The Bronze Horseman

  Tatiana looked up at him helplessly and watched him bend to her, but a uniformed guard stepped up to the curb and shouted across the street, “Move it, you two! Move it! What are you standing gawking for? What’s there to gawk at? That’s enough! You’ve seen it all. Move on!”

  Alexander took his hand away from Tatiana, turned around, and glared at the guard, who backed off, muttering that Red Army officers were as bound by the law as anyone else.

  When they said good-bye to each other a few minutes later, they did not speak about what had happened, but neither could Tatiana look up at Alexander, which was just as well, because Alexander didn’t look at Tatiana.

  At home was a dinner of cold potatoes and cold fried onions. Tatiana ate quickly and then went up to the roof to sit and look at the sky for enemy planes, but the planes could have come and razed the whole city, because all Tatiana could see was Alexander’s impassioned eyes, all Tatiana could feel was Alexander’s impassioned hand on her rapidly beating heart.

  Somewhere in those weeks Tatiana’s innocence was lost. The innocence of honesty was gone forever, for she knew she would have to live in deceit, every day in verse and prose, in close quarters, in the same bed, every night when her foot touched Dasha’s, she would live in deceit. Because she felt for him.

  But what Tatiana felt for Alexander was true.

  What Tatiana felt for Alexander was impervious to the drumbeat of conscience.

  Oh, to be walking through Leningrad white night after white night, the dawn and the dusk all smelting together like platinum ore, Tatiana thought, turning away to the wall, again to the wall, to the wall, as ever. Alexander, my nights, my days, my every thought. You will fall away from me in just a while, won’t you, and I’ll be whole again, and I will go on and feel for someone else, the way everyone does.

  But my innocence is forever gone.

  12

  Two days later, on the second Sunday in July, Alexander and Dimitri, dressed in their civilian clothes, called on Tatiana and Dasha. Alexander wore black linen trousers and a white cotton button-down short-sleeved shirt. Tatiana had never seen him in a short-sleeved shirt before, seen skin beyond his face and hands. His forearms were muscular and tanned. His face was clean-shaven. She had never seen him clean-shaven. By the time the evening hour fell, Alexander always had stubble. Tatiana thought, her heart catching on him, that he looked almost impossibly handsome.

  “Where do you girls want to go? Let’s go somewhere special,” said Dimitri. “Let’s go to Peterhof.”

  They packed some food and went to catch the train from Warsaw Station. Peterhof was an hour’s train ride away. All four of them walked a block along Obvodnoy Canal, where Alexander and Tatiana ambled every day. Tatiana walked in silence. Once when Alexander jumped off the narrow pavement and strolled ahead of her with Dasha, his bare arm brushed against her bare arm.

  On the train Dasha said, “Tania, tell Dima and Alex what you call Peterhof. Tell them.”

  Tatiana came out of her thoughts. “What? Oh. I call it the Versailles of the Soviet Union.”

  Dasha said, “When Tania was younger, she wanted to be a queen and live in the Great Palace, didn’t you, Tanechka?”

  “Hmm.”

  “What did the kids in Luga used to call you?”

  “Can’t remember, Dasha.”

  “No, they called you something so funny. The queen of . . . the queen of . . .”

  Tatiana glanced at Alexander, who glanced at Tatiana.

  “Tania,” asked Dimitri, “what would have been your first act as queen?”

  “To restore peace to the monarchy,” she said. “And then to behead all transgressors.”

  Everybody laughed. Dimitri said, “I really missed you, Tania.” Alexander stopped laughing and stared out the window. Tatiana, too, stared out the window. They were sitting diagonally across from each other on facing seats.

  Touching her neat ponytail, Dimitri said, “Tania, why don’t you ever wear your hair down? I saw it down once. It looked so pretty.”

  Dismissively Dasha said, “Dima, forget it, she’s so stubborn. We tell her and tell her. Why do you keep it so long if you don’t do something with it? But no. She never wears it down, do you, Tania?”

  “No, Dasha,” said Tatiana, wishing for her wall, for anything, just so her flushed face would not be in view of Alexander’s quietly full eyes.

  “Take it out of your ponytail now, Tanechka,” said Dimitri. “Go on.”

  “Go on, Tania,” said Dasha.

  Slowly Tatiana pulled the rubber band out of her hair and turned to the window, not speaking again until their stop.

  In Peterhof they did not take an organized tour but meandered around the palace and the Elysian manicured grounds instead, finally finding a secluded spot on the lawn under the trees near the Great Cascade Fountain to have their picnic.

  With gusto they ate their lunch of hard-boiled eggs and bread and cheese. Dasha had even brought vodka, and she and Alexander and Dimitri drank from the bottle, while Tatiana refused. Then everybody had a smoke except Tatiana.

  “Tania,” Dimitri said, “you don’t smoke, you don’t drink. What do you do?”

  “Cartwheels!” exclaimed Dasha. “Right, Tania? In Luga, Tania taught all the boys how to do cartwheels.”

  “All the boys?” said Alexander.

  “Yes, yes,” echoed Dimitri. “There were boys in Luga?”

  “Like flies around Tania.”

  “What are you talking about, Dasha?” Tatiana said, suddenly embarrassed. With an effort, she did not meet Alexander’s eyes.

  Dasha pinched Tatiana on the thigh. “Tania, tell Dima and Alex how those wild beasts never left you alone.” She laughed. “You were like honey to bears.”

  “Yes, tell us, Tania!” said Dimitri.

  Alexander said nothing.

  Tatiana was beet red. “Dasha, I was maybe seven. There was a group of us. Boys and girls.”

  “Yes, and they all buzzed around you,” Dasha drew out, looking fondly at Tatiana. “Our Tania was the cutest child. She had round button eyes and those little freckles and not just blonde but white-blonde hair! She was like a ball of white sunshine rolling around Luga. None of the old ladies could keep their hands off her.”

  “Just the old ladies?” Alexander asked evenly.

  “Do a cartwheel, Tania,” said Dimitri with his hand on her back. “Show us what you can do.”

  “Yes, Tania!” Dasha said. “Come on. This is the perfect place for it, don’t you think? Here in front of a majestic palace, fountains, lawn, gardenias blooming—”

  “Germans in Minsk,” said Tatiana, trying not to look at Alexander, lying on the blanket on his side, propped up by his elbow. He looked so casual, so familiar, so . . .

  And yet, at the same time, utterly untouchable and unattainable.

  “Forget the Germans,” Dimitri said. “This is the place for love.”

  That’s what Tatiana was afraid of.

  “Come on, Tania,” Alexander said softly, sitting up and crossing his legs. “Let’s see these famous cartwheels.” He lit a cigarette.

  Dasha prodded her. “You never say no to a cartwheel.”

  Tatiana wanted to say no today.

  Sighing, she got up from their old blanket. “Fine. Though, frankly, I don’t know what kind of a queen I’d make, doing cartwheels for my subjects.”

  Tatiana was wearing a dress, not the dress but a casual pink sundress. Walking a few meters away from them, she said, “Are you ready?” And from a distance she saw Alexander’s eyes swallowing her. “Watch,” she said, putting her right foot forward. She flung herself upside down on her right arm, swinging her body in a perfect arc around onto her left arm and then her left foot, and then, without taking a breath and with her hair flying, Tatiana whirled around again, and again and again in an empyrean circle, down a straight trajectory on the grass toward the Great Palace, toward childhood and innocence, away from Dimitri and Dasha and Alexander.


  As she walked back, her face flushed and her hair everywhere, she allowed herself a glance at Alexander’s face. Everything she had wanted to see was there.

  Laughing, Dasha fell on top of Alexander and said, “What did I tell you? She’s got hidden talents.”

  Tatiana lowered her gaze and sat down on the blanket.

  Rubbing Tatiana’s back, Dimitri said, “Hmm, Tania, what else do you have in your bag of tricks?”

  “That’s it,” she replied tersely.

  A little later, Dimitri asked, “Dasha, Tania, how would you girls define love?”

  “What?”

  “How would you define love? What does love mean to you?”

  “Dima! Who wants to know?” Dasha smiled at Alexander.

  “It’s just a question, Dasha.” Dimitri drank some more vodka. “This is a good place, a fine Sunday, for that question.” He smiled at Tatiana.

  “I don’t know. Alexander, should I answer it?” Dasha asked.

  Shrugging and smoking, Alexander said, “Answer if you want.”

  The blanket was too small for the four of them, Tatiana thought. She was sitting in a lotus position, Dima was lying on his stomach to her left, and Alexander and Dasha were in front of her, Dasha leaning into Alexander.

  “All right. Love . . . let’s see,” said Dasha. “Help me out, Tania, will you?”

  “Dash, you can do this. I know you can.” Tatiana didn’t want to say that Dasha had had lots of field experience.

  “Hmm . . . love. Love is . . . when he comes by when he says he’s going to,” she said, nudging Alexander. “Love is when he is late but says he is sorry.” She smiled. “Love is when he doesn’t look at any other girls but me.” Nudging him again, twice. “How’s that?”

  “Very good, Dasha,” said Alexander.

  Tatiana coughed.

  “Tania! What? You’re not satisfied with that?” Dasha asked.

  “No, no. It’s very good.” But the teasing hesitation was clearly in her voice.

  “What, clever clogs? What didn’t I say?”

  “Oh, no, Dash. Everything. But it sounds to me what you described is what it’s like to be loved.” She paused. No one else spoke. “Isn’t love what you give him, not what he gives you? Is there a difference? Am I completely wrong?”

  “Completely,” said Dasha, smiling at Tatiana. “What do you know?”

  “Nothing,” Tatiana said, not looking at anyone.

  “Tanechka?” said Dimitri. “What do you think love is?”

  Tatiana felt she was being set up.

  “Tania? Tell us. What does love mean to you?” Dimitri repeated.

  “Yes, go ahead, Tania,” said Dasha. “Tell Dimitri what love means to you.” And then in a teasing, affectionate voice, she said, “To Tania, let’s see, love is being left alone for a whole summer to read in peace. Love is—sleeping late, that’s the number one love. Love is—crème brûlée ice cream; no, that is the number one love. Tania, tell the truth, if you could sleep late all summer, and read while you ate ice cream all day, tell me you would not be in bliss!” Dasha laughed. “Love is, oh, I know—Deda! He is number one. Love is this Great Palace. Love is telling us those silly jokes, trying to make us laugh. Love is, Pasha—he is definitely number one. Love is—oh! Naked cartwheels!” Dasha exclaimed with joy.

  “Naked cartwheels?” asked Alexander, who had not taken his eyes off Tatiana.

  Dimitri said, “Can we see those?”

  “Oh, Tania! They should see how you do those cartwheels! At Lake Ilmen she would catapult herself naked five times right into the water.” Delight was all over Dasha’s face. “Wait! That’s it! That’s what you were called. The kids used to call you the cartwheel queen of Lake Ilmen!”

  “Yes,” said Tatiana calmly. “Not the naked cartwheel queen of Lake Ilmen.”

  Alexander was trying not to laugh.

  Dasha and Dimitri were rolling on the blanket.

  Throwing a piece of bread at her sister, all red in the face, Tatiana said, “I was seven then, Dashka.”

  “You’re seven now.”

  “Shut up.”

  Dasha knocked Tatiana back, throwing herself on top of her, “Tania, Tania, Tania,” she squealed, tickling Tatiana. “You’re the funniest girl.” And when she was very close to Tatiana’s face, she said, “Look at all your freckles.” Dasha bent her head and kissed them. “They’ve really popped out. You must be walking outside a lot. You don’t walk home from Kirov, do you?”

  “No, and get off me. You are way too heavy,” said Tatiana, tickling her sister back and pushing her off.

  Dimitri said, “Tania, you didn’t answer the question.”

  “Yes,” said Alexander. “Let Tatiana answer the question.”

  It took Tatiana a few moments to get her breath back. Finally she said, “Love is . . .” And with a pulsing heart she thought about what she could say and what would be a big lie. What would be the truth? Partial truth, whole truth? How much could she give right now? Knowing who was listening. “Love is,” she repeated slowly, looking only at Dasha, “when he is hungry and you feed him. Love is knowing when he is hungry.”

  Dasha said, “But, Tania, you don’t know how to cook! He’d pretty much starve, wouldn’t he?”

  Dimitri cackled. “What about when he is horny? What do you do then?” He laughed so hard he started hiccuping. “Is love knowing when he is horny? And feeding him?”

  “Shut the hell up, Dimitri,” said Alexander.

  “Dima, you are just so crass,” said Dasha. “You have no class.” Turning to Alexander and smiling, she pushed him lightly and said in an eager voice, “All right, now your turn.”

  Tatiana, sitting motionless in her lotus position, looked beyond Alexander to the Great Palace, thinking of the gilded throne room and all her dreams blossoming here in Peterhof when she was a child.

  “Love is, to be loved,” said Alexander, “in return.”

  Her lower lip trembling, Tatiana would not take her eyes off Peter the Great’s Summer Palace.

  Dasha leaned into him with a smile. “That’s nice, Alexander.”

  Only when they all got up and folded their blanket to catch the train back did it occur to Tatiana that no one had asked Dimitri what love meant to him.

  That night, as she was turned to the wall, remorse over Alexander ate Tatiana up from the whites of her bones. To turn away from Dasha like this was to admit the unadmittable, to accept the unacceptable, to forgive the unforgivable. Turning away meant that deception was going to become her way of life, as long as she had a dark wall to turn her face to.

  How could Tatiana live a life, breathe in a life where she could sleep next to her sister with her back turned every night? Her sister, who took her mushroom picking in Luga a dozen years ago with only a basket, no knife and no paper bag, “so that the mushrooms wouldn’t be afraid,” Dasha had said. Her sister, who taught Tatiana how to tie her shoelaces at five and to ride her bike at six, and to eat clover. Her sister, who looked after her summer after summer, who covered for all her pranks, who cooked for her and braided her hair and bathed her when she was small. Her sister, who had once taken her out at night with her and her wild beaus, letting Tatiana see how young men behaved with young women. Tatiana had stood awkwardly against the wall of Nevsky Prospekt, eating her ice cream, while the older boys kissed the older girls. Dasha never took Tatiana with her again and after that night became more protective of Tatiana than ever.

  Tatiana could not continue like this one more day.

  She had to ask Alexander to stop coming to Kirov.

  Tatiana felt one way. That was indisputable. But she had to behave another way. That was indisputable, too.

  Turning away from the wall and to Dasha, Tatiana reached out and gently stroked the length of her sister’s thick curls.

  “That feels nice, Tanechka,” murmured Dasha.

  “I love you, Dasha,” said Tatiana, as her tears trickled down on the pillow.

  “Mmm,
love you, too. Go to sleep.”

  All the while her mind was laying down the unassailable law of right and wrong, Tatiana’s breath was whispering his name in the rhythmic beat of her heart. SHU-rah, SHU-rah, SHU-rah.

  13

  On the Monday after Peterhof, when a smiling Alexander met an unsmiling Tatiana at Kirov, she said to him before even a hello, “Alexander, you can’t come anymore.”

  He stopped smiling and stood silently in front of her, at last prodding her with his hand. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s walk.”

  They walked the long block to Govorova.

  “What’s the matter?” He was looking at the ground.

  “Alexander, I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t.”

  He stayed quiet.

  “I can’t make it,” said Tatiana, strengthened by the concrete pavement under her feet. She was glad they were walking and she didn’t have to look at his face. “It’s too hard for me.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Why?” Flummoxed by that question, she fell silent. Not one of her answers could she speak aloud.

  “We’re just friends, Tania, right?” Alexander said quietly. “Good friends. I come because I know you’re tired. You’ve had a long day, you have a long way home, and a long evening ahead of you still. I come because sometimes you smile when you’re with me, and I think you are happy. Am I wrong? That’s why I come. It’s not a big thing.”

  “Alexander!” she exclaimed. “Yes, we have the pretense of not really being up to much. But please.” She took a breath. “Why don’t we tell Dasha then that you take me home from Kirov? Why do we get off every single day three blocks before my building?”

  Slowly he said, “Dasha wouldn’t understand. It would hurt her feelings.”

  “Of course it would. It should!”

  “But, Tania, this has nothing to do with Dasha.”

  Tatiana’s efforts to remain calm were costing her white fingers blood. “Alexander, this has everything to do with Dasha. I can’t lie in bed with her night after night, afraid. Please,” she said.