The Bronze Horseman

by Paullina Simons

  “Well, yes,” Alexander said, giving her the white bread and the cheese. “But before they see, I want you to eat it.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You can and you will. What? Don’t cry.”

  “I’m not crying,” said Tatiana, trying very hard not to cry. “I’m just very . . . moved.” She took the bread and the cheese and the pork and gulped down the food while he watched her with his molten copper eyes, warm, full of Alexander. “Shura,” she said, “I can’t tell you how hungry I’ve been. I don’t even know how to explain it.”

  “Tania, I know.”

  “Are they feeding you better in the army?”

  “Yes. They feed the front-line troops adequately. They feed the officers a little better. What they don’t give me, I buy. We get the food before it gets to you.”

  “That’s the way it should be,” said Tatiana, her mouth so full, so happy.

  “Shh,” he said, smiling. “Slow down. You’re going to give yourself a terrible stomachache.”

  She slowed down—a little. Smiling back—a little.

  “For the family I brought some butter and a bag of white flour,” Alexander said. “And twenty eggs. When was the last time you had eggs?”

  Tatiana remembered. “September fifteenth. Let me have a little piece of butter now,” she said. “Can you wait with me? Or do you have to go?”

  “I came to see you,” he said.

  They stood looking at each other without touching.

  They stood looking at each other without talking.

  At last Alexander whispered, “Too much to say.”

  “Not enough time to say any of it,” said Tatiana, looking at the long line of people in the store. She had stopped eating. “I’ve been thinking about you,” she said, keeping her voice calm.

  “Don’t think about me again,” said Alexander with resigned finality.

  Tatiana backed away. “Don’t worry. You’ve made it very clear that that’s certainly what you want.”

  “What are you talking about?” He looked at her in confusion. “You have no idea what it’s like out there.”

  “I only know what it’s like in here,” she said.

  “We’re all dying. Even the ranking officers.” Alexander paused. “Grinkov died.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Oh, yes.” He sighed. “Let’s get in line.”

  Alexander was the only man getting rations. They stood together for forty-five minutes. It was quiet in the crowded store; no one else spoke. And they couldn’t stop. They talked about public things: the cold weather, the waiting Germans, the food. But they couldn’t stop.

  “Alexander, we have to get more food from somewhere. I don’t mean me, I mean Leningrad. Where is it going to come from? Can’t they fly some in?”

  “They are already. Fifty tons a day of food, fuel, munitions.”

  “Fifty tons . . .” Tatiana thought. “That sounds like a lot.”

  When he didn’t answer, she asked, “Is it?”

  She could tell that Alexander was trying not to answer. “It’s not enough,” he replied at last.

  “Not enough by how much?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he said shortly.

  “Tell me.”

  “I don’t know, Tania.”

  “Well,” she said with mock cheeriness, “I think that it must be good enough. Fifty tons. Sounds tremendous. I’m glad you told me, because Nina has nothing for her family—”

  “Stop!” Alexander exclaimed. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing,” Tatiana said sweetly. “Nina doesn’t have—”

  “Fifty tons sounds like a lot to you, does it?” he said. “Pavlov, our city food chief, is feeding three million people on a thousand tons of flour a day. How’s that?”

  “What he is giving us now amounts to a thousand tons?” Tatiana said, startled.

  “Yes,” Alexander replied, shaking his head and looking at her with uneasy dismay.

  “And they’re bringing only fifty tons by plane?”

  “Yes again. Fifty tons of not just flour.”

  “How is the remaining nine hundred fifty tons getting here?”

  “Lake Ladoga. Thirty kilometers north of the blockade line. Barges.”

  “Shura,” said Tatiana, “but these thousand tons, if we didn’t have our own supplies, we wouldn’t be able to make it. We couldn’t live on what they give us.”

  Alexander didn’t say anything.

  Tatiana stared at him and then turned her head away. She wanted to go home instantly and count how many cans of ham they had left.

  “Why can’t they fly more planes in?” she asked.

  “Because all the planes in the army are being directed to the Battle of Moscow.”

  “What about the Battle of Leningrad?” Tatiana said faintly, not expecting an answer and not getting one.

  “Do you think the blockade will be lifted before the winter?” she said in a small voice. “The radio reports keep saying we’re trying to establish a foothold here, make a break there, pontoon bridges. What do you think?”

  Alexander didn’t answer, and Tatiana didn’t look at him again until they left the store.

  “Are you coming home with me?”

  “Yes, Tania,” said Alexander. “I’m coming home with you.”

  She nodded. “Come on then. With the butter you gave me, I’ll make nice hot oatmeal for breakfast. I’ll make you some eggs.”

  “You still have oatmeal left?”

  “Hmm. I will say that it’s getting harder and harder to keep them all away from the food between meals. I think Babushka and Marina are the biggest culprits. I think they eat the oatmeal uncooked right out of the bag.”

  “Do you, Tatia?” Alexander asked. “Do you eat oatmeal right out of the bag?”

  “Not yet,” replied Tatiana. She didn’t mention how badly she wanted to. How she put her face inside the oat bag and smelled its sickly, slightly moldy aroma, wishing for butter and for sugar and for milk, and for eggs.

  “You should,” Alexander said.

  They walked slowly along the misty Fontanka Canal. It reminded Tatiana a little of Obvodnoy Canal during their Kirov summer days. Her heart hurt. Three blocks away from home, they both slowed down, then stopped and leaned against the cold building. “I wish there were a bench,” Tatiana said quietly.

  Just as quietly, Alexander said, “Marazov told me about your father.” When Tatiana didn’t answer, he continued. “I am really sorry.” Pause. “Will you forgive me?”

  “There is nothing to forgive,” she replied.

  “It’s my helplessness,” Alexander continued, his eyes filling with loud frustration. “There’s just nothing I can do to protect you. And I tried. I tried from the very beginning. Remember Kirov?”

  Tatiana remembered.

  “All I wanted then was for you to leave Leningrad. I failed there. Failed to protect you against your father.” He shook his head. “How is your brow feeling?” He reached out and touched the healing bruise with his fingertips.

  “It’s all right,” Tatiana said, moving away from him. Alexander put his hands down, looking at her with rebuke.

  “How is Dimitri?” she asked. “Have you heard from him?”

  Shaking his head, Alexander said, “What can I tell you about Dimitri? When I first went to Shlisselburg in mid-September, I said, come with me, come with my command. He refused. He said we were too unprotected there. All right, I said. Then I volunteered myself and a battalion of soldiers to go to Karelia and push the Finns back a bit.” He paused. “To give our trucks breathing room as they brought food from Ladoga to Leningrad. The Finns were just too close. The skirmishes that flared up between them and the gun-happy NKVD border troops constantly resulted in the death of some poor hapless truck driver, who was just trying to get food into the city. I told Di-mitri to come with me. Yes, it’s dangerous, I said. Yes, it’s attacking enemy territory, but if we succeed—”

  “You will be heroes,�
�� Tatiana said. “Have you succeeded?”

  Quietly Alexander said, “Yes.”

  Shaking her head in wonder, Tatiana gazed up at him. She hoped it was not blatantly obvious what she was feeling at that moment. “You volunteered for this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did they promote you at least?”

  He saluted her lightly and said, “I’m now Captain Belov. And see my new medal?”

  “No, stop it!” she exclaimed, her mouth melting into a smile.

  “What?” Alexander asked, his eyes roaming all over her face. “What? Are you . . . proud?”

  “Hmm,” Tatiana said, trying to stop smiling.

  “Which was my whole point with Dima,” continued Alexander. “If it worked out, he could have become a corporal. The higher up you go, the farther from the front line you are.”

  Nodding, Tatiana said, “He is so shortsighted.”

  “And worse,” said Alexander. “Because now he has been sent along with Kashnikov to Tikhvin. Marazov followed me. Became first lieutenant. But Dima was transported in a barge across Ladoga, and he is now part of tens of thousands of men, one and all cannon fodder for Schmidt.”

  Tatiana had heard about the town of Tikhvin. The Soviets took Tikhvin from the Germans in September and were now fiercely struggling to hold on to it, to allow themselves a continuous railroad passage to the Ladoga food barges. Without Lake Ladoga there would be no food getting into Leningrad at all.

  She had long ago stopped smiling. Carefully she said, “I wish you had succeeded with Dimitri. A promotion would have been good for him.”

  “I agree.”

  “And maybe if he had become a hero,” Tatiana went on evenly, “you wouldn’t have to marry my sister.”

  His face falling, Alexander said, “Oh, Tatia—”

  “But as it is,” she continued loudly, interrupting him, “you’re a captain, and he’s in Tikhvin. You’ll have to marry Dasha now, won’t you?” She stared at him unremittingly.

  Alexander rubbed his eyes with his blackened hands. Tatiana had never seen him so unclean. She had forgotten all about him, so busy was she thinking all about herself. “Oh, Shura. What am I doing?” Tatiana said. “I’m so sorry. Come home. Look at you. Come. You’ll wash.” She said softly, “You can have a hot bath. I’ll boil the water for you. I’ll make you nice oatmeal. Come on.” She wanted to add darling but didn’t dare. Marry Dasha, Tatiana almost wanted to say. Marry her if it helps you live.

  Alexander didn’t move from the wall.

  “Please come, Shura.”

  “Wait.” He bit his lip. “Are you upset with me because of your father?”

  He didn’t fight, he didn’t argue, he didn’t say it wasn’t his fault. He just accepted responsibility and went on, as if it now was just another burden to be carried on his shoulders. Well, his shoulders were wide enough for several burdens, including some of Tatiana’s, and, oddly, to see him square his chest made her own lighter. Relief came at Alexander’s expense, but it was welcome relief nonetheless. She wanted comfort? There it was.

  “No, Shura,” Tatiana said. “No one is upset. They’ll be overjoyed you’re alive.”

  Alexander raised his eyes to her. “I didn’t ask about them. Are you upset with me?”

  Tatiana looked at him with compassion. Underneath his battle armor, the man who commanded an armored battalion needed her. If he was wounded, she could bandage him. If he was hungry, she could feed him. If he wanted to talk to her, there she was. But now her Alexander was sad. She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t for her father she was upset with him. But she couldn’t, because all she wanted was to give him comfort back. She didn’t want him to be sad for another moment.

  Reaching out, Tatiana took hold of his hand. He had dirt under his nails and bloody scratches, but his hand was warm and strong, and it squeezed hers gratefully.

  “No, Shura,” she said tenderly. “Of course, I’m not upset with you.”

  “I just want you to be safe,” he said, his back to the wall. “That’s all. Safe from everything.”

  Tatiana came into Alexander’s arms. “I know. I’m going to be just fine,” she said into his coat, feeling so happy to be hugging him that she was afraid of falling down. Brushing the hair away from her forehead, Alexander pressed his lips to her healing brow and whispered, “Don’t back away from me like before when I touch you.”

  “All right,” Tatiana murmured, her eyes closed and her arms tight around him.

  3

  “Look who I found!” Tatiana exclaimed as Alexander walked in behind her. Dasha shrieked, running to him.

  Tatiana went to put the water on to boil for his bath. She found soap for him, and fresh towels, and a razor, and Alexander went and had a hot bath.

  “Is it warm enough?” she called to him from the kitchen, boiling more water, just in case.

  His laughing voice carried from the bathroom. “No, not at all. Come, bring me another jug. Come in here, Tania.”

  Blushing and smiling, Tatiana went and asked Dasha to bring Alexander another jug of boiling water.

  He came inside the room all scrubbed and flushed and clean-shaven, so warm, his black hair so damp and shiny, his teeth so white, his mouth so moist that Tatiana didn’t know how she kept from flinging her arms around him. While he sat in his long johns and thermal shirt, Dasha went to wash his uniform. Marina, Babushka, and Tatiana clucked around him; everyone did except surly Mama.

  Tatiana didn’t tell Mama she had eggs. She was going to, but when she saw that Mama was not prepared to forgive Alexander for yelling at her and Papa, Tatiana was not prepared to share eggs with her. Forgiveness had to come first.

  Alexander had given them a kilo of butter. Tania hid it under the sack of flour on the windowsill. Mama had a weak cup of tea with some bread and butter, gruffly thanked Alexander, and went to work.

  Babushka took some silverware, some silver candlesticks, some money, old blankets off the bed, and stuffed them all into a sack as she, too, got ready to leave.

  Tatiana had to go and cook breakfast, but she remained in the room, sitting quietly in a chair, staring at Alexander.

  “Where is she going?” Alexander inquired.

  “Oh, across the Aleksandr Nevsky Bridge to Malaya Ochta,” said Dasha, coming into the room. Tatiana quickly lowered her gaze. “She’s got friends there,” Dasha continued, “and she trades our things for potatoes or carrots. She was good to them when things were good, and now they’re good to her when things are not. Your clothes won’t dry for a while,” she said to Alexander, smiling.

  “That’s all right,” he said, smiling back. “I don’t have to report to base for four days. Will they be dry by then?”

  Tatiana’s heart skipped with joy. Four days of Alexander!

  “Tania, are you going to go and make breakfast?” Dasha asked, leaving again. Marina was in the other room, getting ready to go to university.

  Alexander turned to Tatiana. “Tatiasha,” he said, “can I have some tea?”

  Instantly she got up from the table. What was she thinking, sitting around? He must be so tired, so hungry. “Of course.” He was sitting and smoking, with his long legs stretching across the floor all the way to the couch. There was no room for Tatiana to walk past, and Alexander wasn’t moving his legs. Tatiana stared at him. He was smiling.

  “Excuse me, Alexander,” Tatiana said quietly, trying very hard to keep a straight face.

  “Step over them,” he said, lowering his voice. “Just take care not to trip. Because then I’d have to catch you.”

  Turning red, Tatiana raised her eyes and saw Marina watching her from the door. “Excuse me, Alexander,” Tatiana repeated, keeping her breathy voice even.

  Reluctantly Alexander moved his legs. “Come here, Marina,” he said with a sigh. “Let me take a look at you. How have you been keeping?”

  Tatiana brought Alexander a cup of tea, making it nice and strong and sweet for him, just the way he liked it. “Than
k you,” he said, looking up at her.

  “You’re welcome.” She gazed down at him.

  “My legs still in your way?”

  “Yes, you’re too large for this room,” Tatiana whispered.

  Before he could reply, Dasha came back with some clean sheets. “Girls, how does your Babushka do across the Neva?” Alexander asked, taking his tea and looking away from Tatiana.

  Folding sheets and putting them away, Dasha said, “Yesterday she brought five turnips and ten potatoes. But all of Mama’s wedding dishes are now gone. After these candlesticks, I don’t know what else she’ll have to sell.”

  “How about those gold teeth you took from the dentist, Dasha?” Tatiana asked. “Would the farmers like some gold?” She sat down at the table next to the wall, her back to Dasha, her eyes to Alexander.

  “What could they possibly do with gold?”

  “What would they do with candlesticks?”

  Alexander said, “Ah, have light. Have heat. Use them as weapons against the Germans.” He turned to Tatiana. “Tania . . .” He smiled. “Where is this promised oatmeal? Where are those promised eggs?”

  There was a knock at the front door, and Tatiana went to answer it. It was Nina Iglenko wanting to know if they had any extra anything she could give Anton. Tatiana knew that Nina was having a hard time sustaining him on a dependent’s ration after he was wounded on the roof. Alexander came out to the hallway, enormous and imposing, standing next to her small, sweater-wrapped body. His arm pressing into Tatiana’s arm, Alexander said, “Comrade Iglenko, everyone collects the same dependent ration. I’m sorry, we have nothing.” And he shut the door, turning to Tatiana. “You didn’t tell me that Anton got wounded on the roof.” He was still very close to her. Not only could she smell him, breathe him, inhale him, but in one moment his chest would touch her face.

  “He’s fine,” Tatiana said in a dismissive tone, trying not to breathe erratically. “It’s just a scratch on his leg.” She didn’t want Alexander to worry.