Alexander said nothing, closing his eyes.

And suddenly—the flip side. His eyes were closed. Hers were open.

“Oh, no, Shura…” she said. “What do they do to wives of deserters?”

Alexander did not reply. He tried to go around her, but Tatiana stopped him, putting both her hands on his chest. “Don’t turn your face from me,” she said. “Tell me, what does the Commissariat of Internal Affairs do with wives of soldiers who desert, soldiers who run into the woods in marshy Finland, what do they do with the Soviet wives who remain behind?”

Alexander didn’t answer her.

“Shura!” she cried. “What is the NKVD going to do with me? The same thing they do to wives of MIAs? Or POWs? What did Stalin call it, protective custody? What is that a euphemism for?”

Alexander was silent.

“Shura!” Tatiana wasn’t letting him off the bombed-out bridge. “Is that a euphemism for being shot? Is it?” She was panting.

Tatiana stared at Alexander in disbelief, inhaling the cold wet air, her nose hurting from the frost, and she thought back to the river Kama—the icy water every morning on her naked body as it touched him, thought back to all Alexander had tried to hide from her in the corners of his soul where he hoped she would not peek. But in Lazarevo, Tatiana’s eyes saw only the Kama sunrise. It was only here in dreary Leningrad that all was exposed, the darkness and the light, the day and the night. “Are you telling me,” she breathed out, “that whether you go or stay, I am done for?”

Turning his agonized face away from her, Alexander said nothing.

Tatiana’s scarf fell off her head. Numbly she picked it up and held it in her hands. “No wonder you couldn’t tell me. But how could I not have seen?” she whispered.

“How? Because you never think of yourself,” Alexander said, grabbing his rifle, moving from foot to foot, not looking at her. “And that’s why,” he said, “I wanted you to stay in Lazarevo. I wanted you to stay as far away from here, as far away from me, as possible.”

Tatiana shivered, putting her hands inside the pockets of her coat. “What did you think?” she said. “If you kept me in Lazarevo, you’d keep me safe?” She shook her head. “How long do you think it would take the village Soviet right next to the bathhouse to receive the order by that long Lend-Lease telegraph line to have me come in for a few questions?”

“That’s why I liked Lazarevo so much,” he said, not looking at her. “The village Soviet didn’t have a telegraph line.”

“Is that why you liked Lazarevo so much?”

Alexander lowered his head to his chest, his warm eyes cooling off, his breath a vapor. His back to the stone wall, he said, “Now do you see? Now do you understand? Are your eyes opened?”

“Now I see.” Everything. “Now I understand.” Everything. My eyes are opened.

“Do you see there is only one way out before us?”

Narrowing her eyes at him, Tatiana stopped talking, backing away from Alexander, tripping over her scarf, and falling on the bombed, deserted bridge under the liquid sky. Alexander went to help her up and then let go. He could not continue to touch her, Tatiana saw that. And for a moment she could not touch him. But it was just a moment. At first it was black, but the clearing inside her own head made her breathless. Suddenly, through the darkness, there was light, light! She saw it up ahead and she flew to it, knowing what it was, and before she opened her mouth to speak, she felt such relief as if her weight—and his—had been lifted.

Tatiana looked at Alexander with her clearest eyes.

Perplexed, he stared at her. She stretched out her arms to him and said quietly, “Shura, look, look here.”

He looked at her.

“All around you is darkness,” she said. “But in front of you I stand.”

He looked at her.

“Do you see me?” she said faintly.

“Yes.” Just as faintly.

She came closer to him, stepping over the broken granite. Alexander sank to the ground.

Tatiana studied him for a few moments and then descended to her knees. Alexander put his face into his shaking hands.

Tatiana said, “Darling, soldier, husband. Oh, God, Shura, don’t be afraid. Will you listen to me, please? Look at me.”

Alexander would not.

“Shura,” Tatiana said, clenching her fists to keep her composure. Stop. Breathe. Beg for strength. “You think your death is our only choice? Remember what I told you in Lazarevo? Do you not remember me in Lazarevo? I cannot bear the thought of you dying. And I will do everything in my pathetic, powerless life to keep that from happening. You have no chance here in the Soviet Union. No chance. The Germans or the Communists will kill you. That’s their sole objective. And if you die at war, your death will mean that for the rest of my life I will be eating poisoned mushrooms in the Soviet Union, alone and without you! And you know it. Your greatest sacrifice will be for my life in darkness.” Come on, Tania, be strong. “You wanted me to let you go? You wanted my faithful face to free you?” Her voice could not keep from breaking. “Well, here I am! Here is my face.” She wished he would look at her. “Go, Alexander. Go!” she said. “Run to America, and never look back.” Stop. Breathe. Breathe again. She couldn’t even wipe her eyes. All right, I cried, but I think I did well, Tatiana thought. And besides, he wasn’t looking at me.

Taking his hands away from his face, Alexander glared at her for several moments before he spoke. “Tatiana, are you out of your mind? I need you right now,” he said slowly, “to stop being ridiculous. Can you do that for me?”

“Shura,” Tatiana whispered, “I never imagined that I could love anyone like I love you. Do this for me. Go! Return home, and don’t think about me again.”

“Tania, stop it, you don’t mean a word of that.”

“What?” she exclaimed, still on her knees. “Which part don’t you think I mean? Have you be alive in America or dead in the Soviet Union? You think I don’t mean that? Shura, it’s the only way, and you know it.” She paused when he did not speak. “I know what I would do if I were you.”

Alexander shook his head. “What would you do? You would leave me to die? Leave me in the Fifth Soviet apartment, living with Inga and Stan, orphaned and alone?”

Frantically Tatiana chewed her lip. It was love or truth.

Love won.

Steeling herself, she said, “Yes,” in a fragment of a voice. “I would choose America over you.”

Alexander broke down. “Come here, you lying wife,” he said, bringing her close, encompassing her.

The ice on the Fontanka Canal was just forming where they were crumbled against the granite parapets.

“Shura, listen to me,” Tatiana said into Alexander’s chest, “if no matter which way we twist in this world, we are faced with this impossible choice, if no matter what we do, I cannot be saved, then I beg of you, I beg of you—”

“Tania! God, I will not listen to this anymore!” he shouted, pushing her away and jumping to his feet, holding the rifle in his hands.

She stared at him pleadingly, still on the ice. “You can be saved, Alexander Barrington. You. My husband. Your father’s only son. Your mother’s only son.” Tatiana extended her hands to him in supplication. “I am Parasha,” she whispered. “And I am the cost of the rest of your life. Please! There was once a time I saved myself for you. Look at me, I’m on my knees.” She was weeping. “Please, Shura, please. Save your one life for me.”

“Tatiana!” Alexander pulled her up to him so hard, he lifted her off her feet. She clung to him, not letting go. “You are not going to be the cost of the rest of my life!” he said, setting her down. “Now, I need you to stop this.”

She shook her head into his chest. “I won’t stop.”

“Oh, yes, you will,” he said, squeezing her to him.