Tatiana and Alexander: A Novel(158)

"Luga is where ourdachawas. We thought we'd go back there after the war, but we never made it."

"How do you know me?" he asks. "How do you know who I am?"

"What do you mean?" Peals of her soft laughter ripple the water in the river. "You're my sister's guy."

"How did you and I meet?"

"She introduced us. She'd been talking about you for weeks. Finally you came for dinner."

"When?"

"I don't know. July sometime."

"What about June? June 22? You met me in June, didn't you? The war started and you and I met at the bus stop, remember?"

"June 22? Of course we didn't."

"Did you have ice cream on the bench?"

"Yes..."

"Didn't a soldier--me--see you from across the street?"

"There was no soldier," she says adamantly. "The street was empty. I had my ice cream and the bus came to take me to Nevsky Prospekt. I went to Yelisey, got some caviar. Didn't last us long. Didn't help us through the winter." Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"But where was I?" he cries.

"I don't know," she chirps, jumping up and down. "I never saw anyone."

Ashen, he stares into her face. Not a flicker of affection moves across it. "Why didn't I help your sister during the blockade?" he barely gets out.

Lowering her voice in an excited whisper, she says, "I don't know if this is true about you, Alexander, but Dimitri told us that you escaped! Escaped and ran to America--all by yourself. Can that be true? Did you leave us all behind and run?" She laughs. "That's so delicious. America! Wow. Dasha, come here." She turns to Alexander. "Dasha and I talked and talked about it through the winter months. Even as we lay in bed our last morning, we said, can you believe, Alexander must be warm now and full. Was there heat in America during the war? White bread?"

Alexander has long ceased to stand. He has dropped to his knees on the snow. "Tania..." he says desperately, looking up at her. "Tatia..."

"What did you call me?"

"Tatiasha, my wife, Tania, mother of my only child, don't you remember our Lazarevo?"

"Where?" she says frowning. "Alexander, you're acting so odd. What are you talking about? I'm not your wife. I was not anybody's wife." She laughs briefly and shrugs. "Child? You perfectly well know I never even had a boyfriend." Her eyes twinkle. "I had to live through my angel sister. Dasha, come here, look who I found. Tell me more about this Alexander of yours. What was he like?" She skips away without a backward glance. And soon her laughter fades away.

Alexander dropped his axe, got up and started walking.

They caught him in the woods and brought him back, and after two weeks in the camp jail, Alexander picked the lock on the leg chains with a pin he carried in his boots. They rechained him and took away the boots. He picked the lock on the leg chains with a small straight piece of straw he found on the cement floor of the isolation cell. They beat him and strung him up by his legs upside down for twenty-four hours. The effort of pulling his body up dislocated both his ankles.

After that he was left on the straw in the jail, his arms chained above his head, and three times a day someone came in and shoved bread down his throat.

One day, Alexander turned his head away and refused the bread. He took the water.

The next day, he refused the bread again.

They stopped bringing it.

One night he opened his eyes; he was cold and thirsty. He was filthy and his body hurt. He could not move it. He tried to sweep up some straw to cover himself with. It was no use. He turned his head to the left and stared at the dark wall. He turned his head to the right and blinked.

Harold Barrington was sitting on his haunches against the wall. He was wearing slacks and a white shirt, Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

his hair was brushed. He looked young, younger than Alexander. He was quiet for a long time. Alexander didn't blink; he was afraid his father would be gone if he did.

"Dad?" he whispered.

"Alexander, what's happening to you?"

"I don't know. It's all over for me."

"Our adopted country has turned its back on you."

"Yes."

"Have you married?"

"I married."

"Where is your wife?"

"I don't know." Alexander paused. "I haven't seen my wife in many years."

"Is she waiting for you?"

"I think she is long past that. She is living her own life."

"Are you? Are you living your own life?"

"Yes," Alexander said. "I'm living my own life, too. I'm living the life I made for myself."

Harold was silent in the dark. "No, son," he said. "You're living the life I made for you."

Alexander was so afraid to blink.

"I had thought you would go far, Alexander. Your mother and I both thought so."

"I know, Dad. I was all right there for a little while."

"I imagined a different life for you."

"Me, too."