4
At home Dasha was on the roof. Each building had already designated their air-raid workers, first clearing debris from the attics, then taking shifts on the roofs, watching for German planes.
Dasha was sitting down on the tar roofing paper, smoking a cigarette and talking loudly with the two youngest Iglenko brothers, Anton and Kirill. Near them were buckets of water and heavy bags of sand. Tatiana wanted to sit next to her sister but couldn’t.
Dasha got up and said, “Listen, I’m off. Will you be all right here?”
“Of course, Dasha. Anton will protect me.” Anton was Tatiana’s closest friend.
Dasha touched her sister’s hair. “Don’t stay up here too long. Are you tired? You’re home so late. We knew Kirov would be too far for you. Why don’t you get a job with Papa? You’ll be home in fifteen minutes.”
“Don’t worry, Dash. I’m fine.” She smiled as if to prove it.
After Dasha left, Anton Iglenko tried to jolly Tatiana out of her mood, but she didn’t want to talk to anyone. She just wanted to think for a minute, for an hour, for a year. Tatiana needed to think herself out of what she was feeling.
Finally she relented and played the dizzy geography game. She put her hands over her eyes while Anton spun her around, stopping her suddenly, and she had to point in the direction of Finland. In the direction of Krasnodar. Which way the Urals? Which way America?
Then Tatiana spun Anton.
They named as many geographical locations as they could think of, and when they were done, they counted up their correct points. As the winner, Tatiana got to jump up and down.
Tonight Tatiana did not jump up and down. She sat down heavily on the roof. All she could think about was Alexander and America.
Anton, a scrawny blond boy, said, “Don’t look so glum. It’s all exciting.”
“Is it?” she said.
“Why, yes. In two years, I’ll be able to join. Petka left yesterday.”
“Left yesterday for where?”
“For the front.” He laughed. “In case you didn’t notice, Tania, there’s a war on.”
“I noticed, all right,” said Tatiana, shaking a little. “Have you heard from Volodya?” Volodya was with Pasha in Tolmachevo.
“No. Kirill and I wish we could have gone. Kirill can’t wait to turn seventeen. He says the army will take him at seventeen.”
“The army will take him at seventeen,” said Tatiana, getting up.
“Tania, will somebody take you at seventeen?” Anton smiled.
“I don’t think so, Anton,” she replied. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Tell your mother I have some chocolate for her if she wants. Tell her to come by tomorrow evening.”
Tatiana went downstairs. Her grandparents were reading quietly on the couch. The small lamp was on. She squeezed in snugly between them, almost on both their laps.
“What’s the matter, dear?” said her grandfather. “Don’t be afraid.”
“Deda, I’m not afraid,” said Tatiana. “I’m just very, very confused.” And I have no one to talk to, she thought.
“About the war?”
Tatiana considered. Telling them was out of the question. Instead, she asked, “Deda, you always said to me, ‘Tania, there is so much still ahead of you. Be patient with life.’ Do you still feel that way?”
Her grandfather didn’t reply at first, and she felt she had her answer. “Oh, Deda,” she mouthed plaintively.
“Oh, Tania,” he said, putting his protective arm around her while her grandmother patted her knee. “Things have changed overnight in this world.”
“It does seem that way,” said Tatiana.
“Maybe you should be less patient.”
“That’s what I thought.” She nodded. “I think patience is overrated as a virtue anyway.”
“But be no less moral,” said Deda. “No less righteous. Remember the three questions I told you to ask yourself to know who you are.”
She wished Deda wouldn’t remind her. She had no interest in asking herself those questions tonight. “Deda, in this family we leave the righteousness to you,” Tatiana said, smiling weakly. “There is nothing left for the rest of us.”
His head of thick gray hair shaking, her grandfather said, “Tania, that’s all that’s left.”
In her bed Tatiana lay quietly and thought about Alexander. She thought about him not just telling her about his life but drowning her in it, the way he himself was drowned in it. As she listened to him, Tatiana had stopped breathing, her mouth remaining slightly open, so that Alexander could breathe his sorrow — from his words, from his own breath — into her lungs. He needed someone to bear the weight of his life.
Needed her.
Tatiana hoped she was ready.
She could not think about Dasha.