She asked the shop assistant for a rubber band and tied up her hair nice and neat while Alexander was paying. Tatiana asked how they were going to get all the provisions home.

Dimitri said, “Don’t worry. That’s why I came along.”

“Dima,” said Alexander. “I really think we’ll be all right.”

“Alexander,” said Tatiana. “We do have a lot of . . .”

“Dimitri the packhorse,” said Dimitri. “Glad to be of service to you, Alexander.” He smirked.

Tatiana noted the smirk, remembering her feeling that when Dimitri walked into the store, past the glass door with the sign officers only, he had been as surprised as Tatiana to find himself inside the Voentorg.

“Are you and Alexander in the same unit?” Tatiana asked Dimitri as they piled her provisions into wooden apple crates and left the store.

“Oh, no, no,” said Dimitri. “Alexander is an officer, and I’m just a lowly private. No, he is a number of ranks above me. Which,” Dimitri said with his smirk, “allows him to send me to the front in Finland.”

“Not Finland,” corrected Alexander mildly. “And not to the front, but to check out reinforcements at Lisiy Nos. What are you complaining about?”

“I am not complaining. I’m lauding your farsightedness.”

Tatiana stole a glance at Alexander, uncertain how to respond to the ironic stretching of Dimitri’s rubber lips.

“Where is this Lisiy Nos?” she asked.

“The Karelian Isthmus,” Alexander replied. “Are you going to be all right walking?”

“Of course.” Tatiana couldn’t wait to get home. Her sister would die when Tatiana showed up with two soldiers. She carried the lightest crate, the one with the caviar and coffee.

“Is that too heavy for you?” Alexander asked.

“No,” she said. Actually, it was quite heavy, and she didn’t know how she was going to get to the bus. They were going to the bus, weren’t they? They weren’t planning to walk to Fifth Soviet from the Field of Mars?

The pavement was narrow, so they walked in single file, Alexander leading, Tatiana second, and Dimitri bringing up the rear.

“Alexander,” Tatiana panted, “are we planning to . . . walk home?” She was out of breath.

Alexander stopped walking. “Give me that,” he said.

“I’m really fine.”

He put down his crate, took hers, and placed it on top, lifting both crates easily. “Your feet must be killing you in those shoes. Come on. Let’s go.”

The pavement expanded, and now she could walk next to Alexander. Dimitri flanked her on the left. “Tania, do you think we’ll get some vodka for our trouble?”

“I think my father might find some vodka for you, yes.”

“So, Tania, tell us,” Dimitri asked, “do you go out much?”

Go out? What a strange question. “Not much,” she said shyly.

“Ever go to a place named Sadko?”

“No,” she said. “But my sister often does. She says it’s nice.”

Dimitri leaned over a little. “Next weekend, do you want to come to Sadko with us?”

“Umm, no, thank you,” she said, lowering her eyes.

“Come on,” Dimitri said. “It’ll be fun. Right, Alexander?”

Alexander did not respond.

They walked three in a row along the wide pavement. Tatiana was in the middle. When other pedestrians headed toward them, it was Dimitri who stepped behind Tatiana to let them pass.

Tatiana noticed that Dimitri moved behind her with a reluctant sigh, as if it were a last resort, a battle, as if he were ceding territory to the enemy. At first Tatiana thought the passersby were the enemy, but soon she realized that, no, she and Alexander were the enemy because they never moved over, continuing to walk side by side, shoulder to shoulder.

Quietly Alexander asked, “Are you tired?”

Tatiana nodded.

“You want to rest a minute?” He put down his crates.

Dimitri did, too, eyeing Tatiana. “So, Tania, where do you go for fun?”

“Fun?” she said. “I don’t know. I go to the park. We go to our dacha in Luga.” Turning to Alexander, she asked, “So will you tell me where you’re from, or am I going to have to guess?”

“I think you’re going to have to guess, Tania.”

“Somewhere around salt water, Alexander.”

“You mean he didn’t tell you yet?” said Dimitri, standing very close to them.

“I can’t get a straight answer out of him.”

“Now, that’s surprising.”

“Very good, Tania,” Alexander said. “I’m from Krasnodar, by the Black Sea.”

“Yes, Krasnodar,” said Dimitri. “Have you ever been there?”

“No,” she replied. “I’ve never been anywhere.”

Dimitri glanced at Alexander, who picked up his crates and said curtly, “Let’s go.”

They passed a church and crossed Grechesky Prospekt. Tatiana was so lost in thinking of a way to see Alexander again that she walked right past her apartment building. She was a few hundred meters down the block, almost near the corner of Suvorovsky, when she stopped.

“You want another rest?” Alexander asked.

“No,” she said, trying to hide the feelings from her voice. “We missed my apartment building.”

“Missed it?” exclaimed Dimitri. “How can that be?”

“We just did, that’s all,” said Tatiana. “It’s at the other corner.”

Smiling, Alexander lowered his head. Slowly they walked back.

After entering the front door, Tatiana said, “I’m on the third floor. Will you two be all right?”

“Do we have a choice?” Dimitri asked. “Is there an elevator? Of course not,” he added. “This isn’t America. Is it, Alexander?”

“I shouldn’t think so,” Alexander replied.

They climbed the stairs in front of Tatiana. “Thank you,” she whispered behind Alexander, mostly to herself; in fact, she was just thinking out loud. The thoughts were too loud, that was all.

“You’re welcome,” he said, without turning around.

Stumbling, she continued upward.

When she opened the door to her communal apartment, Tatiana hoped that crazy Slavin would not be lying on the floor in the middle of the corridor. This time her hopes went unanswered. He was there, his torso in the corridor, his legs inside his room, a snake of a man, thin, unkempt, malodorous, his ragged mop of greasy gray hair covering most of his face.

“Slavin has been pulling his hair out again,” she whispered to Alexander, who was right behind her.

“I think that’s the least of his problems,” Alexander whispered back.

With a growl, Slavin let Tatiana walk by but grabbed hold of Alexander’s leg and laughed hysterically.

“Comrade,” said Dimitri, coming up behind Alexander and sticking his boot on top of Slavin’s wrist, “let go of the lieutenant.”

“It’s all right, Dimitri,” said Alexander, moving Dimitri away with his elbow. “I can handle him.”

Slavin squealed with delight and squeezed Alexander’s boot harder. “Our Tanechka is bringing home a handsome soldier,” Slavin shrieked. “Excuse me . . . two handsome soldiers! What’s your father going to say, Tanechka? Is he going to approve? I don’t think so! I don’t think so at all. He doesn’t like you to bring home boys. He’ll say two is too much for you. Give one to your sister, give her one, my sweet.” With glee, Slavin laughed wildly. Alexander yanked his leg away.

Slavin reached out to grab hold of Dimitri, then looked up into Dimitri’s face and let his hand drop without touching him.

Calling after all three of them, Slavin screeched, “Yes, Tanechka, bring them home. Bring more! Bring them all — because they’ll all be dead in three days. Dead! Shot by Comrade Hitler, such a good friend of Comrade Stalin!”

“He was in a war,” Tatiana said by way of explanation, relieved to be past him. “He ignores me when I’m alone.”

“Why do I doubt that?” said Alexander.

Flushing, Tatiana said, “He really does. He is bored with us because we ignore him.”

Leaning into her, Alexander said, “Isn’t communal living grand?”

That surprised her. “What else is there?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “This is what it’s going to take to reconstruct our selfish, bourgeois souls.”

“That’s what Comrade Stalin says!” Tatiana exclaimed.

“I know,” said Alexander, keeping a serious face. “I’m quoting him.”

Trying not to laugh, Tatiana led him to her front door. Before opening it, she glanced back at Alexander and Dimitri and said with an excited sigh, “All right. Home.” Opening the door, she said, smiling, “Come in, Alexander.”

“Can I come in, too?” Dimitri asked.

“Come in, Dimitri.”

Tatiana’s family were in Babushka and Deda’s room around the big dining table. Tatiana stuck her head in from the hallway. “I’m home!”

No one even looked up. Mama said blankly, “Where’ve you been?” She could have been saying, more bread?

“Mama, Papa! Look at the food I’ve bought.”

Papa looked up briefly from his glass of vodka. “Good, daughter,” he said. She could have returned empty-handed. With a small sigh, she glanced at Alexander standing in the hallway. What was that on his face? Sympathy? No, not quite. Warmer. She whispered to him, “Put the crates down and come in with me.”

“Mama, Papa, Babushka, Deda,” said Tatiana, walking into the room and trying to keep the thrill out of her voice for the imminent introduction, “I want you to meet Alexander—”

“And Dimitri,” said Dimitri quickly, as if Tatiana had forgotten him.

“And Dimitri,” Tatiana finished.

Everyone shook hands and stared incredulously at Alexander and then at Tatiana. Mama and Papa remained seated at the table with a bottle of vodka between them and two shot glasses. Deda and Babushka went to sit on the couch to give the soldiers more room at the table. Tatiana thought her parents looked sad. Were they drinking to Pasha and chasing him down with pickles?

Papa stood up. “You did very well, Tania. I’m proud of you.” He motioned to Alexander and Dimitri. “Come. Have some vodka.”

Alexander politely shook his head. “No, thank you. I have duty later.”

“Shake your head for yourself,” said Dimitri, stepping forward.

Papa poured, frowning at Alexander. What kind of man refused a drink of vodka? Alexander may have had his reasons for refusing her father’s hospitality, but Tatiana knew that because of that, her father was going to like Dimitri better. Such a small act, yet the feelings that would follow would be so permanent. And yet because he refused, Tatiana liked Alexander better.

“Tania, I don’t suppose you bought any milk?” Mama asked her.

“Papa told me dry goods only.”

“Where are you from?” Tatiana’s father asked Alexander.

“Krasnodar region,” he said.

Papa shook his head. “I lived in Krasnodar in my youth. You don’t sound like you’re from there.”

“Well, I am,” said Alexander mildly.

To change the subject, Tatiana asked, “Alexander, would you prefer some tea instead? I can make you some tea.”

He moved closer to her, and she had to summon her breath. “No, thank you,” he said warmly. “I can’t stay long, Tania. I’ve got to get back.”

Tatiana took off her sandals. “Excuse me,” she said. “My feet are . . .” She smiled. She had tried hard to pretend they did not bother her, but the blisters on her big toe and little toe were bleeding.

Alexander glanced at her feet, shaking his head. Then he looked into her face. That expression seeped into his almond eyes again. “Barefoot is better,” he said very quietly.

Dasha came into the room. She stopped and stared at the two soldiers.

She looked healthy, radiant with the day, and Tatiana suddenly thought her sister looked too healthy and too radiant, but before she could utter a sound, Dasha exclaimed, her voice thick with pleasure, “Alexander! What are you doing here?” Dasha didn’t even glance at Tatiana, who, perplexed, looked at Alexander and said, “You know Dasha . . . ?” but then broke off in the middle of the question, seeing realization and conscience and unhappiness strike his mute, comprehending face.

Tatiana looked at Dasha, then back to Alexander. She felt herself paling from the inside out. Oh, no, she wanted to say. Oh, no, how can this be?

Alexander’s face became impassive. He smiled easily at Dasha and said, not looking at Tatiana, “Yes. Dasha and I have met.”

“You can say that again!” Dasha said with a laugh and a pinch of his arm. “Alexander, what are you doing here?”

Tatiana glanced around the room to see if anyone else had noticed what she had noticed. Dimitri was eating a pickle. Deda was reading the newspaper, his glasses on. Papa was having another drink. Mama was opening up some cookies, and Babushka had her eyes closed. No one else saw.

Mama said, “The soldiers just came back with Tatiana. Brought food.”