The Bronze Horseman

  “Why?” Alexander said. “What can I do to help?”

  Why did she think he meant it? And moreover, why did she suddenly find herself relieved and strengthened and not afraid of going home?

  After she told him about the rubles in her pocket and the failed quest for food, Tatiana finished with, “I don’t know why my father would delegate this task to me. I’m the least capable of anyone in my family of actually succeeding.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Tatiana,” said Alexander. “Besides, I can help you.”

  “You can?”

  He told her he would take her to one of the officers-only army stores called Voentorgs, where she could buy many of the things she needed.

  “But I’m not an officer,” she pointed out.

  “Yes, but I am.”

  “You are?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Alexander Belov, first lieutenant. Impressed?”

  “Skeptical,” she said. Alexander laughed. Tatiana didn’t want him to be old enough to be a first lieutenant. “What’s the medal for?” she asked, looking at his chest.

  “Military valor,” he said with an indifferent shrug.

  “Oh?” Her mouth lifted in a timid, admiring smile. “What did you do that was so military and valiant?”

  “Nothing much. Where do you live, Tania?”

  “Near Tauride Park—on the corner of Grechesky and Fifth Soviet,” she instantly replied. “Do you know where that is?”

  Alexander nodded. “I patrol everywhere. You live with your parents?”

  “Of course. With my parents, my grandparents, my sister, and my twin brother.”

  “All in one room?” Alexander asked, without inflection.

  “No, we have two!” Tatiana exclaimed happily. “And my grandparents are on a housing list to get another room when one becomes available.”

  “How long,” asked Alexander, “have they been on this housing list?”

  “Since 1924,” replied Tatiana, and they both laughed.

  They were on the bus forever and a second.

  “I’ve never known anyone who was a twin,” said Alexander as they got off. “Are you close?”

  “Yes, but Pasha can be very irritating. He thinks because he is a boy he always has to win.”

  “You mean he doesn’t?”

  “Not if I can help it,” said Tatiana, glancing away from his teasing eyes. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  “No,” said Alexander. “I was my mother and father’s only child.” He blinked and then quickly continued, “We’ve come full circle, haven’t we? Fortunately, we’re not far from the store. Do you feel like walking, or do you want to wait for bus 22?”

  Tatiana watched him.

  Did he just say, was?

  Did he just say, I was my mother and father’s only child? “We can walk,” Tatiana let out slowly, staring thoughtfully into his face and not moving. From his high forehead to his square jaw, his facial bones were prominent and clearly visible to her curious eyes. And all were set in what seemed like cement at the moment. As if he were grinding his teeth together. Carefully, she asked, “So where are you from, Alexander? You have a slight . . . accent.”

  “I don’t, do I?” he asked, looking down at her feet. “Are you going to be all right walking in those shoes?”

  “Yes, I’ll be fine,” she replied. Was he trying to change the subject? Her dress strap had fallen off her shoulder. Suddenly Alexander reached out and with his index finger pulled the strap back up, his fingertip tracing her skin. Tatiana turned red. She hated that about herself. She turned red all the time for no reason.

  Alexander stared at her. His face relaxed into—what was that in his eyes? It looked almost like bedazzlement. “Tania—”

  “Come on, let’s walk,” Tatiana said, mindful of the protracted daylight and the burning embers and his voice. There was something nauseating about these sudden feelings clinging to her like wet clothes.

  The sandals were hurting her feet, but she didn’t want to let him know it. “Is the store far from here?”

  “Not far,” he said. “We will have to stop at the barracks for a minute. I’ve got to sign out. I’ll have to blindfold you the rest of the way. I can’t have you knowing where the soldiers’ barracks are, can I?”

  Tatiana was not about to look at Alexander to see if he was joking.

  “So,” she said, trying to sound casual, “here we are, and we haven’t talked about the war.” She put on her purposeful serious face. “Alexander, what do you think of Hitler’s actions?”

  Why did he look infinitely amused by her? What had she said that was so amusing? “Do you really want to talk about the war?”

  “Of course,” she maintained. “It’s a grave matter.”

  The look of wonder did not leave his eyes. “It’s just war,” he said. “It was so inevitable. We’ve been waiting for it. Let’s go this way.”

  They walked past Mikhailovsky Palace or Engineer’s Castle, as it was sometimes called, over the short Fontanka Canal bridge at the aqueous intersection of the Fontanka and Moika canals. Tatiana loved the slightly arched granite bridge, and sometimes she would climb on top of the low parapets and walk the ledge. Not today, of course. She wasn’t going to be a child today.

  They walked past the western end of Letniy Sad, the Summer Garden, and came out onto the grassy parade grounds of Marsovo Póle, the Field of Mars. “We need to leave this country to Hitler,” said Alexander, “or we need to stay and fight for Mother Russia. But if we stay, it’s a fight to the death.” He pointed. “The barracks are just across the field.”

  “To the death? Really?” Tatiana looked up excitedly and slowed down on the grass. She wanted to take off her shoes. “Are you going to go to the front?”

  “I go where they send me.” Alexander slowed down, too, then stopped. “Tania, why don’t you take off your shoes? You’ll be more comfortable.”

  “I’m fine,” she said. How did he know her feet were killing her? Was it that obvious?

  “Go on,” he prodded gently. “It will be easier for you to walk on the grass.”

  He was right. Breathing a sigh of relief, she bent, unstrapped the sandals, and slipped them off. Straightening up and raising her eyes to him, she said, “That is a little better.”

  Alexander was silent. “Now you’re really tiny,” he said at last.

  “I’m not tiny,” she returned. “You’re just outsized.” Blushing, she lowered her gaze.

  “How old are you, Tania?”

  “Older than you think,” Tatiana said, wanting to sound old and mature. The warm Leningrad breeze blew her blonde hair over her face. Holding her shoes with one hand, she attempted to sort out her hair with the other. She wished she had a rubber band for her ponytail. Standing in front of her, Alexander reached out and brushed the hair away. His eyes traveled from her hair to her eyes to her mouth where they stopped.

  Did she have ice cream all around her lips? Yes, that must be it. How awkward. She licked her lips, trying to clean the corners. “What?” she said. “Do I have ice cream—”

  “How do you know how old I think you are?” he asked. “Tell me, how old are you?”

  “I’m going to be seventeen soon,” she said.

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “You’re not even seventeen,” Alexander echoed.

  “Seventeen tomorrow!” she repeated indignantly.

  “Seventeen, right. Very grown up.” His eyes were dancing.

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-two,” he said. “Twenty-two, just.”

  “Oh,” she said, and couldn’t hide the disappointment in her voice.

  “What? Is that very old?” Alexander asked, failing to keep the smile off his face.

  “Ancient,” Tatiana replied, failing to keep the smile off her face.

  Slowly they walked across the Field of Mars, Tatiana barefoot and carrying the red sandals in her slightly swinging hands.

/>   Once they got to the pavement, she put her sandals back on and they crossed the street, stopping at a nondescript brown stucco four-story building, distinguished by its lack of a front door. A deep, darkened passageway ran inside. “These are the Pavlov Barracks,” Alexander said, “where I’m stationed.”

  “These are the famous Pavlov Barracks?” Tatiana looked up at the grubby building. “Surely this can’t be it.”

  “What were you expecting? Maybe a snowcapped palace?”

  “Do I come in?”

  “Just to the gate. I’m going to turn in my weapon and sign out. You’ll wait, all right?”

  “I’ll wait.” After walking through the long archway, they came to a manned iron gate, deep inside the entranceway. A young sentry lifted his hand in salute to Alexander. “Proceed, Lieutenant. Who is this with you?”

  “Tatiana. She’ll wait for me here, Sergeant Petrenko.”

  “Of course she will,” the guard said, eyeing Tatiana surreptitiously, but not so surreptitiously that she didn’t notice. Tatiana watched Alexander walk beyond the iron gate across a courtyard, salute a tall officer, then stop and chat briefly to a cluster of smoking soldiers, breaking into a laugh and striding off. Nothing distinguished Alexander from the others, except that he was taller than anyone else and had darker hair and whiter teeth, broader shoulders and a wider stride. Nothing but that he was vivid and they were muted.

  Petrenko asked if she wanted to sit down.

  She shook her head. Alexander had told her to wait right here, and she wasn’t going to move. Certainly she wasn’t going to be sitting in some other soldier’s chair, though she would have liked to sit.

  As she stood looking through the garrison gate, waiting for Alexander, Tatiana felt herself floating on the cloud of fate that laced her afternoon with improbability and desire.

  Desire for life.

  One of her Deda’s favorite sayings was, “Life is so unpredictable. That’s what I like least about it. If only life were more like math.”

  This one day Tatiana had to disagree with him.

  She would take a day like this over any day in school or in the factory. She decided she would take a day like this over any other day in her life.

  Taking a short step toward the guard, Tatiana asked, “Tell me, are civilians allowed inside?”

  Smiling, Petrenko said with a wink, “Well, it depends what the sentry gets for it.”

  “That will be quite enough, Sergeant,” Alexander said, walking briskly past him. “Let’s go, Tania.” He didn’t have his rifle anymore.

  Just as they were about to walk through the passageway onto the street, a soldier jumped out at them from a secret door Tatiana had not seen. He startled her so much that she actually yelped as if stung. Placing his hand on Tatiana’s back, Alexander shook his head. “Dimitri, why?”

  The soldier laughed noisily. “Your faces! That’s why.”

  Tatiana composed herself. Was she wrong, or did Alexander move not just closer to her but closer and to the front, as if to stand not next to her but to shield her? How absurd.

  Smiling, the soldier said, “So, Alex, who is your new friend?”

  “Dimitri, this is Tatiana.”

  Dimitri shook Tatiana’s hand vigorously, not letting go. Graciously, she pulled away.

  Dimitri was average height by Russian standards, short compared to Alexander. He had a Russian face: broad, slightly washed-out features, as if the colors had all run dry. His nose was wide and turned up, his lips extremely thin. They were two rubber bands loosely strung together. His throat was nicked in several places by his razor. Underneath his left eye he had a small black birthmark. Dimitri’s sidecap did not have an enameled red star like Alexander’s, nor were his shoulder boards metallic. Dimitri’s were red, with one thin blue stripe. His uniform tunic bore no medals.

  “Very nice to meet you,” said Dimitri. “So where are you two headed?”

  Alexander told him.

  “If you like,” said Dimitri, “I’ll be glad to help carry the purchases back to your house.”

  “We can manage, Dima, thanks,” said Alexander.

  “No, no, it’s nothing.” Dimitri smiled. “It’ll be my pleasure.” He was looking at Tatiana.

  “So, Tatiana, how did you happen to run into our lieutenant?” asked Di-mitri, walking alongside her while Alexander trailed behind. Tatiana turned around and found him staring at her with anxiety. Their glances touched and moved apart. Alexander caught up and led them down the street. The Voentorg store was just around the corner.

  “I ran into him on the bus,” Tatiana replied to Dimitri. “He took pity on me and offered his help.”

  “Well, it was certainly lucky for you,” Dimitri said. “No one likes to help out a damsel in distress as much as our Alexander.”

  “I’m hardly a damsel in distress,” Tatiana muttered, while Alexander prodded her with his hand, directing her inside the store and ending the conversation.

  Tatiana was amazed at what she found behind a simple glass door with a sign on it that said officers only. First, there was no line. Second, the store was stocked full of sacks and bags and smelled of smoked ham and fish, enveloped in the aroma of cigarettes and coffee.

  Alexander asked her how much money she had, and she told him, thinking the sum would stun him. He merely shrugged and said, “We could spend it all on sugar, but let’s be provident, shall we?”

  “I don’t know what I’m buying for. So how can I be provident?”

  “Buy,” he said, “as if you’re never going to see these goods again.”

  She gave him her money without a second thought.

  He bought for her four kilos of sugar, four kilos of white flour, three kilos of oats, five kilos of barley, three kilos of coffee, ten cans of marinated mushrooms, and five cans of tomatoes. Also she bought a kilo of black caviar, and with the few rubles that were left she bought two cans of ham to please her Deda. To please herself she bought a small bar of chocolate.

  Smiling, Alexander told her he would pay for the chocolate out of his own money and bought her five bars.

  He suggested she buy matches. Tatiana mildly scoffed at this, because, she pointed out—she thought cleverly—you couldn’t eat matches. He suggested she buy some motor oil. She told him she didn’t have a car. He said to buy it anyway. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to be spending her father’s money on something as silly as oil and matches.

  “But, Tania,” Alexander pointed out, “how are you going to put the flour you’re buying to good use if you don’t have a match to light the fire? It’ll be hard to bake that bread.”

  She relented only after she found out the matches were a few kopecks, and even then she bought only one box of 200.

  “Don’t forget the motor oil, Tania.”

  “When I get a car, I’ll buy the motor oil.”

  “What if there is no kerosene this winter?” said Alexander.

  “So what?” she said. “We have electricity.”

  He folded his arms. “Buy it,” he said.

  “Did you say this winter?” Tatiana waved him off. “What are you talking about, winter? It’s June. We’re not going to be fighting the Germans this winter.”

  “Tell that to the Londoners,” said Alexander. “Tell that to the French, to the Belgians, to the Dutch. They’ve been fighting . . .”

  “If you can call what the French did fighting.”

  Laughing, Alexander said, “Tatiana, buy the motor oil. You won’t regret it.”

  She would have listened to him, but the voice of her father in her head was stronger, admonishing her for wasting his money. She refused.

  She asked the shop assistant for a rubber band and tied up her hair nice and neat while Alexander was paying. Tatiana asked how they were going to get all the provisions home.

  Dimitri said, “Don’t worry. That’s why I came along.”

  “Dima,” said Alexander. “I really think we’ll be all right.”

 
“Alexander,” said Tatiana. “We do have a lot of . . .”

  “Dimitri the packhorse,” said Dimitri. “Glad to be of service to you, Alexander.” He smirked.

  Tatiana noted the smirk, remembering her feeling that when Dimitri walked into the store, past the glass door with the sign officers only, he had been as surprised as Tatiana to find himself inside the Voentorg.

  “Are you and Alexander in the same unit?” Tatiana asked Dimitri as they piled her provisions into wooden apple crates and left the store.

  “Oh, no, no,” said Dimitri. “Alexander is an officer, and I’m just a lowly private. No, he is a number of ranks above me. Which,” Dimitri said with his smirk, “allows him to send me to the front in Finland.”

  “Not Finland,” corrected Alexander mildly. “And not to the front, but to check out reinforcements at Lisiy Nos. What are you complaining about?”

  “I am not complaining. I’m lauding your farsightedness.”

  Tatiana stole a glance at Alexander, uncertain how to respond to the ironic stretching of Dimitri’s rubber lips.

  “Where is this Lisiy Nos?” she asked.

  “The Karelian Isthmus,” Alexander replied. “Are you going to be all right walking?”

  “Of course.” Tatiana couldn’t wait to get home. Her sister would die when Tatiana showed up with two soldiers. She carried the lightest crate, the one with the caviar and coffee.

  “Is that too heavy for you?” Alexander asked.

  “No,” she said. Actually, it was quite heavy, and she didn’t know how she was going to get to the bus. They were going to the bus, weren’t they? They weren’t planning to walk to Fifth Soviet from the Field of Mars?

  The pavement was narrow, so they walked in single file, Alexander leading, Tatiana second, and Dimitri bringing up the rear.

  “Alexander,” Tatiana panted, “are we planning to . . . walk home?” She was out of breath.

  Alexander stopped walking. “Give me that,” he said.

  “I’m really fine.”

  He put down his crate, took hers, and placed it on top, lifting both crates easily. “Your feet must be killing you in those shoes. Come on. Let’s go.”