Tatiana and Alexander: A Novel(62)

There was bread and oatmeal and occasionally meat of unknown origin. There was water, tea once in a while, and Alexander received vouchers which he could trade for tobacco or vodka.

Alexander kept his vouchers, of which he got two or three every day, and did not use them. Vodka he had no use for. Tobacco was a different story. He thirsted for tobacco. His mouth, his throat craved the burn, the smoke; his lungs craved the nicotine. But he forbade himself tobacco. His desire for nicotine slightly dulled his thirst for Tatiana; slightly numbed the aching emptiness in his body left by her absence. It had been about five months since his back was ripped open in the Battle of Leningrad; only twitching nerve endings remained around the raised, ridged scar that had managed to heal at last.

Alexander saved his tobacco vouchers and paced. He kept his uniform, he kept his boots. His sulfa drugs were long gone. The morphine had gone to Slonko. His rucksack was gone. He hadn't seen Stepanov since the night of Slonko's death, so he couldn't ask what had happened to his ruck, which, though filled with many stupid and replaceable things, had one thing in it that was neither--Tania's Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

wedding dress. As if he could bear to look at it anyway. He could hardly bear to think of it.

Six paces from one wall to the other, ten paces from the front door to the back window. All day, while the sun was up, Alexander ran the length of the cell, and when he could not think anymore he would count the steps. One afternoon he paced 4,572 steps. Another he paced 6,207. Between early breakfast and early lunch and late dinner, Alexander walked between his prison walls, walking out Tatiana, living out the darkness. He had no foresight and no hindsight. He could barely tell what was right in front of him. Alexander didn't know what was ahead of him in the coming years and maybe if he had known, he would have chosen death in those gray pacing days, but because he didn't know, he chose life.

Finally he got his military tribunal. After a month of pacing in his cell and collecting ninety tobacco vouchers, he went before three generals, two colonels and one Stepanov. He stood before them in his uniform, wearing his visor cap--his better-looking officer's cap having been given over to his wife.

"Alexander Belov, we are here to decide what to do with you," said General Mekhlis, a thin, tense man who looked like a weathered crow.

"I'm ready," said Alexander. It was about time. A month in one cell. Why couldn't the Lazarevo month with Tatiana have passed as slowly?

"Charges have been brought against you."

"I'm aware of the charges, sir."

"Charges that you are a foreigner, an American, disguised as a Red Army officer with the purpose of sabotage and subversion during the worst crisis our great country has ever faced. We are faced with our extinction at the hands of the Germans. You understand why we cannot allow foreign spies to infiltrate our ranks?"

"I understand. I have a defense."

"Let's hear it."

"All the things you just mentioned are baseless lies. They were presented to you to besmirch my character. My record in the Red Army since 1937 speaks for itself. I have been nothing but a loyal soldier, I have obeyed my superior officers, I have not shied away from any conflict. I served my country proudly against Finland and against Germany. In the Great Patriotic War, I have participated in four attempts to break the blockade on Leningrad. I was wounded twice, the second time nearly mortally. The man who accused me of foreign provocation is dead, shot by our own troops while trying to escape the Soviet Union. I will remind you that man was aprivate in the Red Army. He was a rear supply man for the border troops. His attempted escape constitutes nothing less than desertion and treason. Are you taking the word of aknown deserter from the Red Army against the word of one of your decorated officers?"

"Don't tell me what to think, Major Belov," snapped Mekhlis.

"I wouldn't presume to, sir. I was posing a question." Alexander waited. The men behind the table conferred with each other briefly while Alexander stared out of the window. There was open air outside those windows. He breathed in. He had not been outside in so long. Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"Major Belov, are you in fact Alexander Barrington, son of Jane and Harold Barrington who were executed for treason in 1936 and 1937?"

Alexander blinked; that was his only reaction. "No, sir," he said.

"Are you the Alexander Barrington who jumped off a train headed for corrective camps in 1936 and was presumed dead?"

"No, sir."

"Have you ever heard of Alexander Barrington?"

"Only through these charges."

"Are you aware that your wife, Tatiana Metanova, has disappeared and is presumed to have escaped with Private Chernenko and Dr. Sayers?"

"No. I am aware that Dr. Sayers was not escaping and that Private Chernenko was shot dead. I am aware that my wife is missing. Comrade Slonko, however, told me before he died"--Alexander coughed once loudly for emphasis--"that she was in NKVD--NKGB, I mean--custody. He told me she had signed a confession implicating me as the man Comrade Slonko had been looking for since 1936."

The generals exchanged a surprised look.

"Your wife is not in our custody," Mekhlis said slowly. "And Comrade Slonko is no longer here to defend himself. Chernenko is not here to defend himself."