Tatiana and Alexander: A Novel(57)

Alexander saw his father for a few minutes one incongruously sunny and warm June afternoon. He had hoped for ten; maybe one or two alone. He got one or two, with Dimitri, Dimitri's father, and another guard. No privacy for Harold and Alexander Barrington. Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Alexander had gone over what he wanted to say to his father until the few words were cut into his memory that neither anxiety nor fear could obliterate.

Dad! he wanted to say. Once when I was barely seven, you, me and Mom went to Revere Beach, remember? I swam until my teeth chattered, and you and I dug a large sand hole and built a sand bar and waited for the rising tide to wash the ocean in. We got so burned those hours on the beach, and then we went on the awesome Cyclone--three times--and ate cotton candy and ice cream until my stomach hurt and you smelled of sand and salt water and the sun, and you held my hand and said I too smelled like the sea. It was the happiest day of my life, and you gave that day to me, and when I close my eyes that's what I will remember. Don't worry about me. I will be all right. Don't worry about anything.

But he wasn't alone with his father for a moment to say those words to him, in any language. Alexander became afraid that Harold's emotion would alert the guard. Fortunately the apathetic sentry wasn't looking for subterfuge.

His father was the only one who spoke, in English, with a little lead-in help from Alexander. "Could the prisoner say something to us in English?" Alexander had asked the guard, who grunted and said, "All right. But make it short. I don't have time to waste."

"I'll say something short in English," said Harold. His voice barely strong enough to get the words out, he grasped Alexander by the hands and whispered, holding him tight, his eyes spilling over, "Would that I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!"

Saying nothing, Alexander stepped away and blinked back his father. At the end of those few short minutes in a bare concrete cell, Alexander's cost for keeping himself in control was a chipped tooth and a bit of his immortal soul.I love you , he mouthed silently, and then the door closed.

After that, Dimitri never left Alexander's side, which was all right with Alexander: he needed a friend.

It didn't take long for Dimitri to start formulating plans to get him and Alexander out of the Soviet Union. Since much of what Dimitri was saying echoed what Alexander already had been thinking and planning, Alexander saw no reason to stop him. And he saw no reason not to get Dimitri out with him. Two could fight better than one, could cover each other, could watch each other's back. That's what Alexander imagined. That Dimitri would be like a battle buddy. That Dimitri would watch his back.

But Alexander was patient, and Dimitri was not. Alexander knew the right time had to come, and would. They talked about taking trains down to Turkey, they talked about making their way to Siberia in the winter and walking across the Bering Strait ice. They talked about Finland and finally settled on it. It was the nearest and most accessible.

Alexander went every week to check on hisBronze Horseman book. What if someone checked it out? What if someone kept it? He couldn't help but feel that his money was not safe.

Having graduated secondary school, Alexander and Dimitri decided to enroll in the three-month program at the Officer Candidate School of the Red Army. The OCS was Dimitri's idea. He thought it would be a good way to impress girls. Alexander thought it would be an entry way into Finland if the Soviet Union and Finland went to war, which seemed likely: Russia did not like having a foreign country, a historical enemy, only twenty kilometers from Leningrad, arguably Russia's greatest city. Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

OCS was nothing like Alexander had imagined. The brutality of the instructors, the grueling schedule of the training, the constant humiliation by the sergeants in charge were all meant to break your spirit before war could. The humiliation was harder to bear than the running, the sweating in the cold, the rain. But worse than everything was being awoken after taps and told to stand for hours while some f*cking cadet got taken to task for forgetting to shine his boots.

Alexander learned about imperfection in OCS, and about leadership, and about respect. He learned about keeping his mouth shut and about keeping his locker spotless and about being on time and about sayingyes, sir when he wanted to sayf*ck you . He also learned that he was stronger and faster and quicker than other trainees, that he was neater, that he was more calm under pressure, and that he was less afraid.

He also learned that words spoken to him that were meant to rattle him actually did.

After experiencing the grunt duality of officer school--they wanted to make a man out of you by breaking your spirit until you had none left--Alexander was grateful only that he wasn't an enlisted man: they must have had it even harder.

And then Dimitri flunked OCS.

"Can you believe it? What bastards they all are, after putting me through such hell, to not let me graduate! What kind of stupid bullshit is that? I've got a good mind to write the commander a letter--who is the commander of OCS, Alexander? Do you see this letter? They're telling me I unloaded and loaded my weapon too slowly, and that I crawled on my belly like a f*cking snake too slowly, and that in battle tests I didn't keep quiet enough, or exhibit enough leadership quality to be considered for an officer rank. Look at this: they're inviting me to join the enlisted ranks. Well, if I can't load my weapon fast enough for them as an officer, what good am I going to be as a f*cking grunt?"