She had a gulp of vodka straight from the bottle and shuddered involuntarily; she hated vodka but didn’t want him to know what a baby she was. Alexander laughed at her shuddering, taking the bottle from her and having a swig. “Listen, you don’t have to drink it. I brought it to celebrate your birthday. Forgot the glasses, though.”

He was spread out all over the bench and sitting conspicuously close. If she breathed, a part of her would touch a part of him. Tatiana was too overwhelmed to speak, as her intense feelings dropped into the brightly lit well inside her.

“Tania?” Alexander asked gently. “Tania, is the food all right?”

“Yes, fine.” After a small throat clearing, she said, “I mean, it’s very nice, thank you.”

“Do you want some more vodka?”

“No.”

She avoided his smiling eye as best she could when he asked her, “Have you ever had too much vodka?”

“Hmm.” She nodded, still not looking up. “I was two. Gulped down half a liter or something. Had to be taken to the children’s ward of Grechesky Hospital.”

“Two? Not since?” His leg accidentally touched hers.

Tatiana blushed. “No, not since.” She moved her leg and changed the subject to the Germans. She heard him sigh, then talk a little about what was happening at the garrison. But when Alexander was the only one talking, Tatiana was able to gaze at him, her eyes roaming around his face. She noticed his dark stubble, and she wanted to ask him if he was ever clean-shaven but decided it was too forward and didn’t. The stubble was most pronounced around his mouth, where the black frame of the facial hair made his lips more vivid. She wanted to ask him about his slightly chipped side tooth but didn’t do that either. She wanted to ask him to put away that soft, smiling look in his ice cream eyes.

She wanted to smile back.

“So, Alexander . . . do you still speak English?”

“Yes, I speak English. I don’t get to practice. I haven’t spoken it since my mother and father—” He broke off.

With a shake of her head, Tatiana said, “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to — I only wanted to know if you knew any words you could teach me in English.”

Alexander’s eyes gleamed so brightly that Tatiana felt as if all the blood in her body had rushed to her cheeks. “Tania, what words,” he asked slowly, “would you like me to teach you in English?”

She couldn’t answer him, afraid she would stammer. “I don’t know,” she finally managed. “How about vodka?”

“Oh, well, that’s easy,” he said. “It’s vodka.” And laughed.

Alexander had a good laugh. A sincere, chortling, deep, male laugh, starting in his chest and infectiously ending in hers. Picking up the vodka bottle, he unscrewed the cap. “What should our toast be to?” he asked, raising the bottle. “It’s your birthday — we will drink to you. Here’s to next year’s birthday. Salut. I hope it’s a good one.”

“Thank you. I’ll drink a sip to that,” she said, taking the bottle from him. “I like to celebrate my birthday with Pasha by my side.”

Not responding to her comment, Alexander put the vodka away, looking at Saturn. “Another statue would have been better, don’t you agree?” he asked. “My food is getting stuck in my throat, watching Saturn devour one of his own children whole.”

“Where else would you have liked to sit?” asked Tatiana, sucking on a small piece of chocolate.

“I don’t know. Maybe near Mark Antony over there.” He looked around. “You think there is a statue of Aphro—”

“Can we go?” Tatiana said, suddenly rising. “I need to walk off all this food.” What was she doing here?

But as they strolled out of the park and to the river, Tatiana wanted to ask if he was ever called something other than Alexander. It was an inappropriate question, and she didn’t ask. A walk along the granite embankment on a vanishing evening would just have to be good enough. She could not also ask what endearing, affectionate name Alexander liked to be called by.

“Do you want to sit?” Alexander asked after a while.

“I’m fine,” Tatiana replied. “Unless you want to.”

“Yes, let’s sit.”

They sat on one of the benches overlooking the Neva. Across the river was the golden spire of Peter and Paul’s Cathedral. Alexander took up nearly half the seat, his long legs spread apart, his arms draped on the back of the bench. Tatiana gingerly perched down, careful not to let her leg touch his.

Alexander had a casual, unconcerned ease about himself. He moved, sat, rested, and draped as if he were completely unaware of the effect he was having on a timorous girl of barely seventeen. All his confident limbs projected a sanguine belief in his own place in the universe. This was all given to me, he seemed to say. My body, my face, my height, my strength. I did not ask for it, I did not make it, I did not build it. I did not fight for it. This is a gift, for which I say my daily thanks as I wash and comb my hair, a gift I do not abuse or think of again as I go through my day. I am not proud of it, nor am I humbled by it. It does not make me arrogant or vain, but neither does it make me falsely modest or meek.

I know what I am, Alexander said with every movement of his body.

Tatiana had forgotten to breathe. Taking a breath now, she turned to the Neva.

“I love looking at this river,” Alexander said quietly. “Especially during the white nights. We have nothing like this in America, you know.”

“Maybe in Alaska?”

“Maybe,” he said. “But this — the river gleaming, the city around its banks, the sun setting behind Leningrad University on the left, and rising in front of us on Peter and Paul’s . . .” Shaking his head, he stopped talking. They sat silently.

“How did Pushkin put it in ‘The Bronze Horseman’?” Alexander asked her. “And rather than let darkness smother . . . the lustrous heaven’s golden light . . .” He broke off. “I can’t remember the rest.”

Tatiana knew “The Bronze Horseman” practically by heart. She continued for him, “One twilight glow speeds on the other . . . to grant but half an hour to night.”

Alexander turned his head to look at Tatiana, who continued to look at the river.

“Tania . . . where did you get all those freckles?” he asked softly.

“I know, they’re so annoying. It’s the sun,” she replied, blushing and touching her face as if wanting to scrub off the freckles that covered the bridge of her nose and spread in sprinkles under her eyes. Please stop looking at me, she thought, afraid of his eyes and terrified of her own heart.

“What about your blonde hair?” he continued, just as softly. “Is that the sun, too?”

Tatiana became acutely aware of his arm behind her on the bench. If he wanted to, he could move his hand a few centimeters and touch the hair that fell down her back. He didn’t.

“White nights are something, don’t you think?” he said, not taking his gaze off her.

She muttered, “We make up for them with the Leningrad winter, though.”

“Yes, winter is not much fun around here.”

Tatiana said, “Sometimes in the winter, when the Neva freezes, we go sledding on the ice. Even in the dark. Under the fleeting northern lights.”

“You and who?”

“Pasha, me, our friends. Sometimes me and Dasha. But she’s much older. I don’t tag along with her too much.” Why did she say that about Dasha’s being much older? Was she trying to be mean? Shut up already, Tatiana said to herself.

“You must love her very much,” said Alexander.

What did he mean by that? She would rather not know.

“Are you as close to her as you are to Pasha?” he asked.

“Different. Pasha and I—” Tatiana broke off. She and Pasha ate out of the same bowl together. Dasha prepared and served them that bowl. “My sister and I share a bed. She tells me I can never get married because she doesn’t want my husband sleeping in bed with us.”

Their stares locked. Tatiana could not look away. She hoped he didn’t notice her crimson color in the golden sunlight.

“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.