Beautiful Assassin

23

I was up most of the night, and now as morning broke, I lay in bed, thinking about the various revelations of the previous day. Vasilyev informing me that the captain was actually someone named Charles Pierce. My emotional meeting with Mrs. Roosevelt, followed by the equally emotional one with Jack—I still couldn’t bring myself to call him Charlie, if that was his real name. And on top of everything, receiving the letter informing me that my “dead” husband wasn’t actually dead.
I picked up the letter from the nightstand and read it for what must have been the sixth or seventh time. It said Kolya was in a hospital recovering from his wounds. But alive. I kept wondering if the letter was real, or if it was just more of Vasilyev’s trickery. I wouldn’t have put it past the chekisty to do something like this. Perhaps Viktor had told them that I’d considered running off with him, and this was their way of ensuring that I’d go back to the Soviet Union. They knew how to play upon both my loyalty as well as my guilt. This will give you something to look forward to when you return home, Vasilyev had said to me. And yet, what if it were true? I wondered. What if Kolya were alive? Though I didn’t love him as a wife, didn’t I owe him something? Wasn’t I at least obliged to be there for him, to tell him about the last moments of our daughter’s life? Didn’t he deserve better than for me just to vanish without a word, to bring shame on him, as of course my defection would back home. And more than shame, I knew there was the very real possibility that my actions would bring harsher consequences to bear on him. Should he pay for my actions?
I was thinking about these thoughts when my phone rang.
“It’s me,” came the captain’s voice. “I tried to come by, but one of your secret police is watching your room. It would be better if you met me.”
I thought of telling him then about the letter, but I decided to hold off.
“Where do you want to meet?” I asked.
“Take the elevator down to the third floor. Make sure that the man outside doesn’t follow you though.”
I got dressed but then threw on my bathrobe over my clothes. I stuffed the letter in the pocket of my tunic. I didn’t put my shoes on but rather wrapped a towel around them and left the room with them under my arm. I passed the chekist officer, the thin, bony one, who was slumped against the wall, smoking a cigarette and pretending to read a magazine.
“Do you know where I can get some clean towels?” I asked him.
He glanced up, surprised that I spoke to him. With his thumb he pointed at a cart halfway down the hall. I thanked him and walked on. As I passed the elevator, I quickly hit the down button, but continued on to where a Negro woman with a cart was cleaning rooms. With hand gestures I indicated that I wanted a clean towel, which she gave me. I glanced back over my shoulder to see the man still leaning against the wall. I walked slowly back toward my room, trying to time my passing of the elevator just as it arrived on my floor. Luckily the doors opened as I reached the elevator, so I was able to slip in and push the button before the man could follow me. Once safely ensconced, I removed my robe and put my shoes on.
The captain was waiting for me when I got off. He leaned in to kiss me. He must have felt me stiffen a little, for he said, “Is everything all right?”
I nodded.
“Come, we have to hurry,” he said, taking my hand and leading me down the hall. We entered a room where two men dressed in dark suits waited.
“These men are going to help you,” he said to me.
He told me their names, though I don’t recall what they were, and besides, they were no doubt as phony as Jack Taylor’s had been. I do recall that they said they were from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. One of the two did most of the talking. He was middle-aged, good-looking in an austere sort of way. He was all-business, never smiling once. He told me how that evening Mrs. Roosevelt was to hold a press conference in the lobby of the hotel, where she was going to officially thank the Soviet delegation for coming to America. Then we were to gather for a final dinner and reception, which was to be attended by a large crowd. He told me that during the meal I was to excuse myself to go to the bathroom. But that I was to make sure to leave my handbag and coat at the table, to indicate that I would be returning. In one of the stalls of the bathroom there would be a bag waiting for me. It would be filled with civilian clothes I was to change into, as well as a wig. When I left the bathroom they would be waiting to take me away in a car.
“Where will I go?” I asked.
“We can’t divulge the details,” the dark-haired man explained. “But you’ll be brought to a safe place. You’ll stay there until our government issues a statement saying that you’ve defected and have requested political asylum.”
“Then what?” I asked.
“There’ll be some name-calling on both sides. We’ll denounce your country for spying; then your side will issue denials and will probably lodge a formal complaint against us, demanding your return. Both countries will beat their chests for a while, but we don’t believe either side will push it too far. I doubt your Mr. Stalin will want to risk endangering our lend-lease program. Behind the scenes, our government will be working with yours to broker a deal. But that won’t concern you. After a time it should all blow over. At least publicly.”
“What will happen to me?”
This man looked at Charlie and furrowed his mouth into a cautionary O.
“You’ll have to go into hiding, of course.”
Though I already knew the answer, I still asked, “What for?”
“You will have caused your government much embarrassment. Besides, you know too much. So they’ll come after you. But we can protect you. We’ll give you a new identity, set you up someplace with a new name and a job. But before all that, we’re going to want to interview you.”
“Interview me?” I asked.
“We’re going to want to know everything you know about the Soviet spy network in America.”
“I don’t really know that much.”
“We’re still going to want to talk to you.” He glanced at Charlie, as if he considered this a subject that should already have been explained to me. “If you wish us to help you, Miss Levchenko, you’re going to have to play ball with us. Do you have any questions?” the man asked.
“No, I do not think so. Oh, there is one question. Will I be able to write to anyone back home?”
“No,” he said.
“Not even family?”
“Sorry. You will have no contact at all with anyone from your past. Do you understand?”
I had the sensation of a large steel door slamming shut behind me, leaving me completely, utterly alone.
I nodded. We stood and shook hands. And just like that I’d left one world and entered another.
“I’d like to officially welcome you to the United States of America, Miss Levchenko,” the man said.
Charlie led me out of the room. I was silent, my thoughts occupied. As we walked down the hall, he said to me, “Are you sure you’re all right?”
From my pocket, I took out the letter about Kolya and handed it to him.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Read it.”
He stopped and read it slowly, then shook his head. “Well, you know it’s a fake,” he said.
“Yes, it could be.”
“Not could be. You know it is. They’re trying to manipulate you. Trick you into returning home.”
“I’ve considered that.”
“Don’t you find it just a little too coincidental that it happens to come now?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
“You’re not considering going home, are you?”
I shrugged.
“But that’s crazy. If you return, you’ll be in danger. They just want to get you back home, Tat’yana. Can’t you see that it’s a trick?”
I nodded. “But what if it’s not a trick? What if the letter is true, and my husband is alive?”
“Your returning home isn’t going to do him any good, and it will only jeopardize yourself.”
“It might endanger him if I don’t go.”
“You don’t know that.”
“But I do,” I said.
“You said you didn’t love him.”
“He’s still my husand. I owe him something.”
Charlie’s face took on a wounded expression. He stared at me, then reached out and grasped my left hand.
“What about us, Tat’yana?”
“He will need me.”
“I need you,” he said. “I love you.”
“And I love you too,” I replied.
“Then stay here. After the war we can be together.”
Charlie leaned into me and kissed me, at first tentatively, then putting his arm around me, he kissed me with a passion that bordered on desperation. This time I found myself yielding to his kiss. I knew I loved Jack or Charlie or whatever his name was. Knew I loved him as I never could or would love Kolya. Still, I was confused, torn between my love for one man and my loyalty toward another.
“I will have to think about it,” I said.
“You don’t have time to think about it,” he replied. “Those men back there are making plans for your defection. Once we move forward on this, there’s no turning back.”
“Just give me a little while. Not long. Please.”
Charlie wagged his head in disappointment.
“All right,” he finally said.
“I’ll call you with my decision.”


When I returned to my room, the chekist officer was no longer out in the hall. Perhaps he had gone off in search of me. I paced my room for a long while, thinking. Would I choose loyalty and duty over love? The past over the future? My homeland over America? At one point, I found myself at the window, looking out. The autumn morning was sunny and clear, with a sparkling view of the ocean extending beyond the city’s buildings. It was the sort of bright, expansive day on which I had married Kolya, hardly five years earlier, though it seemed like a lifetime ago now, as if I were already an old woman looking back on my life and on the choices I had made. I tried to imagine my husband for a moment, alive, lying in a bed, thinking of me and Masha. I wondered if he had gotten any of my letters, if he knew she was dead. When I told him, for him it would be as if she just died that very moment. I thought of how we would grieve together over our loss, how I would hold him and try to comfort him. And when he’d recovered enough, I knew exactly what he would say, knew the engineer in him would strive to find a solution to our problem. He would tell me something about how we would have more children, just as Zoya had. But then I would have to tell him about that as well, and how there was to be no answer to our childlessness. Sadness and grief and our memories would have to be the bonds that united us as we grew old together. Then I thought about Charlie, how he made me feel, how light and airy my heart felt in his presence, and I wondered if I could give him up just because of my obligation toward Kolya. Finally, I picked up the phone and called Charlie’s room.
“It’s me,” I said.
“Have you made a decision?” he asked.
I paused for a moment, then said, “I have, yes.”
He was silent on the other end, waiting like a man on trial for his verdict. “For God’s sakes, Tat’yana, tell me!”
“I wish to defect.”
He gave out a nervous little laugh, then said, “That’s wonderful news, darling. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“In the meantime, be very careful. Don’t say or do anything that would give them the slightest indication of what you’re planning. I’ll meet you in the lobby at five for the press conference.”
A little before five there was a knock on the door. Expecting Captain Taylor, I was about to open it but at the last moment decided to ask who it was.
“It’s me, Vasilyev,” came the reply.
“What do you want?”
“We are to meet Mrs. Roosevelt downstairs for the press conference.”
“You’re early. I’m not finished getting ready.”
“A change in plans.”
“Come back in a little while,” I said.
“Open the door, Lieutenant,” he commanded in a voice that made me sense something was wrong.
I hesitated, a bad feeling working in my stomach like bile. I thought of not unlocking the door but then figured that that would only make me look all the more guilty. So I went ahead and opened it. Vasilyev was standing there, accompanied by the heavyset chekist officer.
“Where did you go earlier?” he said, entering my room.
“I had to get some clean towels.”
Vasilyev poked his head into the bathroom, glanced around.
“Put your coat on,” he commanded. There was something inflexible in his voice.
“I told you, I’m not ready.”
“You look fine. Get her coat,” he said, snapping his fingers to the other man, who went over to the bed and got my military tunic.
We got on the elevator, but instead of heading down, it started up. My stomach continued to churn.
“I thought you said we were going to the press conference.”
“In a while. They want to have a little chat first.”
“Who?”
“Some people,” was all Vasilyev offered. “You look a little tired, Lieutenant.”
“I didn’t sleep well.”
“It has been a long and strenuous trip for all of us. You’ll have plenty of time, however, to rest during our voyage home. Let’s hope that the seas are calm.”
He glanced at me when he said this.
We got out and headed down the hall until we stopped in front of a door. I knew then that something was terribly wrong.
“Who’s in there?” I asked.
Vasilyev turned to me. “I tried to protect you, Lieutenant,” he said, his voice restrained. “But you wouldn’t listen. Now it is out of my hands.”
I turned and bolted, running wildly down the hall. I hadn’t gotten more than half a dozen steps, though, before the secret policeman caught me, grabbing me roughly around the waist. He yanked me off my feet as if I weighed no more than a pillow. I screamed and he quickly covered my mouth with a meaty hand that smelled of tobacco. I tried to bite him, but he pressed my mouth firmly, painfully shut.
“Don’t be a fool, Lieutenant,” Vasilyev advised. He got close up to my face and whispered, “Your only chance is to cooperate with them. Give them what they want. Do you understand?”
The man dragged me into the room and someone else shut the door behind me. There I saw several other men. Gavrilov and Dmitri helped drag me over and force me into a small wooden chair. Next, they bound my legs to the chair with pieces of rope and my arms behind my back so that I couldn’t move. The rope dug painfully into my flesh.
“Bastard,” I cursed at Gavrilov.
“If I were you, you traitorous whore, I would shut my mouth,” he hurled back at me.
I started to scream for help but one of them put a gag over my mouth and tied it so tightly behind my head I thought I couldn’t breathe.
From behind me, I heard a familiar voice say, “Not too tight. We don’t want to leave any visible bruises.”
I turned my head to see Zarubin standing there.
“How are you, Lieutenant?” he said in that gritty voice of his.
He walked over and pulled up a chair and sat down in front of me, leaning toward me so that his knees almost touched mine.
“That doesn’t look very comfortable,” he said. “If you promise not to scream again, I will have it removed.”
I stared into his dull gray eyes. Though I hated him, I finally conceded a nod.
He motioned to one of the men behind me, who undid the gag and removed it. Then Zarubin leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs, as if he intended to be there for a while.
“So. Tell me what you and the captain talked about this morning.”
“I didn’t see the captain this morning.”
Zarubin took a weary breath and blew it out noisily through his nose. “We know you did. So stop lying. How much have you told him concerning Enormous?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t test my patience, Lieutenant. What did you tell him about what we know?”
“I told you, nothing.”
He sighed again, then gave a nod at the heavyset man. “Just don’t touch that pretty face of hers,” he instructed.
The chekist officer grunted, and I felt a sharp blow in my right side that exploded upward into my chest, forcing the air from my lungs. I tried to curl into the pain, but the rope held me fast. For a long time, I couldn’t breathe, the pain was so savage, so overwhelming. Slowly, though, the pain lessened and I was able to draw air into my lungs again.
“Don’t force my hand,” Zarubin said. “We know you talked to him about it. What did you tell him exactly?”
“Nothing.”
“And they told me you were intelligent.”
He gave another nod to the man, which was followed immediately by another blow to my side. This one was harder than the first, slamming into me so hard it rocked the chair I was sitting on. I heard something snap, felt a red-hot stabbing pain in my side. Each time I took a breath it felt as if someone were sticking a fork into me.
“I am going to ask you once more, Lieutenant,” Zarubin said. “And I want you to think very carefully before you answer. Did you talk about Enormous to the captain?”
I thought of lying, telling them anything, just so that they’d stop, but I sensed that if I lied I would be making it only harder for myself, because I wasn’t sure what they knew already.
“No, I didn’t talk to him about that.”
Another nod, another blow to my side. I felt sick with the pain.
“What of your plans with Viktor?”
“I had no plans with Viktor.”
Zarubin shook his head. “We already know you were going to defect with him. We know that much. So stop trying my patience.”
“I thought about it, yes.”
“With whom was he working?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me any names.”
I flinched even before the blow struck my side. My head spun with the pain. I thought I would pass out.
“We have all the time in the world, Lieutenant,” Zarubin said. “Was he working with the captain?”
“What?”
“Viktor. Was he working with your American lover?”
I slowly looked up at him. It was the first time it had occurred to me that perhaps the captain had been working with Viktor as well as with me.
“I…I don’t know.”
“Did you tell the captain anything about our rezidentura? About Comrade Semyonov or myself? Or about our contact in the White House?”
“No. I swear I didn’t.”
He gave another nod, and I was struck again, this time on the left side. Spasms of pain rippled through my body. I leaned over and vomited on my lap.
Zarubin smiled, seeming to enjoy this. He took out a handkerchief, leaned forward, and gently wiped my mouth. Leaning in so close that I could smell his aftershave, he said, “Did you tell the captain the names of the scientists who are cooperating with us?”
Between paroxysms of pain, I said, “How…would I? I don’t know…who is working with you. I only know those Vasilyev…told me to bring up with Mrs. Roosevelt.”
Zarubin appeared about to give the order to hit me again but Vasilyev said, “She’s telling the truth. The only names she knew were those I supplied her with.”
Zarubin stared at Vasilyev, as if annoyed with him for cutting short his fun.
“You are in serious trouble, Lieutenant,” Zarubin said, but he kept his eyes trained on Vasilyev. “And that trouble might spill over to those closest to you.”
I lifted my head to look at him. “What are you talking about?”
“I hear that you received a letter informing you that your husband is alive.” He stared at me with his dull gray eyes. “That’s wonderful news. Though it would be unfortunate if he had to pay for your acts of disloyalty.”
“He had nothing to do with this,” I said to him. “You leave him alone.”
“That is entirely up to you.”
“I didn’t want to come here. I wanted no part of this.”
“Still, you betrayed your Motherland.”
“Go to hell, you bastard.”
Zarubin pursed his lips. “I think the whore might need a bath,” he said. “Take her and clean her up.”
They untied me and dragged me roughly into the bathroom. There I saw that the tub was already filled almost to the top with water. It was one of those clawfoot tubs, so the water was very deep. The slender policeman held my legs while Dmitri grasped my arms, and the heavyset man had his arm wrapped around my neck in a headlock. They lifted me into the tub and forced me down into it, fully dressed, my back toward the water. It was freezing, and I shuddered as soon as cold water came in contact with my skin. I realized right away they weren’t intending to wash me, and I started to kick and thrash about, trying to get free, the water sloshing over the edge onto the floor, splashing against the wall, the three of them struggling in the narrow space to subdue me.
“Are you ready to talk, Lieutenant?” said Zarubin from the doorway.
I didn’t answer.
The heavyset man grabbed me by the hair and pulled my head backward into the water. I tried to pull away, but he held me firmly, painfully by the hair. Looking up through the undulating surface, I could see the muscles in his face straining, his eyes red and bulging. I wanted to scream but of course I couldn’t. My lungs burned, my head seemed as if it would explode. Just when I thought I would lose consciousness, he yanked my head out.
I coughed and spat out a mouthful of water.
“Is your memory coming back, Levchenko?” said Zarubin.
I struggled to catch my breath, trying to ready myself for another dunking.
“Again,” Zarubin commanded.
Once more the man plunged my head beneath the water. After what seemed like hours, he yanked me up again.
“Ready to talk?” Zarubin said.
I just stared at him.
“Again.”
“Wait!” I heard a voice cry.
It was Vasilyev. He had pushed by Zarubin and now stood in the confined space of the bathroom.
“She doesn’t know anything,” he said.
“That’s what we aim to find out,” countered Zarubin.
“I’m telling you, she doesn’t.”
Zarubin ignored him. “Again,” he commanded.
The man was about to dunk my head when Vasilyev yelled, “Stop it!” The heavyset man paused, looking over at Vasilyev. I followed his gaze to see that Vasilyev had pulled a gun out and was pointing it at the chekist officer.
“Let go of her,” he directed. “She’s telling the truth.”
“Comrade, I would strongly advise you not to interfere,” Zarubin warned.
“Get her out of there,” Vasilyev said. When they didn’t obey, he turned the gun on Zarubin. “Now!”
Zarubin nodded toward the others, and they lifted me out of the water. I struggled to get to my feet, but my uniform was drenched and it weighed on me like a suit of lead. Oddly, though, I no longer felt cold, nor did I feel the pain in my sides as intensely.
“You had better think about what you are doing, Comrade,” Zarubin said to Vasilyev.
“Shut up.” Then turning to me, Vasilyev said, “Get out of here, Lieutenant. Quickly.”
Our eyes met for a moment, and everything I had thought or felt about him suddenly changed.
“Thank you, Comrade.”
“Go!”
I pushed past him and out into the room. I started for the door, but someone slammed into me, driving me into the wall. When I turned I saw that it was Gavrilov. I wheeled about and struck him flush in the face as hard as I could with my fist. He continued to grapple with me, so I hit him again, several times. Finally he relinquished his hold on me and dropped to the floor, coughing. Then I turned and fumbled with the lock before opening the door and rushing out of the room. As I started to scramble down the hallway, I heard what I thought was a single gunshot coming from behind me, inside the room. Vasilyev, I thought.
I rushed to the elevator but decided at the last moment not to risk it and continued on for the stairs. By this point I heard someone calling after me. “There she goes.”
I flew down the stairs, taking them two at a time, my waterlogged shoes making squishy sounds as I ran, water spraying all around me. I thought how I would be an easy trail to follow. I tried to fall back on my sniper training. What would I do if I had been spotted? How would I slip away? Somewhere above I heard their footsteps and their cries. When I came to one door, I started past it so that the trail of water would lead them away, then I quickly backtracked and opened the door and ran down the hallway. Here at least the carpeting deadened the sound of my steps and the trail of water wasn’t quite so obvious. I ran wildly, not really knowing where I was headed. When I came to another door and another set of stairs, I glanced back over my shoulder to see if they were following. For a moment at least I had eluded them.
I entered the stairs and rushed headlong down them, trying not to trip on my soaked trousers. Of course I couldn’t read the floor numbers on the doors and had to keep going until I thought I had come to the lobby. I opened the door and ran over to a phone booth. I went in and closed the door and dialed the operator.
“Captain Taylor,” I said. The woman on the other end said something to me in English, and I repeated, “Captain Taylor.”
The phone rang several times. Please, be there, I pleaded. I was about to hang up when he finally picked up the phone.
“They know everything,” I blurted out.
“What?”
“They know everything. They tried to kill me and now they’re after me.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m hiding in a phone booth in the lobby. Come quickly.”
While I waited for him, I watched the lobby through the glass door of the phone booth. I thought of Vasilyev, what he had done for me. After all my doubts about him, after all our arguments and conflicts, he had sacrificed his life to save mine. I was thinking about this when I saw Dmitri and the heavyset chekist officer come rushing into the lobby, looking around. I quickly ducked down and tried to hide. I thought how in some ways I had come full circle. As I had when I was a sniper, here I was once more hiding from my enemies, trying to avoid their detection. Only now my enemies weren’t the Germans. They were my own countrymen.
I was cowering like this when the door flew open.
“Jack—” I began but stopped when I saw the heavyset one looming over me. He grabbed my arm roughly and yanked me upright, then pulled me out of the booth. “If you scream,” he whispered hotly in my ear, “I will kill you, you bitch.” He took one arm, Dmitri the other, and they led me along. Then I saw Zarubin standing there, a look of outrage on his face.
“If you make a scene, Lieutenant, I promise you, your husband will pay dearly,” he said to me. “Come along quietly and nothing will happen to either of you. You will return home to a hero’s welcome and a grateful nation. You have my word.”
“Your word,” I scoffed.
“Just keep your mouth shut and everything will be all right.”
They quickly escorted me through the front door and outside to a waiting limousine. The skinny one was standing there, holding the door open. I didn’t see Vasilyev or Gavrilov in the car. I don’t know why, but I knew then, as assuredly as I had ever known anything, that the letter about Kolya was a fake, that he was dead, or at least that he had not been found. And I knew too that I would not return home to a hero’s welcome, that I would rot in some prison camp or be dispatched with a bullet to the back of my neck.
Just before I was put into the car, I heard a voice call out in Russian: “Stop!”
I turned to see Captain Taylor, surrounded by half a dozen men in dark suits, as well as several uniformed policemen. They came rushing up to us. Charlie stared at me. “Are you all right?”
I nodded.
“What the hell did they do to you?”
“Captain,” Zarubin interrupted, “this is not your concern.”
“Lieutenant Levchenko has asked the United States for political asylum.”
“My government will be extremely displeased at this action. Lieutenant Levchenko was invited as a guest by your Mrs. Roosevelt. And now she is going home as a Soviet citizen.”
“But she has asked for and been granted asylum.”
“I think you are mistaken.”
“Why don’t we ask her?” Charlie said.
Zarubin turned and tried to usher me into the car.
“Hold it,” cried Charlie. “Do you want to go with these men, Lieutenant?”
I looked at him. “No. I don’t.”
Charlie grabbed my arm, but the two chekisty wouldn’t relinquish their hold on me.
The dark-haired man, the American I’d spoken to earlier, said something to Charlie in English, and then in Russian Charlie translated to Zarubin, “We have the authority to take her into protective custody. Now stand back.”
“You are going to be in a lot of trouble, Captain.”
“Not as much as you if you don’t let her go.”
Zarubin looked from Charlie to the other men surrounding him. “Release her,” he commanded the Soviet agents. Staring at me he said, “I hope you appreciate the implications of your decision, Lieutenant.”
“I know what I’m doing, Comrade,” I replied.
As Charlie took my hand and started to lead me away, Zarubin called, “You haven’t heard the last from us, Lieutenant.”
We headed inside, and Charlie brought me up to his room. Once he shut the door, he put his arm around me and held me. “You’re shivering,” he said. I hadn’t even been aware of it. “Let’s get you out of those wet things,” he said to me. While I undressed, he got me a blanket. When he saw the bruises on my side, he cried, “Those bastards. I’ve a good mind—”
“I’m all right, Charlie,” I said, putting my hand on his cheek.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I’m just tired.”
He wrapped the blanket around me and led me over to the bed, where he pulled the covers back and we lay down together. I remember how I couldn’t stop shivering, as if I could never get warm, but after a while I slowly felt myself relax. It felt so good to be held by him. Safe, comforting. Everything—the war, my personal losses, the business with the chekisty—all of that seemed to fade far away, and it was just Charlie and me in that room. Nothing else seemed to matter. I had no idea what would happen after that, what my life in America would look like, but for that moment at least I felt I was someplace I was supposed to be. Charlie and I didn’t talk much that night. We just lay quietly in each other’s embrace, savoring the brief time we had together.
“I love you, Tat’yana,” Charlie said to me.
“And I love you, Charlie,” I replied.
Despite all the death I had seen and been a part of, despite the fact that I had convinced myself the war had left me an empty shell incapable of feeling anything other than anger and hatred, here I was, in love with another human being. It all felt so strange and incomprehensible, yet so wondrous at the same time. I thought of what Mrs. Roosevelt had said, how we had to do something each day that frightened us. Perhaps this was the thing that frightened me the most, permitting myself to love again. And I thought once more of that line from Tsvetaeva: Ah! is the heart that bursts with rapture.
After a while I let myself go and I drifted off to sleep in his arms. I slept for a long time.