Tatiana and Alexander: A Novel(154)

Her head bowed, Tatiana took it.

A week would fly by, filled with work and the people in whose eyes she could see what she meant to them, and filled with Edward, in whose eyes Tatiana could see what she meant to him, and with blessed, impossible Vikki. Tatiana endlessly saw in Vikki's eyes what she meant to Vikki. They went to the pictures and took in Broadway shows, and advanced nursing classes at NYU. Tatiana got dressed up in high heels and pretty dresses and went to Ricardo's, and it was there that she would realize she had lived another week, almost as if she weremeant to, as if Alexander were indeed becoming...remote.

There was a settling of the stellar dust. Soon the first love would fall into the recesses of memory, like childhood, it would all fall through the cracks in the cement of life, and weeds would grow over it.

But every morning, Tatiana took the ferry to Ellis, and as the boat broke the water of the harbor, she saw Alexander's eyes, showing her what she had meant to him. Every day of forgetting, of wanting life, was another day of his eyes telling her what she had meant to him.

America, New York, Arizona, the end of war, feverish reconstruction, a baby boom, dancing, her high-heeled shoes, her painted lips--whatshe had meant...

Tohim .

What would she have, had she meantless to him? Why, nothing. She would have the Soviet Union, that's what. Fifth Soviet, two rectangular rooms, and a domestic passport, and maybe adacha in the summers for her child. She would be fifth in line forever, pulling the quilted hat down over her ears in the blizzard.

Every day of forgetting was a day of increased remorse. How could you forget me so quick, she thought Alexander was saying to her, when I have paid for you with my life?

Quick?

She was getting tiresome even to herself. Quick.

Quicksand into the earth.

Quicksilver into the water.

Quick quick quick, forget him so you can lie down with Jeb. Forget, Tania, so you can lie down with your third and fourth and fifth, Alexander is dead; hi ho, hi ho.

The months, the months, the months, the months.

Alexander, Alexander, Alexander, Alexander.

Tania, Tania...

That's you, I know, that's the pitiless horseman calling me back, calling me back to....

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

We lived it in our rapture and abandon as if we knew even then it had to last us our whole life.

Do you see our rumpled bed, our kerosene lamp? Do you see the kettle of water I boiled for you and do you see the counter top you had built for me, for the potatoes we never got, and for our cabbage pie? Do you see the cigarettes I rolled for you and the clothes I washed for you and do you see my hands on you, and my lips, and my ear pressing against your chest to listen to your beating heart, tell me, do you see all this before you and around you and inside you, too?

God keep you if you are alive, you unrelenting Alexander.

But if you are an angel watching over me, don't come here, don't follow me into the Superstition Mountains, don't come here where it's black around me and cold. I live in the desert, watching the winds and the wildflowers in the spring.

Don't go here.

Come with me instead to the place I fly to, follow me over the oceans and the seas and the rivers between us, take my hand and let me lead you down through the pine cones, through the pine needles to wet our feet with the River Kama, as the sun peeks over the barren edges of the Urals, promising us one more day, and one less day every sunrise times twenty-nine, one more day, one less day, and gone again. Come with me into the river, flow with me as you and I swim across to the other shore against the rushing current. You swim slightly afraid I'm going to be carried away downstream into the Caspian Sea. I call swim faster, faster, and you smile and swim faster, your eyes on me. You're always just ahead, your shining face to me. Come with me there for one more morning, one more fire, one more cigarette, one more swim, one more smile, one more, one more, one more,alsk?r into the eternity we call Lazarevo, my Alexander.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Oranienburg, Germany, 1945

ALEXANDER DIDN'T KNOW WHATmonth it was when the train finally stopped for good and they were told to get out. He had long been removed from Ouspensky and chained to a small, blond, pleasant lieutenant Maxim Misnoy, who spoke little and slept much. Ouspensky, with a broken jaw, now traveled in a different car.

During their time on the train, Maxim Misnoy told Alexander a little about his life. He had volunteered for the front when the Germans invaded Russia in 1941. By 1942, Misnoy had yet to be issued a revolver for his empty holster. He had been taken prisoner by the Germans four times and escaped three times. He was liberated from B?chenwald by the Americans, but, being a loyal Red Army soldier, traveled to the Elbe to join the Russians in the Battle of Berlin. For his heroism, he had been given theOrder of the Red Star . In Berlin afterward he was apprehended and sentenced to fifteen years for treason. He was too pleasant to be angry about it.

After alighting from the train, they were made to march in double file for two kilometers through a road in the woods to a path in the tall trees that led to a white ornate gatehouse. They passed a large yellow house before the gates. On top of the gatehouse was a clock, and flanking the clock were two Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

machine-gun sentries.

"B?chenwald?" Alexander asked Misnoy.

"No."