Tatiana and Alexander: A Novel(121)

"It's war, they'll understand. And talk lower, Pasha." Alexander didn't want Ouspensky to hear, and Ouspensky always heard everything.

Pasha talked lower. "And you know perfectly well I can't turn back."

"I know." Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

They fell silent, while Alexander--to calm his idle hands--continued to carve out a spear from a wooden branch. Pasha cleaned his machine gun and suddenly snorted.

"What are you thinking, Pasha?"

"Nothing. I was thinking how ironic it is to end up here."

"Why ironic?"

"My father came here, long time ago. During peace. Came here on business. To Poland! We were so impressed. To around this part, actually. Brought us all back exotic gifts. I wore the tie he brought me till it frayed. Pasha thought there was nothing tastier than Polish chocolates, and Tania, her skinny arm broken, wore the dress my father gave her."

Alexander stopped carving. "What dress?"

"I don't know. A white dress. She was too skinny and young for it and her arm was in a cast, but she wore it anyway, proud as anything."

"Did"--Alexander's voice caught--"did the dress have flowers on it?"

"Yes. Red roses."

Alexander breathed out a groan. "Where did your father buy the dress?"

"I think in a market town called Swietokryzst. Yes, Tania used to call it her dress from Holy Cross. Wore it every Sunday."

Alexander closed his eyes and stilled his hands.

He heard Pasha's voice. "What do you think my sister would do?"

Alexander blinked, trying to get the image of Tatiana out of his tortured mind, sitting on the bench in that dress, eating ice cream, walking barefoot in that swinging dress through the Field of Mars, on the steps of the Molotov church, in his arms, his new wife, in that dress.

"Wouldshe go back?" Pasha asked.

"No. She wouldn't go back." His heart squeezed in his chest. No matter how much she wanted to. No matter how much he wanted her to.

Picking up his machine gun, Alexander came up to Pasha, and before Ouspensky lumbered up off his stump and came too close to them, Alexander whispered, "Pasha! Your pregnant sister got out of f*cking Russia all by herself. She had weapons but she would never use them. They were moot to her. Without killing anyone, without firing a shot, her belly full of baby, by herself she figured a way out of the swamps to Helsinki. If she got as far as Finland, I have to believe she got farther. I have to have faith. I found you. I can't believe that was for nothing. Now we have four good men, eight if you count the Germans. And they are our hostages. We have knives, we have bayonets, we have matches, we can make weapons, and, unlike Tania, we will use them. Let's not sit here and pretend we're finished. Let's attempt to be stronger men than Tatiana. It won't be easy, but we will have to try. All right?" Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

He stood still, his back against the oak, mud covering his face and hair. Alexander crossed himself and kissed his helmet. "We have to get through that burning forest to the other side, Pasha. Closer to the Germans. We have to, that's all."

"It's f*cked up, but all right."

The remaining prisoners and Ouspensky took some harder convincing.

"What are you worried about?" said Alexander. "You have half our breathing capacity; in smoke and flames that's actually to your advantage."

"I won't be inhaling smoke, I'll be incinerating," Ouspensky replied.

Finally everyone was braced for the forge. Alexander told them to cover their heads.

Pasha said, his empty machine gun over his shoulder, "Are you ready?"

"I'm ready," he replied. "Be very careful, Pasha. Cover your mouth."

"I can't run and keep my mouth covered. I'll be all right. Remember, the f*cking Fritzes burned my train down. I've been in a little fire before. Let's go. I'll breathe into my cap. Just promise me you won't leave me high and dry."

"I won't leave you high and dry," Alexander said, slinging his empty mortar onto his shoulder and covering his mouth with a wet bloody towel.

They ran into the fire.

Alexander breathed through the wet towel tied around his head as they ran through the burning woods. Ouspensky held his breath for as long as he could, breathing through his trench coat sodden with rain. But Pasha pummeled right through it. Brave, thought Alexander. Brave and foolish. Somehow they got through the flames. In this case, their wet clothes were to their advantage: they refused to catch fire. And the men's hair had all been shaved, it wasn't flailing in the flames. One of the prisoners wasn't lucky: a branch fell on him and he lost consciousness. One of the other Germans slung him on his back and continued forward.

With the fire behind them, Alexander took one look at Pasha and saw that he was more foolish than brave. Pasha was pale. He slowed down, then stopped. They were still amid the smoke.

Alexander stopped running. "What's the matter?" he said, taking the rag away from his mouth and immediately choking and coughing.

"I don't know," Pasha croaked, holding on to his throat.

"Open your mouth."

Pasha did, but it didn't help. He suddenly went down like a felled tree, and the sounds coming from him were those of a man who was choking on food or a bullet; they were the sounds of a man who could not breathe.