Struggling slightly against him, Tatiana said in English, “It is good I am not understand what you say to me.”

“I will show you what I mean,” said Alexander, putting down his bucket.

“Later, later,” she acquiesced. “Now, pick up your backet. Collect blueberries.”

“All right,” he said in English, not letting go of her. “And it’s bucket. Come on, Tania. Say the other words.” He held her. “Your shyness is an aphrodisiac to me. Say them.”

Tatiana, breathless inside and out, said, “All right,” in English. “Pick up your bucket. Let us go house. I will practice love with you.”

Alexander laughed. “Make love to you, Tania. Make love to you.”



It was a dazzling and peaceful summer afternoon. Alexander was sawing a tree into short logs. Tatiana was by his side.

“What?”

She was nudging him.

“What? You’re like my tiny shadow. Let me finish. I have to make a bench so we can sit and eat.”

“Want to play something?”

“No. I’ve got to do this.”

“We can play Alexander Says.” She smiled invitingly.

“Later.”

“What about war-hide-and-seek?”

“Later.”

“What? Afraid of losing again, Captain?” She grinned.

“Oh, you . . .”

“You want to . . . cavort?”

Alexander glanced at her. She blushed and said, “I meant really cavort. Frolic in the water. I want to stand in the palm of your hand and have you lift me above your head—”

“Only if I can fling you after.”

“Never heard it called that before, but all right, you got yourself a game.”

Laughing, not letting go of the saw, Alexander said, “We will do all that and twice, but first I have to finish sawing this damn wood.”

Tatiana was silent a second. “Do you want to show me how you do your military push-ups?” She paused. “Fifty in a row?”

“Only if you give me an incentive.”

“Fine. Now?”

“You’re too much. Later.”

She was silent another second. “Do you want to arm wrestle?”

“Arm wrestle?” Alexander said with a disbelieving grin. “You’re joking, right?”

“Come on, big man, what are you, afraid?” She tickled him.

“Stop.”

Tatiana tickled him again, croaking like a chicken. “Croak, croak, croak.”

“That’s it.” He put down his saw, but she was already halfway across the clearing, running away and shrieking. He ran after her, yelling, “You better not let me catch you!”

She let him catch her with joy in the woods. Whirling her to him and panting, he said, “You’re not allowed to tickle me when I have a saw in my hand!”

Tatiana was laughing. “But, Shura, you always have something in your hand. If it’s not a saw, it’s a cigarette, or an ax, or—”

He grabbed her bottom.

“Yes, or—”

He grabbed her breasts.

“Do you see what I mean?” she said, panting herself. “So wrestle me to the ground.” She paused. “Like you want.” She couldn’t get her breath back as he hugged her. Either he didn’t know his own strength or he was afraid of not being able to hold her close enough. Tatiana hoped it was the first one. “I’m here, Shura, I’m here,” she panted, gently patting him. “Come on now.”

He let her go, and she stood in front of him for a moment.

“All right.” Alexander grinned. “You got me away from my work, now what? Push-ups now, cavort now, what now?”

They stood without moving. Tatiana’s eyes twinkled. Alexander’s eyes twinkled. She moved left, right—

But he was quicker this time. “Got to be quicker than that,” he said, grabbing her and then setting her back down. “Try again?”

She moved right, right, left—

Still not quick enough. “Try again?”

Motionlessly she stood, stood, lunged left, and was around him on the right before he even straightened up.

Squealing, Tatiana jumped into his arms as he ran for her, and then hugging him and kissing his face, she said, “Let’s do this. Let me blindfold you. I’ll spin you around, and then you have to stumble around the clearing and find me.” She giggled. “Stop tickling me.”

“I’m tired of you blindfolding me,” Alexander replied, continuing to tickle her. “How about instead if I blindfold you and feed you and you tell me what I’m putting in your mouth?”

Tatiana was laughing even before he finished. Alexander looked at her innocently. “What?”

“Shura!” she exclaimed. “How about if even before you blindfold me, I tell you what you’re going to put in my mouth?”

Alexander laughed himself, carrying her to the house. “You have yourself a game,” he said, “But only if you call what I’m putting in your mouth by name — in English.” He put his hands under her dress, caressing her.

“Shura?”

“Yes?”

“Let go of me. I have to go and hide. You have to find me.”

“Why should I have to find you? You’re already right here.” He fondled her bottom.

“Shura, you’re holding me too tight. I can’t move.”

“I know. I don’t want you to go anywhere.”

“What kind of game is this?”

“The same game we play all day long.”

“Which is . . .”

“Get up, make love. Wash, make love. Cook, eat, make love. Swim, make love. Play soccer, play dominoes, play blindfold, make love.”

“Yes, but here we’re going straight to making love. Where’s the fun in that?”


15


After they had woken early and caught some trout and swum, Tatiana was crouching by the hearth showing Alexander how to make pancake batter. She didn’t know what it was with him, but he was not paying any attention. “Shura! I’m not going to keep teaching you how to make pancakes. Do you just refuse to learn?”

“I’m a man. I’m physically unable to learn how to cook for myself,” he said. He was lying on the wood floor very close to her as Tatiana mixed together the thick warm milk, flour, and sugar.

“But you made me ice cream.”

“That was for you. I said, cook for myself.”

“Shura!”

“What!”

“Why are you looking at me and not my batter?” He was sprawled on the floor, looking up at her with the sweetest face.

“I can’t take my eyes off you,” he said calmly, “because I find it profoundly arousing that you cook for me with such abandon. Anything I want. I can’t take my eyes off you,” he continued, less calmly, “because I am no longer hungry for pancakes.”

“Stop looking at me,” Tatiana said, trying to stay calm herself. “What are you going to do when you’re in the woods by yourself and need to eat?”

“Do I have to learn how to make batter? I’ll eat bark, berries, mushrooms.”

“Do yourself a favor — don’t eat the mushrooms,” Tatiana said. “Will you watch, please?”

He looked away from her and into the pot. “So? Milk, flour, sugar? Is that it? Am I done? Can I look at you again?”

With a twitch of the wooden spoon, Tatiana flicked a bit of batter into his face. “Hey!” she exclaimed. “Watch, I said.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Alexander stuck his hand into the batter and threw a handful into Tatiana’s face. “Who do you think you’re dealing with around here?”

“I don’t know,” she slowly replied, wiping the batter from her eyes and proceeding to stir. “But I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with around here.” Before he could move, Tatiana took the whole pot and poured it on him, then jumped up and ran outside.

When he caught her in the clearing, Alexander was dripping with batter. Hoisting her up, he rubbed his messy self all over her, into her, holding her mouth closed to stop her from laughing, but she wouldn’t stop, feeling desperate delight and desire. Tatiana’s whole body was shaking from laughter, and she could tell that it reminded her husband too much of her whole body shaking from pleasure, because he was already on to the next thing, but she was still laughing. Trembling, quickening, and sticky, their chests pressed together, they were poured like thick cream and warm sugar over one another, licking each other, stuck together and slippery, and afterward a panting and sated Alexander joyously asked, “If we don’t cook the pancakes but eat the batter raw, does that still count as breakfast?”

“I’m almost sure of it,” panted back Tatiana.



The sun was at full noon. Alexander was cleaning the trout at the small table he had built. He was using his army knife to scale the fish and cut off their heads. Tatiana stood by his side with a bag to catch the remnants and a pot of water to put the cleaned fish into. She was about to make fish soup with potatoes. They had only one sharp knife, and Alexander was very proficient with it. “As long as you don’t have to cook the food you catch, you’ll never starve, will you, Shura?” Tatiana said, watching him with admiration.

“Tania, if I had to, I would cook this fish on the fire that I build.” He glanced at her. “What?”

“Alexander, you fish, you build fires, you make furniture, you fight, you log. Is there anything you can’t do?” Tatiana blushed even as she was saying it.

“You tell me.” Alexander leaned over and kissed her deeply, not stopping until she moaned into his mouth. “Don’t be so delicious,” he whispered.

Clearing her throat, she murmured, “I’ve got to stop turning red.”

“Please don’t. And yes, there is one thing I can’t do. Can’t make pancakes.” He smiled at her.

“When are we going to go to Molotov to get our wedding pictures from the jeweler?”

“He’s going to want our gold rings for those pictures, I know it.”

Tatiana gazed at him, kissing his arm, pressing her face against him. “Do we have enough kerosene for the Primus stove?”

“Plenty, why?”

“After I put the ukha on, can we leave it for a little while?” She took a deep breath. “Shura? . . . Dusia asked me to come and help her at the church.” She looked at Alexander. “Please? I feel bad because I haven’t been over there much—”

“You’re over there way too much.” He stopped smiling.

“I thought I was your shadow?”

“Except when you’re over there way too much.” Alexander sighed. “What does she need this time?”

Relieved, Tatiana said, “One of the windows fell out. She was wondering if you could fix it. It’s her only stained glass window.”

“Oh, so she needs me this time.”

“I’ll come with you. She says she’ll give you some vodka for your trouble.”

“Tell her to leave you alone, and she’s got herself a deal.”

Leaving for a moment, Tatiana returned with a cigarette and a lighter. “Here,” she said. “Open your mouth.”

“How you talk,” Alexander said, opening his mouth. She watched him take a few puffs. Then, not knowing what to do with the cigarette, she smelled it, brought it to her mouth, took a drag, and immediately broke into a cough. Alexander motioned for the cigarette back, took three or four deep drags, and said, “I’m done. And don’t put it in your mouth again. I hear you breathing in the night — your lungs are struggling.”

“That’s not the TB,” she said, stubbing out the cigarette. “That’s you holding me.” She looked away.

Glancing at her, Alexander said nothing.

At the church Tatiana helped Alexander hold the small stained glass window. She stood on a stepladder while he caulked the edge of the window with a gooey mixture of water, pulverized limestone, and clay. “Shura?”

“Hmm.”

“Can I ask you a hypothetical question?”

“No.”

“What would we have done if Dasha were still alive? Do you ever think about that?”

“No.”

Tatiana paused. “Well, I do. Sometimes.”

“Like when do you think of that?”

“Like now.”

When he made no reply, Tatiana persisted. “Can you think about it? What would we have done?”

“I don’t want to think about it.”

“Do.”

Alexander sighed. “Why do you enjoy torturing yourself? Do you feel life has been too good to you?”

Tatiana stared at him. “Life has,” she said slowly, “been too good to me.”

“Hold the window steady,” he said. “It’s Dusia’s only stained glass window. I don’t think she’ll forgive even you for breaking it. Is it too heavy for you?”

“No, it’s fine. Here, let me come closer to the frame.”

“Just a minute longer. I’m almost done.”

Tatiana moved on the ladder, lost her footing, and came toppling down, letting go of the glass, which fell out of the frame and was caught by Alexander, who grabbed it, laid it down, and went to help Tatiana off the ground. She was shaken but not hurt. She had a scrape on the back of her ankle. She was, however, frowning at her husband.

“What?” Alexander said. “Like my reflexes? Dusia will now be praying for my life every day.” He tried to dust Tatiana off but just made her messier. “Look at my hands. I’m going to cement myself to you if I’m not careful.” He smiled, kissing her collarbone.