“What do you mean?” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him.

“I mean, open your legs and wrap them around me.” Holding her with one hand under her bottom, he moved her leg around his waist with the other hand. “Like this.”

“Shura, I… put me down.”

“No.”

Their wet lips would not stop.

When they opened their eyes, Alexander had to put Tatiana down, because six women from the village were standing at the clearing, holding their clothes baskets, staring at them with a look of perplexed and frankly disapproving confusion.

“We were just leaving,” Tatiana muttered as Alexander draped something wet over her shoulders to cover her see-through dress. She never wore a bra, didn’t own one, and for the first time in her life she was aware of her nipples poking out and being seen through a sheer item of clothing. It was as if suddenly she saw herself with Alexander’s eyes.

“Well, that will be all over Lazarevo tomorrow,” she said. “Could it be any more humiliating?”

“I would say yes,” said Alexander, leaning into her. “They could have come three minutes later.”

Turning bright red, Tatiana didn’t respond. Laughing, he put his arm around her.

When they got to the house, Tatiana in a wet dress and Alexander in wet trousers and nothing else, the old ladies looked mortified. “The clothes floated away,” Tatiana explained—unsatisfactorily, she felt. “We had to dive in and rescue them.”

“Well, I’ve never heard of such a thing happening,” mumbled Dusia, crossing herself. “In all my years of living.”

Alexander disappeared into the house, emerging five minutes later dressed in his khaki army trousers, black army boots, and the white ribbed sleeveless top Tatiana had sewn for him. She peered at him through the sheets she was haphazardly hanging. He was crouching as he rummaged through his rucksack. She watched Alexander in profile, his bare muscled arms, his soldier’s body, his spiky wet black hair, a cigarette in the corner of his lips—Tatiana’s breath was taken away from her, he looked so beautiful. He turned his head to her and smiled.

“I have a dry dress for you,” he said, and out of his rucksack he produced her white dress with red roses.

He told her how he had retrieved it from Fifth Soviet.

“I don’t think it’ll fit me anymore,” she said, very moved. “But maybe I’ll try it on another day?”

“Fine,” Alexander said, stuffing it back into his rucksack. “You can wear it for me another day.” He picked up his rifle and all his belongings. “You don’t need anything. You’re done here. Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?”

“Away from here,” he said, lowering his voice. “Where we can be uninterrupted and alone.”

They stared at each other.

“Bring money,” he said.

“I thought you said we didn’t need anything?”

“And bring your passport. We might go to Molotov.”

The immense excitement Tatiana felt vanquished all guilt as she told the four ladies she was leaving. Naira said, “Are you going to be back for dinner?”

Slinging his rifle on his back and taking Tatiana by the hand, Alexander said, “Probably not.”

“But, Tania, our sewing circle is today at three.”

“Yes…” Alexander drew out. “Tania won’t be joining you today. But you ladies have a great session.”

They ran down to the river. Tatiana never even looked back.

“Where are we going?”

“Your grandparents’ house.”

“Why there? It’s such a mess.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“And we had such a fight there yesterday.”

“No.” He gazed at her. “You know what we had there yesterday?”

Tatiana knew. She made no reply but held his hand tighter.

When they got to the clearing, Tatiana walked inside the izba, which was empty but spotless. It was a one-room cabin with four long windows and a great big furnace stove in the center that took up half the room. There was not an item of furniture, but the wooden floor had been mopped, the windows were clean, and even the sheer white curtains had been washed and dried and no longer smelled moldy. Tatiana peeked out. Alexander was on his knees driving a tent stake into the ground. His back was to her. She put her hand on her heart. Come on, calm down, she told herself.

Walking outside, she collected some twigs into a bundle in case he wanted to make a fire.

Tatiana was paralyzed by fear and love, walking around the sandy pine-needle banks of the river Kama during a sunlit noon in June.

She took off her sandals and put her feet into the cool water. She could not go near Alexander now, but maybe later they could go swimming. “Watch out!” she heard from behind her. Alexander sprinted into the water and dove in, wearing just his army skivvies.

“Tania, want to go swimming?” he called to her.

Her heart pounding, she shook her head. “I see you know how to swim very well,” she said, watching him do the backstroke.

He lifted his face to her from the water. “I know how to swim,” he said. “Come in, I’ll race you.” He grinned. “Underwater. All the way to the other side.”

If she weren’t so nervous, she would have grinned back and then taken him up on it.

Alexander came out, pulling back his wet hair. His naked chest, his naked arms, his naked legs glistened. He was laughing; to Tatiana he appeared to be glowing from the inside out. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his taut, magnificent body. His wet skivvies clung to him—

No, she was not going to make it.

“Feels good,” Alexander said, coming up to her. “Come on, let’s swim.”

Tatiana shook her head, backing away on unsteady legs to the edge of the clearing, where she picked some blueberries off the low bushes. Please, calm down, she kept repeating to herself. Please.

“Tatia,” he called quietly from right behind her, and she turned around. He was drying himself off. She handed him some blueberries; he took them but didn’t let go of her hand, gently pulling her down to the grass. “You sweet girl, sit down for a minute.”

Tatiana sat on the grass, and Alexander knelt in front of her. Leaning forward, he very softly kissed her lips. Tatiana stroked his arms. She could barely breathe.

“Tatia… Tatiasha,” he said huskily, taking her hands and kissing them, kissing her wrists and the insides of her forearms.

“Yes?” she said, just as huskily.

“We’re alone together.”

“I know,” she replied, suppressing a moan.

“We have privacy.”

“Hmm.”

“Privacy, Tania!” Alexander said intensely. “For the first time in our life you and I have real privacy. We had it yesterday. And we have it today.”

She couldn’t take the emotion in his crème brûlée eyes. She lowered her gaze.

“Look at me.”

“I can’t,” she whispered.

Alexander cupped her small face in his massive hands. “Are you… scared?”

“Terrified.”

“No. Please, don’t be scared of me.” He kissed her deeply on the lips, so deeply, so fully, so lovingly, that Tatiana felt the aching pit inside her open up and flare upward. She tottered, physically unable to continue sitting upright. “Tatiasha,” he said, “why are you so beautiful? Why?”

“I’m a rag,” she said. “Look at you.”

He hugged her. “God, what a blessing.” Pulling away, Alexander took her hands. “Tania, you are my miracle, you know that, don’t you? You are the one God sent me to give me faith.” He paused. “He sent you to redeem me, to comfort me, and to heal me—and that’s just so far,” he added with a smile. “I’m barely able to hold myself together right now, I want to make love to you so much…” Here he stopped. “I know you’re afraid. I will never hurt you. Will you come into my tent with me?”

“Yes,” Tatiana said, softly but audibly.

Alexander carried her in his arms to his tent, setting her down on his blanket and closing the tent flaps behind them. It was subdued and dusky inside, with only the barest sunlight filtering in through the open ties. “I would have brought you inside the nice, clean house,” he said, smiling, “but we have no quilts, no pillows, and it’s all wood and a hard furnace top.”