How does he know me so well? she thought. All I have to do is blink, and he knows I’m thinking, or fretting, or anxious. She took a breath. “Shura . . . have you loved many girls before?” she asked in a small voice.

“No, my angel face,” Alexander said passionately, caressing her. “I have not loved many girls before.”

Tears forming at the base of her throat, she asked, “Did you love Dasha?”

He was silent for a moment. “Tania, don’t do this.”

She was silent herself.

“I don’t know what answer you want me to give you,” Alexander said. “I’ll give you whatever answer you want.”

“Give me only the truth.”

“No, I did not love Dasha,” Alexander said. “I cared for her. We had some good times.”

“How good?”

“All right,” he said.

“The truth.”

“Just all right,” he repeated. He tweaked her nipple. “Haven’t you figured out yet,” Alexander said, “that Dasha was not my type?”

“What will you say about me to your next girl?”

He grinned. “I’ll say that you had perfect breasts.”

“Stop it.”

“That you had young, perky, incredible breasts with the biggest, most sensitive cherry nipples . . .” he said, climbing on top of her and holding up her legs high against his arms. “And lips for the gods, and eyes for kings. I will say,” Alexander whispered hotly, pushing himself inside her and groaning, “that you felt like nothing else on this earth.”



“What time is it, do you think?”

“I don’t know,” he replied sleepily. “Toward evening.”

“I don’t want to go back to them.”

“Who’s going back?” said Alexander. “We’re not moving from here.” He paused. “Ever.”

“We’re not?”

“Try to leave.”



Before night set, they crept out of the tent, and Tatiana sat on a blanket with Alexander’s uniform tunic around her shoulders while he built a fire with the twigs and dry branches she had found earlier. The fire was a raging blaze in five minutes.

“You build a good fire, Shura,” Tatiana said quietly.

“Thank you.” He pulled out two cans of tushonka, some dry bread and water.

“Look what else I’ve got.” In a piece of aluminum foil he had a few squares of chocolate.

“Wow,” Tatiana mouthed, staring at him in wonder, not even looking at the chocolate.

They ate.

“Are we going to sleep in the tent?” Tatiana asked.

“If you want, I can build a fire in the house.” He smiled. “Do you see how I cleaned it for you?”

“Yes, and when did you do this?”

“Yesterday, after our fight. What do you think I did all afternoon?”

“After our fight?” More surprised. “But before you came back and told me to give you your things so you could leave?”

“Yes.”

Tatiana shoved him in the ribs. “You just wanted to hear me . . .”

“Don’t say it,” Alexander whispered. “Or right here, right now, I’ll have to make love to you again, and you won’t live through it.”

And she almost didn’t.



In front of the fire, in his arms, Tatiana was crying against Alexander’s chest.

“Tania, why are you crying?”

“Oh, Shura.”

“Please don’t cry.”

“All right. I miss my sister.”

“I know.”

“Did we treat her right, you think? Did we do right by her?”

“We did as well as we could. You did the best you could. What do you think, we asked for this? To break each other’s hearts, to hurt other people, to fall in love like this? I struggled against my feelings. I wanted to love your sister, God bless her. I couldn’t help that it was impossible.”

Turning away from him, toward the fire and the Kama behind it and the full moon above it, Tatiana said, “I tried not to love you for her.”

“But it was impossible.”

“Yes.” Then tentatively, “Shura . . . are you . . . in love with me?”

“Turn to me,” Alexander said. She turned. “Tatia, I worship you. I’m crazy in love with you. I want you to marry me.”

“What?”

“Yes. Tatiana, will you marry me? Will you be my wife?” Pause. “Don’t cry.” Pause. “You didn’t answer me.”

“Yes, Alexander. I will marry you . . . I will be your wife.”

“Now why are you crying?”


8


The next morning at dawn Tatiana stumbled out to the water, barely able to walk. She felt raw.

Alexander followed her in. The Kama was cold. They were both naked.

“I brought soap,” he said.

“Oh, my.”

Alexander washed her entire body. “With this soap I thee wash,” he sleepily murmured. “I wash you of the horrors that befell you, and I wash you of your nightmares . . . I wash your arms and your legs and your love-giving heart and your life-giving belly—”

“Give me the soap,” Tatiana said. “I’ll wash you.”

“Wait, how does it go? What did God say to Moses—”

“Have no idea.”

“Thou shall not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day . . .” Alexander broke off. “I can’t remember the rest of it. Certainly not in Russian. Something about ten thousand falling at your right hand. I’ve got to brush up on my Bible and tell it to you. I think you’d like it. But you get my meaning.”

“I get your meaning,” Tatiana said. “I won’t be afraid.” She gazed at him. “How can I be afraid now?” she whispered. “Look what I’ve been given. Give me the soap,” she repeated.

“I can’t stand up,” Alexander muttered. “I’m finished.”

Her hands with the soap moved lower. “Not quite finished.”

He fell backward in the water.

“Done for, certainly,” Tatiana said, falling on top of him. “But not finished.”



Tatiana was clinging to Alexander in the cold Kama, her feet not touching bottom, her arms wrapped around his neck. “Look at the sunrise over the mountains. It’s pretty, isn’t it?” she murmured. He was standing in the water.

She saw he was oblivious to the sunrise, holding her to him with one hand and stroking her face with the other. “I found my true love on the banks of the river Kama,” whispered Alexander, staring at her.

“I found my true love on Ulitsa Saltykov-Schedrin, while I sat on a bench eating ice cream.”

“You didn’t find me. You weren’t even looking for me. I found you.”

Long pause. “Alexander, were you . . . looking for me?”

“All my life.”



“Shura, how can we have such a closeness? How can we have such a connection? Right from the start.”

“We don’t have a closeness.”

“No?”

“No. We don’t have a connection.”

“No?”

“No. We have communion.”



Alexander built a fire in the foggy cool morning on the shore of the quietly flowing river. They had some bread from his rucksack and some water. He smoked.

“We didn’t really come prepared,” Tatiana said. “Wish we had a cup. A spoon. Some plates. Coffee.” She smiled.

“I don’t know about you,” Alexander said, “but I brought everything I needed.”

She blushed.

“No, no, don’t do it,” he said, his hands on her. “We’ll never leave here.”

“Are we leaving here?”

“Let’s get dressed. We’re going to Molotov.”

“We are?” Last night, was that just a dream? What he said to her under the moon and the stars of night? “What for?” Holding her breath.

“We need to buy a couple of things.”

“Like what?”

“Blankets, pillows. Pots, pans, plates. Cups. A laundry basket. Some food. Rings.”

“Rings?”

“Rings, yes. To put on our fingers.”


9


They walked slowly to Molotov. Her arm was through his. The sunlight peeked through above the pines.

“Shura, I’ve been practicing my English.”

“You have? You told me you haven’t had time. Seeing your life, I believed you.”

Tatiana cleared her throat and said in English, “Alexander Barrington, I want forever love in you.”

Bringing her close, Alexander laughed and replied in English, “Yes, me, too.” He paused, looking down at her.

She looked up at him. “What?”

“You’re walking slowly. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She blushed. She was not. “What?”

Alexander smiled. “Want me to carry you for a bit?” he asked huskily.

Her face melted. “Yes,” Tatiana replied. “But this time in your arms.”

“Someday,” Alexander said, lifting her, “you’ll have to explain to me why you took bus Number 136 clear across Leningrad to the bus terminal.”

Tatiana pinched him. “Someday,” she said, “you’ll have to explain to me why you followed me.”



“A what?” Tatiana asked in disbelief, getting down and walking beside him.

“A church. We have to find one.”

“What for?”

Alexander looked at her askance. “Where do you intend to get married?”

Tatiana thought about it. “Like everybody in the Soviet Union — at the registry office.”

Laughing, he said, “What’s the point? Why don’t we go back and continue as we were?”

“That’s an idea,” Tatiana muttered. The mention of a church unsettled her.

Alexander took her hand and said nothing.

“Why church, Shura?”

“Tania,” said Alexander, looking at the road ahead, “who do you want this covenant of marriage to be made with? The Soviet Union? Or God?”

She had no answer.

“What do you believe in, Tatiana?” he asked.

“You,” she replied.

“Well, I believe in God and you. We’re getting married in a church.”

They found a small Russian Orthodox church close to the center of town, St. Seraphim’s. The priest inside studied them after Alexander told him what they wanted, and said, “Another war wedding. Hmm.” He glanced at Tatiana. “Are you even old enough to be a bride?”

“I’m eighteen tomorrow,” she said, sounding about ten.

“Do you have witnesses? Do you have rings? Did you register your marriage at the registry office?”

“None of the above,” said Tatiana, pulling Alexander by the arm, but he freed himself from her hold and asked the priest where they could buy some rings.

“Buy?” the priest asked with surprise. His name was Father Mikhail. He was tall and bald, with penetrating blue eyes and a long gray beard. “Buy rings? Well — nowhere, of course. We have a jeweler in town, but he has no gold.”

“Where is the jeweler?”

“Son, let me ask you, why do you want to get married in a church? Just go to the registry office. Like everybody. They’ll give you a certificate in thirty seconds. I think you can use the court clerk as your witness.”

Tatiana stood still next to Alexander, who after taking a deep breath, said, “Where I come from, marriage is a public and sacred ceremony. We’re only going to do this once, so we would like it done right.”

We? thought Tatiana. She couldn’t understand her misgivings.

Father Mikhail smiled. “All right, son,” he said sincerely, “I’ll be glad to marry two young people starting out in life. Come back tomorrow with rings and witnesses. Come back at three. I’ll marry you then.”

As they descended the church steps, Tatiana said dismissively, “Oh, well. We don’t have the rings.” And breathed a small sigh of—

“We will,” said Alexander, producing four gold teeth out of his rucksack. “That should be enough for two rings.”

Tatiana stared dumbfounded at the teeth.

“Dasha gave them to me. Don’t look so horrified.”

But she was, she was horrified. “We’re going to make ourselves rings out of the teeth Dasha stole from her dental patients?”

“Do you have another idea?”

“Maybe we should wait.”

“Wait for what?”

Tatiana had no answer to that. Wait for what indeed? With a heavy heart she followed Alexander down the street.

The jeweler lived in a small house in town and worked out of his home. He looked at the teeth, looked at Alexander and Tatiana, and told them he could make gold rings out of the teeth — for the price of two more gold teeth.

Alexander said he didn’t have two more gold teeth, but he had a bottle of vodka. The jeweler, creaking refusal, returned the four teeth to Alexander, who sighed loudly and produced two more teeth out of his ruck.

Alexander asked if there was anywhere in Molotov they could buy some housewares.

“They’ll probably want gold teeth for a blanket, Shura,” whispered Tatiana. The jeweler introduced them to his overlarge wife Sofia, who sold them two down quilts, pillows, and sheets all for 200 rubles.

“Two hundred rubles!” exclaimed Tatiana. “I made ten tanks and five thousand flamethrowers and I did not get as much as that.”

“Yes, but I,” said Alexander, “blew up ten tanks and used up five thousand flamethrowers and got two thousand rubles for that. Never think about the money. Just spend it on what you have to.”