“Where do you come from?” she asked. “Do they not do this in your America? Here in Russia, parents hit their children, and the children take it. Big sisters hit their little sisters, and the little sisters take it. That’s just how it is.”

“I understand,” Alexander said. “But you’re too small to let anyone hit you. Plus, he is drinking too much. It makes him more volatile. You must be more careful around him.”

His hands were soothing and warm. Tatiana half-closed her eyes, imagining only one thing. Her mouth parted in a silent moan.

“Babe, don’t do that,” Alexander said, his hands holding hers tighter.

“Shura, I’m lost,” said Tatiana. “I don’t know what to do. I’m completely lost.”

Suddenly she pulled her hands away and with her eyes motioned behind him. Dasha was coming toward them from the stairwell.

She stopped near them and said, “I came to see my sister.” She looked from Alexander to Tatiana. “I didn’t know you were still here. You said you had to go.”

“I did have to go,” Alexander said, standing up. He gave Dasha a quick peck. “I’ll see you in a few days, and you, Tania, go and get your nose looked at. Make sure it’s not broken.”

Tatiana was barely able to nod.

After he left, Dasha sat next to her. “What did he want?”

“Nothing. He wanted to see if I was all right.” In that instant something overcame Tatiana, and before she opened her mouth and told Dasha everything, she said, “You know what, Dasha? You’re my older sister and I love you, and I’m going to be all right tomorrow, but right now you’re the last person I want to talk to. I realize I do it too often—bow to you when you want me to talk, or to go away, or whatever. Well, tomorrow I will bow to you again, but right now I don’t want to talk to you. I just want to sit here and think.” Tatiana paused and said pointedly, “So please, Dasha, go away.”

Dasha didn’t move. “Look, I’m sorry, Tania, I really am. But you shouldn’t have said what you said to Papa and Mama. You know how broken up they are about Pasha. You know they already blame themselves.”

“Dasha, I don’t want to hear your backhanded apology!”

“What’s gotten into you?” asked Dasha. “You never talked that way before. To anyone.”

“Please, Dasha, please. Go away.”

Tatiana sat on the roof until morning, wrapped in the old cardigan, her legs cold, her face cold.

She was stunned by her unwavering intimacy with Alexander. Though they hadn’t spoken much, though he had been cool to her, though the last words they had exchanged were bitter, she had no doubt as she laid into her mother and father that if she needed defending, the man who went to find her at Luga would stand up for her. That conviction had given her the strength to yell at Papa, to say the insulting thing to him, no matter how true it was. No matter how much she had wanted to say it, she never would have dared had she not felt Alexander’s strength.

And when Tatiana stood behind him, she felt even braver, not caring for her bleeding nose, for her throbbing ribs. She knew he would not let even Dasha hurt her; she knew this as she knew her own heart, and that knowledge in the dark of night suddenly made her at peace with herself, at peace with her life, and at peace even with Dasha.

Dimitri, for all his purported feelings for Tatiana, had done nothing, as she knew he wouldn’t. Her opinion of Dimitri hadn’t changed a whit. Dimitri was a Soviet man. She did not blame Dimitri for this—for being true to his nature.

Yet she was using all her strength to deny her own: Tatiana knew that she belonged irrevocably to Alexander.

She thought she could extricate herself from him, that she could go on with her life somehow, that he could go on with his.

It was all a sham.

This wasn’t a way of getting over a passing crush on your older sister’s swain. This was the moon of Jupiter and the sun of Venus aligning in the sky over her head.

5

When Alexander walked into his quarters, Dimitri was lying down in his top bunk.

“What’s going on?” said Alexander tiredly.

“You tell me,” said Dimitri.

“Let’s see. Didn’t I just see you? I’m going to sleep. I have to wake up at five tomorrow.”

“I’ll get to the point, then,” Dimitri said, hopping off the bunk. “I want you to end the charade you’re playing with my girl.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Can’t I just have this one thing for myself? You already have a good life, don’t you? Think about all the things you have that you want. You’re a lieutenant in the Red Army. You have a company of men obeying your every order. I’m not in your company—”

“No, but you’re in mine, Private,” said Anatoly Marazov, jumping off the bunk next to Alexander’s. “It’s late, and we all have long days ahead of us. You shouldn’t be here raising your voice. You’re here by privilege.”

Dimitri saluted him. Alexander stood by quietly.

“At attention, Private,” Marazov said, coming up to Dimitri. “I thought when you came here you were just relaxing, waiting for your friend.”

“It’s just a small matter between me and the lieutenant, sir,” said Dimitri.

“It’s only a small matter, Private, when I’m not woken up out of a much-needed sleep. As soon as I’m awake, it ceases to be a small matter and becomes something else entirely. Now, at ease.” Marazov, who was in his long johns, walked around Dimitri, who was fully uniformed, and said, “Can this small matter wait till morning?”

Alexander stepped in. “Lieutenant, can you give us a few minutes?”

Trying not to smile, Marazov bowed his head. “As you wish, Lieutenant.”

“We will take it out in the hall.”

They stepped out into the corridor; Alexander closed the door behind him. “Dima, what’s the problem? Don’t get yourself into trouble with your commanding officer.”

“Cut the shit. Tell me, when is it enough for you?” Remaining at a distance from Alexander, Dimitri hissed, “You can have any girl in the world. Why do you want mine?”

It took all of Alexander’s strength not to ask Dimitri the same question. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. She was getting hurt. I helped her.”

Dimitri continued, “I’m just a grunt. I have to follow everybody’s orders and eat everybody’s shit. She is the only one who treats me like a human being.”

She can’t help it. She treats everybody like that. “But, Dima,” Alexander said, “you also have your life. Think of all the things you don’t have that you don’t want. You have not been sent down south, where men are falling into Hitler’s meat grinder. Marazov’s unit is staying here until the front comes to Leningrad. I’ve taken care of that. To help you.” He paused. “Because I’m your friend.” He took a step toward Dimitri. “I have been very good to you over the years. What has happened to our friendship?”

“Love happened,” snapped Dimitri. “She is more important to me now. I want to survive this fucking war—for her.”

“Oh, Dimitri,” said Alexander and fell silent. “So survive—for her. Who’s stopping you?”

Dimitri whispered, “Whatever silly crush she might have, it’s not real. How could it be? She doesn’t know who you are.” Dimitri paused. “Or does she?”

Alexander’s heart skipped erratically before he answered. The lightbulb next to them was broken. The one down the hall flickered on and off. Sounds of men laughing came from some of the rooms. Water was running. And still they stood silently across from one another. Alexander wondered what Di-mitri was referring to. His indiscreet past? America? He glared at Dimitri. “Of course she doesn’t,” he said at last. “She knows absolutely nothing.”

“Because if she did, Alexander, it would make things very dangerous, don’t you think? For us.”

Alexander took a step toward Dimitri, who put out his palms and backed into the wall. “Dimitri,” said Alexander, “don’t fuck with me. I told you, she knows nothing.”