Papa shot up and hit her across the face so hard that she fell sideways from her chair.

Alexander shot up and shoved Tatiana’s father away. “No,” he said. “No.”

“Get out!” yelled Papa. “This is family business. Get the hell out!”

Alexander helped Tatiana to her feet. They stood between the couch and the dining table, close to Dasha, who was holding her shaking head in her hands. She wouldn’t get up. She and Dimitri continued to sit. Papa and Mama both stood next to each other and panted.

Tatiana’s nose was bleeding. But now Alexander was between her and her father. Pressing herself against Alexander and holding on to his sleeve, Tatiana shouted, “Papa, you can hit me all you want. You can kill me, too, if you like! It still won’t bring Pasha back. And nobody is leaving, because there is nowhere for us to go!”

Screaming, Papa went for her again but couldn’t get past Alexander. “No,” Alexander said, shaking his head, one of his arms extended behind him holding Tatiana, one of his arms in front of Papa.

A wailing Dasha finally stood up and rushed to her father, grabbing his arms. “Papochka, Papochka, don’t, please.” Whirling to Tatiana, Dasha cried, “Look what you’ve done!” And tried to get around Alexander, who stopped her.

“What are you doing?” he asked quietly.

Uncomprehending, Dasha stared at him. “What, you’re defending her still? Look what she’s done!”

Mama was crying. Papa was still screaming, red in the face. Dimitri continued to stare into his plate. Tatiana was behind Alexander as he and Dasha squared off. “Stop it,” he said. “She hasn’t done anything. All of you, stop it. Maybe if you had listened to her back in June when you could have gotten Pasha out, you wouldn’t all be standing here fighting each other, and your son and brother might still be alive. Now it’s too late. But now you keep your hands off her.”

Turning to Tatiana, Alexander asked, “Are you all right?” Taking a napkin off the table, he handed it to her and said, “Hold the bridge of your nose to stop the bleeding. Go on. Quick.”

Then he faced Tatiana’s father. “Georgi Vasilievich,” said Alexander, “I understand you were trying to save your son.” He paused. “Believe me, I know what you were doing. But don’t take it out on Tania.”

Papa threw down his vodka glass, cursed, and stumbled into the next room. Mama followed him, slamming the door behind her. Tatiana heard Mama’s sobs. “It’s always like this,” she said unsteadily. “She cries, and someone goes in to apologize. Usually it’s me.”

Dasha was still standing glaring at Alexander. “I cannot believe,” she said, “that you just sided with her against me.”

“Don’t give me that shit, Dasha,” Alexander said loudly. “You think I sided against you because I wouldn’t let you hit your little sister who has a broken leg? Why don’t you pick on someone your own size? Or why don’t you hit me? I know why,” Alexander went on angrily. “Because you’d only be able to do it once.”

“You’re right,” Dasha said, and tried to slap him.

He grabbed her hand, pushing it hard away. “You’re out of control, Dasha,” he said. “And I’m leaving.”

Dimitri, who hadn’t said a word, sighed, stood and left with Alexander.

As soon as they were out the door, Dasha went for Tatiana, who couldn’t stand and fell onto the dining table, right against the mashed potatoes she had made an hour ago.

“Now look what you’ve done!” Dasha yelled. “Look what you’ve done!”

The door swung open, and Alexander came through. Grabbing Dasha by the arm and yanking her away from Tatiana, he said, “Tania, can you give us a minute, please?”

Tatiana went out, shutting the door behind herself, still holding the napkin to her nose.

She heard Alexander shouting and then Dasha shouting.

She and Dimitri stood in the hallway and looked at each other dumbly. Shrugging, Dimitri said, “He’s like that. He’s got that foundling temper.”

Tatiana wanted to say that she had never seen him lose it before tonight but remained silent, trying to listen. Dimitri said, “He needs to stay out of it and let the family take care of its own business. Don’t you think? Tomorrow it will all be better.”

Tatiana said, “Reminds me of that old joke: ‘Vasili, why do you beat me all the time? I haven’t done anything wrong.’ And Vasili replies, ‘You should be thankful. If I knew what you were doing, I’d kill you.’ ”

Dimitri laughed as if that were the funniest thing he had heard all day.

She heard Alexander’s voice from inside the room. “Can’t you see?” he was yelling at Dasha. “She isn’t driving me away, you are—by your behavior. How do you think I can ever take your side when you hit your sister?”

Dasha said something.

“Dasha, don’t give me your stupid apologies. I don’t need them.” Pause. “I can’t continue, no.”

From inside the door Tatiana heard hysterical sobbing. “Please, Alex, please don’t go, please, I’m sorry, you’re right, my love, you’re right. Please don’t go. What can I do? Do you want me to apologize to her?”

“Dasha, if you touch your sister again, I will finish with you instantly,” Tatiana heard Alexander say. “Do you understand?”

“I will never hit her again,” Dasha promised.

Silence from the room.

Tatiana was dumbstruck.

Not knowing where to look, she wiped her bleeding nose and looked at Dimitri, shrugging her shoulders. “Can’t have a moment alone even to fight,” she said. “Well, at least that worked out.” Her body began to slide down.

Dimitri picked her up, sat her on the sofa in the hallway, and wiped her face, patting her back. “Are you all right?” he kept saying.

The Sarkovs knocked on their hall door, also wanting to know if everything was all right. One fight in the communal apartment and everyone knew. Everyone heard. Everything.

“It’s great,” said Tatiana. “Just a little argument. Everything is fine.”

Summarily, Dasha walked out of the room and apologized sullenly to Tatiana. She went back inside to be with Alexander and closed the door. Tatiana asked Dimitri to go and then limped upstairs to the roof, where she sat and prayed for a bomb.

She saw Alexander walk out of the stairwell doors and come toward her. Tatiana was sitting talking to Anton, and though her heart had skipped a beat, she didn’t acknowledge him. Her hands were in Anton’s hands. Anton nudged her and stopped talking. Sighing, Tatiana turned to Alexander. “What?” she said unhappily.

“Give me your hand,” he whispered.

“No.”

“Give me your hand.”

Loudly she said, “Anton, you remember Dasha’s Alexander? Shake hands, why don’t you?”

Anton let go of Tatiana and shook hands with Alexander, who said, “Anton, will you excuse us for a moment?”

Reluctantly Anton scooted away on his haunches, still staying close enough to overhear.

“Let’s move away from him,” Alexander said to Tatiana.

“It’s hard for me to move around so much. I’m fine right here.”

Without arguing further, Alexander picked Tatiana up and walked a few steps away to set her down in the corner of the roof where there was no Anton and no Mariska—the seven-year-old girl who practically lived on the roof because her parents were drunk down on the second floor.

“Give me your hands, Tania.”

Unwillingly Tatiana complied. Her hands were shaking. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly. “Does this happen often?”

“I’m fine. It happens every once in a while.” She shook her head, “Why?”

“I will never let anyone hurt you,” he said.

“But what good is it? Now they’re all angry at me. You’ve just had a bit of Dasha, you’re going to leave, but I’m still here, in that bed, in that room, in that hallway. I’m still the trash.”

His face was full of pity and feeling. “I haven’t had a bit of Dasha. I will not let them hurt you. I don’t give a shit if Dasha finds out about us, or if Dimitri—” He broke off. Tatiana strained to listen. “I don’t give a shit if I expose us to all the world. I will not let anyone hurt you.” He paused, peering into her face. “And you know it. So if you don’t want to see me hang, or ruin your plans to spare Dasha from the truth, I suggest you be more careful around people who might hit you.”