The Bronze Horseman (32 page)

“The Finns are coming closer to Leningrad.”

“The Finns are at Lisiy Nos, only twenty kilometers from the city limits.”

Then followed a few sentences about the German advance. The newsreader read slowly, stretching out the no-news bulletin to impart meaning that wasn’t there. After he listed the cities south of Leningrad that were under German control, Tatiana had to go and open a map.

When she found out that Tsarskoye Selo was in German hands, she was shocked and even forgot about Alexander for the moment it took her to get her bearings. Tsarskoye Selo, like Peterhof, was a summer palace of the old tsars, it was the summer writing place of Alexander Pushkin, but the worst thing was that Tsarskoye Selo was just ten kilometers southeast of the Kirov factory, which was located on the city limits of Leningrad.

Were the Germans
ten kilometers
from Leningrad?

“Yes,” Alexander said that night. “The Germans are very close.”

The city had changed in the month Tatiana spent in Luga and in the hospital. The golden spires of the Admiralty and Peter and Paul’s Cathedral had been spray-painted gray. Soldiers were on every street, and the
NKVD
militia in their dark blue uniforms were even more conspicuous than the soldiers. Every window in the city was taped against explosion; the people on the streets walked quickly and with a purpose. Tatiana sometimes sat on a bench near the church across the street and watched them. In the sky floated the ubiquitous airships, some round, some oval. The rations became slightly more restrictive, but Tatiana was still able to get enough flour to make potato pies, mushroom pies, and cabbage pies. Alexander often brought some of his rations with him when he came for dinner. There was chicken enough to make chicken soup with well-cooked carrots. Bay leaf was gone.

Dimitri got Tatiana out onto the roof while Dasha and Alexander were downstairs alone in Tatiana’s room. Putting his arm around her, Dimitri said, “Tania, please. I’m feeling so sad. How long am I going to wait? Just a little more tonight?”

Placing her hand on his arm, Tatiana asked, “What’s the matter?”

“I just need a little comfort from you,” he said, hugging her, kissing her cheeks, trying to bring his mouth to hers. There was something that felt almost unnatural in Dimitri’s touching her. She couldn’t put her finger on it. “Dima, please,” she whispered, moving slightly away from him and motioning for Anton, who skipped over and chatted with them until Dimitri got fed up and left.

“Thanks, Anton,” said Tatiana.

“Anytime,” he replied. “Why don’t you just tell him to leave you alone?”

“Anton, you wouldn’t believe it, but the more I do, the more he comes around,” said Tatiana.

“Older men are all like that, Tania,” said Anton with authority, as if he knew about such things. “Don’t you understand anything? You have to give in.
Then
he’ll leave you alone!” He laughed.

Tatiana laughed, too. “I think you may be right, Anton. I think that’s how older men work.”

She continued to busy Dimitri with cards or books, with jokes or vodka. Vodka, in particular, was good. Dimitri tended to have a little too much and then fall asleep on the small sofa in the hallway, and Tatiana would take her grandmother’s cardigan and go up onto the roof without him and sit with Anton and think of Pasha, and think of Alexander.

She passed the time with Anton, told jokes, read Zoshchenko and
War and Peace
, and looked at the Leningrad sky, wondering how much longer for the Germans to get to Leningrad.

Wondering how much longer for everything.

And after the other kids left to go to sleep, Tatiana continued to sit by the kerosene lamp on the roof and mouth little English words to herself from the dictionary and the phrase book. She learned to say
“Pen.” “Table.” “Love.” “The United States of America.” “Potato pancakes.”
She wished she had two minutes alone with Alexander to tell him some of the amusing phrases she was learning.

One night at the very end of August, with Anton asleep next to her, Tatiana tried to think of a way to make her life right again.

Once it had been right. As right as it
could
be. Suddenly after June 22 there was such havoc, constant, cheerless, and unending. But not all of it cheerless.

Tatiana missed the evening hour with Alexander at Kirov more than she could admit even to herself. The evening hour when they had sat apart and together and ambled through the empty streets; when they talked and were silent, and the silence flowed into their words as Lake Ladoga flowed into the Neva that flowed into the Gulf of Finland that flowed into the Baltic Sea. The evening hour when they smiled and the white of his teeth blinded her eyes, when he laughed and his laughter flew into her lungs, when she never took her eyes off him and no one saw but him, and he was all right with it.

The evening hour at Kirov when they were alone.

What to do? How to fix this? Somehow she had to make herself right again inside. For her own sake, for her sister’s, and for Alexander’s.

It was two in the morning. Tatiana was cold, wearing only an old sundress with a cardigan over it. She was thinking that she would rather spend the rest of her life on the roof than downstairs with Mama and Papa’s forlorn hope for Pasha, or with Dasha’s supplicating whisper…
Tania, go away so I can be alone with him.

Tatiana thought about the war. Maybe if the German planes came whizzing by and dropped a bomb on our building, I could save everyone else but die in the process. Would they mourn me? Would they cry? Would Alexander wish things were different?

Different how?

Different when?

She knew that Alexander already wished things were different. He wished they had been different from the start.

But even at the start, on the bus still, together, untouched by anything but each other, was there a place where Tania and Shura could have gone when they wanted to be alone for two minutes to speak English phrases to one another? Other than the walk home from Kirov?

Tatiana didn’t know of such a place.

Did Alexander?

This was a pointless exercise, designed only to pummel herself further. As if she needed it.

All I want is some relief, Tatiana thought. Why is that too much to ask?

Nothing brought her relief. Not Alexander’s aloofness, not his occasional short temper with Dasha, not his moodiness, not his winning at cards all the time—nothing eased either Tatiana’s feeling for him or her need for him. He didn’t have many nights off. He usually had to be back for taps, while other nights he had sky duty at St. Isaac’s. He had only one or two evenings off each week, but it was one or two evenings too many.

And tonight was one of those evenings.
Please, Tania, please go away so I can be alone with him
.

She heard a distant rumble. Overhead the airships floated by.

The hours at night and at morning and at day before night break, again the hours. Something had to be done. But what?

Tatiana came downstairs. She made herself a cup of tea to warm her cold hands and was sitting exhausted on the kitchen windowsill, looking out onto the dark courtyard, when out of the corner of her eye she saw Alexander walk past the door. She heard his footsteps slow down and then trail back. He stood in the doorway. For a moment they did not speak.

“What are you doing?” he asked quietly.

She said coolly and bravely, “Waiting for you to leave, so I can go to bed.”

Alexander walked tentatively into the kitchen.

She glared at him.

He came closer. The thought of being able to smell him made Tatiana’s heart weak. He stopped short of that.

“I hardly ever stay late,” he said.

“Good for you.”

Now that no one was watching her, Tatiana stared unblinking at him.

Looking at her with remorse and understanding, Alexander said, “Tatiasha, it’s been
very
hard for you, I know. I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I blame myself. What did I tell you? I never should have come into your hospital room that night.”

“Oh, because before it was bearable.”

“It was better than this.”

“You’re right, it was.” Tatiana wanted to jump down from the sill and go to him. She wanted to ride the tram, to sit on the bench, to sleep in a tent with him. She wanted to feel him next to her again. On her again. But what she said was, “Tell me, did you
arrange
for Dima to be in Leningrad every night? Because every night that he is here, he tries to take liberties with me.”

Alexander’s eyes flared. “He told me he had taken some.”

“Really?” Is that why Alexander had been so cold? “What did Dima say?” Tatiana was too tired to be angry at Dimitri. Alexander came closer. Just a little more, she thought, and I’ll be able to smell you.

“Never mind that,” said Alexander, sounding pained.

“And you thought he was telling the truth?”

“You tell
me
.”

“Alexander, you know what?” She swung her legs off the sill and put down her cup.

Alexander came closer. “No, what, Tatia?” he said softly.

Tatiana smelled his maleness, his shampoo, his soap. Wanly she smiled. Then her smile vanished. “Please,” she said, “do me a favor and stay away from me. All right?”

“I’m doing my level best,” he said, taking a step back.

“No,” Tatiana said, and broke off. “Why are you coming over?” she whispered. “Don’t continue with Dasha.” She sighed deeply. “Like after Kirov. Go ahead. Go fight your war. And take Dimitri. He won’t take no for an answer, and I’m getting sick and tired of all this.” Of all of you, she wanted to say but didn’t. “Soon I’m going to get tired of saying no to him,” Tatiana added for effect.

“Stop it,” Alexander said. “I can’t leave now. The Germans are too close. Your family is going to need me.” He paused. “
You
are going to need me.”

“I’m not. I’m going to be fine. Please, Alexander… this is just too hard for me. Can’t you see that? Say good-bye to Dasha, say good-bye to me, and take your Dimitri with you.” She paused. “Please, please, go away.”

“Tania,” Alexander said, nearly inaudibly, “how can I not come and see you?”

She blinked.

“Who is going to feed me, Tania?”

Tatiana blinked again. “Well, that’s fine,” she said, very upset. “I’ll be making dinner for you and having it off with your best friend while you’re knocking my sister. Did I get the terms right this time? That
is
perfect, isn’t it?”

Alexander turned on his heels and walked out.

The first thing Tatiana did when she woke up the next morning was go and see Vera at Grechesky Hospital. While Vera was looking at her ribs, Tatiana asked, “Vera, is there anything for me to do around here? Is there any job for me at the hospital maybe?”

Vera’s kind face studied her. “What’s the matter? You look so sad. Is it because of the leg?”

“No. I’m…” The kindness got to Tatiana, who nearly opened her mouth and poured her heartache on Vera’s bleached and unsuspecting head. Nearly. She got hold of herself. “I’m all right. Just can’t go anywhere. Bored to tears. I stay on the roof all night, looking for bombs. Tell me, is there anything for me to do?”

Vera remained thoughtful. “We could use a hand around here.”

Tatiana instantly perked up. “Doing what?”

“There is so much to do. You can sit behind the desk and do paperwork, or you can serve food in the cafeteria, or you can bandage wounds or take temperatures or, when you get better, maybe even learn nursing.”

Tatiana smiled broadly. “Vera, that’s fantastic!” Then she frowned. “But what will I do about Kirov? I’m supposed to go back and make tanks there as soon as my cast comes off. When is it coming off, by the way?”

“Tatiana! The front is at Kirov,” exclaimed Vera. “You’re not going to Kirov. You’re not that brave. They give you a rifle there now and train you in combat before you can continue to work. You got out just in time, you know. But here we’re always shorthanded. Too many people volunteer, and not enough of them come back.” She smiled. “Not everyone can be lucky like you, having an officer dig you out of the rubble.”

If Tatiana could have skipped home, she would have.

That night at dinner, barely able to contain her enthusiasm, Tatiana told her family she had found a job close to home.

“That’s right! Go to work,” said Papa. “Finally! You can eat lunch there instead of eating here.”

“Tania can’t go yet,” said Alexander. “Her leg will never heal, and she’ll limp for life.”

“Well, she can’t continue doing nothing and getting a dependent ration!” Papa exclaimed loudly. “We can’t feed her. At work I heard they’re about to lower rations again. It’s only going to get harder.”

“I’ll go to work, Papa,” said Tatiana, still cheerfully. “And I’ll eat less, all right?”

Alexander glared at her from across the table, stabbing the mashed potatoes with his fork.

Papa threw down his fork. “Tania, this is all your fault! You should have left with your grandparents! It would be easier on our food situation, and you wouldn’t be placing yourself in danger by remaining in Leningrad.” He shook his head. “You should have left with them.”

“Papa, what are you talking about?” asked Tatiana,
not
cheerfully and a notch louder than she ever spoke to her father. “You know I couldn’t have left with Deda because of my leg.” She frowned.

“All right, Tania,” said Dasha, putting her hand on Tatiana’s arm. “Stop it.”

Mama threw down
her
fork. “Tania! If you hadn’t gone and done something idiotic, you wouldn’t have a broken leg in the first place!”

Tatiana ripped her arm from under Dasha’s and turned to her mother. “Mama! Maybe if you hadn’t said you would rather
I
had died instead of Pasha, I wouldn’t have gone and tried to find him for you!”

Mama and Papa stared speechlessly at Tatiana, while everyone else in the room was mute as well. “I never said that!” Mama cried, standing up from the table. “Never.”

“Mama! I heard you.”

“Never!”

“I heard you! ‘Why couldn’t God have taken our Tania instead?’ You remember, Mama? Remember, Papa?”