 grams a day. Plus my lunch and dinner at the hospital. I’m doing well.” She smiled. “It’s much better than last year. And I don’t care about the bombs.”

“Tatiana . . .”

“Shura, stop lying to me. It’s not the Germans or the bombs that frighten you. What are you afraid of?”

Outside, the whistling shells whizzed nearby. One sounded close. Tatiana pulled Alexander to her. “Listen to me,” she whispered, clutching his head to her breasts. “Do you hear my heart?”

He surrounded her. She sat for a moment holding on to him, closing her eyes. Dear God, she prayed. Please let me be strong for him. He needs my strength so much, don’t let me weaken right now. Gently pushing him away, she went to her dresser. “You left something behind in Lazarevo, Shura. Besides me.”

Alexander got up and sat heavily on the couch.

Ripping open the inseam on her trousers, Tatiana took out Alexander’s five thousand dollars. “Look. I returned to give you this.” She stared at him. “I see you took only half. Why?” Stop. Breathe.

Alexander’s bronze eyes were toffee pools of pain. “I’m not talking about this with Inga at our door,” he said, barely moving his lips.

“Why not? We do everything else with Inga at our door.”

They looked away from each other. Tatiana could tell they were both splintering. Who was going to pick up their fragmented pieces? She. She was going to pick them up. Leaving the money on the dresser, Tatiana went to him, straddling him, holding his head to her. “This isn’t Lazarevo, is it, Shura?” she whispered into his hair.

His voice breaking, his arms encircling her, Alexander whispered back, “What is, Tatia?”

She made love to him, kneeling on top of him, pressing her fragile self into him, bearing down on him, praying to him, wanting him to swallow her, to impale her, to save her and to kill her, wanting from him everything and yet for herself nothing, only to give back to him, only to give his life back to him. At the end she was crying again, all her strength gone, panting and melting and burning and crying.

“Tatiasha,” Alexander whispered, still unceasing, “stop crying. What’s a man to think when every time he makes love to his wife, she cries?”

“That he is his wife’s only family,” Tatiana replied, cradling his head. “That he is her whole life.”

“As she is his,” said Alexander. “But you don’t see him crying.” He was turned away from her. Tatiana couldn’t see his face.

After the air raid was over and they were finished, they bundled up and went out. “Too cold to be out,” Tatiana said, clinging to him.

“Why didn’t you wear a hat?”

“So you can see my hair. I know you like it.” She smiled.

Taking off his glove, he ran his hand across her head. “Put on your scarf,” he said, tying it around her. “You’ll be cold.”

“I’m fine.” She took his arm. “I like your new coat. It’s big, like a tent.” In sadness, she lowered her eyes. She shouldn’t have said the word tent. Too many Lazarevo memories. Some words were like that. Whole lives attached to them. Ghosts and lives and ecstasy and sorrow. The simplest words, and suddenly she couldn’t continue to speak. “It looks warm,” she added quietly.

Alexander smiled. “Next week I will have better than a tent. I’ll have a room in the main headquarters, just five doors away from Stepanov. There is heat in the building. I’ll actually be warm.”

“I’m glad,” said Tatiana. “Do you have a blanket?”

“My coat is my blanket, and I have another one, yes. I’m all right, Tania. It’s war. Now, where do you want to go?”

“To Lazarevo — with you,” she said, unable to look at him. “Barring that, let’s walk to the Summer Garden.”

He sighed heavily. “To the Summer Garden it is, then.”

They walked silently for many minutes. With her arm through his, Tatiana kept pressing her head into Alexander’s sleeve. Finally she took a deep breath. “Talk to me, Alexander,” Tatiana began. “Tell me what’s going on. We’re alone now. We have a little privacy. Tell me. Why did you take half the money?”

Alexander said nothing. Tatiana listened. Still nothing. She put her face on his woolen coat. Still nothing. She looked at the slushy snow at her feet, at the trolleybus that went by, at the policeman on a horse that trotted by, at the broken glass they stepped over, at the red traffic light up ahead. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

She sighed. Why was this so difficult for him? More difficult than usual. “Shura, why didn’t you take all of the money?”

“Because,” he let out slowly, “I left you what was mine.”

“It’s all yours. All the money is yours. What are you talking about?”

Nothing.

“Alexander! What did you take five thousand dollars for? If you’re running, you need all of it. If you’re not running, you don’t need any of it. Why did you take half?”

No reply. It was like Lazarevo. Tatiana would ask, he would answer, tight-lipped and thoughtful, and she would spend an hour trying to decipher what was between the single words. Lisiy Nos, Vyborg, Helsinki, Stockholm, Yuri Stepanov, all multisyllables with Alexander hidden in the middle of them, saying nothing.

“You know what?” Tatiana said, exasperated, detaching herself from him. “I’m tired of this game. In fact, I’m done with it. You either tell me everything without holding back, without stupid guessing games where I’m trying to figure things out and getting them wrong, you tell me everything right now, or just turn around, go and get your things, and get away from me. Go on. The choice is yours.” Tatiana stopped walking near the Fontanka Canal, folded her arms, and waited.