The Bronze Horseman

by Paullina Simons

  Dimitri looked at Alexander with cold surprise. “Are you telling me you will not go without her?”

  “Have you not been listening?”

  “I see.” Dimitri paused, rubbing his hands. He leaned over, propping himself on Alexander’s bed as he spoke. “You underestimate me, Alexander. I can see you will not listen to reason. That’s too bad. Perhaps, then, what I should do is go and talk to Tania, explain the situation to her. She is much more reasonable. Once Tania sees that her husband is in grave danger, why, I am certain she herself will offer to stay behind—” Dimitri didn’t finish.

  Alexander grabbed Dimitri’s arm. Dimitri yelped and threw his other hand up, but it was too late, Alexander had them both.

  “Understand this,” said Alexander as his thumb and forefinger tightened in a twisting vise around Dimitri’s wrist. “I don’t give a fuck if you talk to Tania, to Stepanov, to Mekhlis, or to the whole Soviet Union. Tell them anything! I am not leaving without her. If she stays, I stay.” And with a savage thrust, Alexander ruptured the ulnar bone in Dimitri’s forearm. Even through the red of his fury Alexander heard the snap. It sounded like the ax crashing against the pliant pine in Lazarevo. Dimitri screamed. Alexander did not let go. “You underestimate me, you fucking bastard!” he said, jerking the wrist violently again and again until the broken bone tore out of Dimitri’s skin.

  Dimitri continued to scream. Clenching his fist, Alexander punched Di-mitri in the face, and the uppercut blow would have driven the fractured nasal bone into Dimitri’s frontal lobe had the impact not been weakened by an orderly who had grabbed Alexander’s arm, who literally threw himself on Alexander and yelled, “Stop it! What are you doing? Let go, let go!”

  Panting, Alexander shoved Dimitri away, and Dimitri slumped to the floor. “Get off me,” Alexander said loudly to the stunned and grumbling orderly. As soon as the man got off him, Alexander started wiping his hands. He had yanked the IV right out of the vein, which was now dripping blood between his fingers. So it does bleed, he thought.

  “What in the world happened here?” yelled the nurse, running up. “What kind of awful situation is this? The private comes for a visit, and what do you do?”

  “Next time don’t let him through,” Alexander said, throwing off his blankets and getting out of bed.

  “Get back into bed! My orders are that you don’t get out of bed under any circumstances. Wait till Ina comes back. I never work the critical ward. Why does something always happen on my shift?”

  After a commotion that lasted a good half hour, a bleeding and unconscious Dimitri was removed from the floor, and the orderly cleaned up the mess, complaining that he already had plenty to do without the wounded making more wounded out of perfectly healthy men.

  “You call him perfectly healthy?” said Alexander. “Did you see his limp? Did you see his pulverized face? Ask around. This isn’t the first time he’s been assaulted. And I guarantee it won’t be the last.”

  But Alexander knew: he had not merely assaulted Dimitri. Had he not been stopped, Alexander would have killed Dimitri with his bare hands.

  Alexander slept, woke up, looked around the ward.

  It was early evening. Ina was at her station by the door, chatting to three civilian men. Alexander stared at the civilian men. That didn’t take long, he thought.

  Motionless and alone, he remained with the rucksack on his lap, both of his hands inside, on the white dress with red roses. Alexander finally had the answer to his question.

  He knew at what price Tatiana.

  It was Colonel Stepanov who came to see him later that evening, eyes sunk deep into his ashen face. Alexander saluted his commander, who sat down heavily in the chair and said quietly, “Alexander, I almost don’t know how to say this to you. I should not be here. I’m here not as your commanding officer, understand, but as someone who—”

  Alexander interrupted him gently. “Sir,” he said, “your very presence is a balm to my soul. More than you know. I know why you’re here.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it’s true? General Govorov came to me tonight and said that Mekhlis”—Stepanov seemed to spit the word out—”approached him with a slew of information that you have previously escaped from prison as a foreign provocateur? As an American?” Stepanov laughed. “How can that be? I said it was ridiculous—”

  Alexander said, “Sir, I have proudly served the Red Army for nearly six years.”

  “You have been an exemplary soldier, Major,” said Stepanov. “I told them that. I told them it couldn’t possibly be true. But as you know—” Stepanov broke off. “The accusation is all. You remember Meretskov? He’s now commanding the Volkhov front, but nine months ago he was sitting in the NKVD cellars waiting for a wall to become available.”

  “I know about Meretskov. How much time do you think I have?”

  Stepanov was quiet. “They will come for you in the night,” he said at last. “I don’t know if you’re familiar with their operations—”

  “Unfortunately, very familiar, sir,” replied Alexander, not looking at Stepanov. “It’s all about stealth and cover-up. I didn’t know they had the facilities here in Morozovo.”

  “Primitive, but yes. They have them everywhere. You’re too high up, though. They’ll most likely send you across the lake to Volkhov.” He spoke in a whisper.

  Across the lake. “Thank you, sir.” He managed to smile at his commanding officer. “Do you think they’ll promote me to lieutenant colonel first?”

  Stepanov breathed out a choking gasp. “Of all my men I had hoped the most for you, Major.”

  Alexander shook his head. “I had the least chance, sir. Please, do me a favor. If you yourself are questioned about me, understand”—he struggled for his words—”that despite your valor, there are some battles that are lost from the start.”

  “Yes, Major.”

  “As long as you understand that, you will not waste a second’s breath defending my honor or my army record. Distance yourself and retreat, sir.” Alexander let his gaze drop. “And take all your weapons with you.”

  Stepanov stood.

  The unspoken remained between them.

  Alexander couldn’t think of himself, couldn’t think of Stepanov. He had to ask about the unspoken. “Do you know if there was any mention of my . . .” He couldn’t continue.

  Stepanov understood regardless. “No,” he said quietly. “But it’s just a matter of time.”

  Thank God. So Dimitri didn’t want them both. What he wanted was for them not to have each other, but he still wanted to save his own skin. He will never take all from you, Alexander. There was hope.

  Alexander heard Stepanov say, “Can I do anything for her? Maybe arrange for a transfer back to a Leningrad hospital—or perhaps to a Molotov hospital? Away from here?”

  After a spasm Alexander spoke, looking in the other direction. “Yes, sir, you actually could do something to help her . . .”

  Alexander didn’t have time to think, and he didn’t have time to feel. He knew the time for that would swallow too soon what was left of him. But right now he had to act. As soon as Stepanov left, Alexander motioned for Ina and asked her to call Dr. Sayers.

  “Major,” said Ina, “I don’t know if they’re allowing anyone near you after this afternoon.”

  Alexander glanced at the plainclothed men. “It was a little accident, Ina, nothing to worry about. Do me a favor, though, don’t tell Nurse Metanova, all right? You know how she gets.”

  “I know how she gets. You better be good from now on, or I’ll tell her.”

  “I’ll be good, Ina.”

  Sayers came a few minutes later, sat down cheerfully, and said, “What’s going on, Major? What’s this about some private’s arm? What happened?”

  Shrugging, Alexander said, “He lost the arm wrestle.”

  “I’ll say he lost. What about his broken nose? Did he lose the nose wrestle, too?”

  “Dr. Sayers,
listen to me. Forget him for a second.” Alexander summoned his remaining will to speak. What strength he once possessed had left his body and gone to a tiny girl with freckles.

  “Doctor,” he said quietly, “when we first spoke about—”

  “Don’t say it. I know.”

  “You asked me what you could do to help, remember? And I said to you,” Alexander continued, “that you owed me nothing.” He paused, collecting himself. “It turns out I was wrong. I desperately need your help.”

  Sayers smiled. “Major Belov, I’m already doing all I can for you. Your terminal nurse is quite a persuader.”

  My terminal nurse.

  Shrinking into himself, Alexander said, “No, listen carefully. I want you to do just one thing for me, and only one.”

  “What is it? If I can do it, I will.”

  With a halting voice, Alexander said, “Get my wife out of the Soviet Union.”

  “I am, Major.”

  “No, Doctor. I mean now. Take my wife, take—” He could not get the words out. “Take Chernenko, the prick with the broken arm,” he whispered, “and get them out.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Doctor, we have very little time. Any minute someone is going to call you away from me, and I won’t be able to finish.”

  “You’re coming with us.”

  “I am not.”

  In agitation, Sayers exclaimed, “Major, what the hell are you talking about?” In English.

  “Shh,” said Alexander. “You will need to leave tomorrow at the absolute latest.”

  “What about you?”

  “Forget about me,” Alexander said firmly. “Dr. Sayers, Tania needs your help. She is pregnant—did you know that?”

  Sayers shook his head, dumbstruck.

  “Well, she is. And she’s going to be very scared. She is going to need you to protect her. Please get her out of the Soviet Union. And protect her.” Alexander stared away from the doctor. His eyes filled with . . . the river Kama, with the soap on her body. They filled with . . . her hands going around his neck and her warm breath in his ear, whispering, potato pancakes, Shura, or eggs?

  They filled with . . . her coming out of Grechesky Hospital in November, small, alone, wearing a big coat, her eyes at her feet; she couldn’t even lift her eyes as she walked past him to her Fifth Soviet life, alone to her Fifth Soviet life.

  “Save my wife,” whispered Alexander.

  In an emotional voice Dr. Sayers said, “I don’t understand anything.”

  Shaking his head, Alexander said, “Do you see the casually dressed men you had to walk past on your way here? Those are NKVD men. Remember I told you about the NKVD, Doctor? What happened to my mother and father, and to me?”

  Sayers paled.

  “The NKVD enforces the law of this great land. And they are here for me—again. Tomorrow,” Alexander said, “I will be gone. Tania cannot stay here a minute after that. She is in grave danger. You must get her out.”

  The doctor still didn’t understand. He protested, he shook his head. He became increasingly nervous. “Alexander, I will call the U.S. consulate personally. I’ll call them tomorrow on your behalf.”

  Alexander became worried about the doctor. Could he even do what was needed? Could he keep his composure when he would need it the most? He didn’t seem composed in the least. “Doctor,” Alexander said, keeping his own composure, “I know you don’t understand, but I don’t have time to explain. Where is this U.S. consulate? In Sweden? In England? By the time you call them and they reach the U.S. State Department back home, the Mekhlis blue boys will have taken not only me but her, too. What does Tatiana have to do with America?”

  “She is your wife.”

  “I have only my Russian name, the name I married her under. By the time the United States gets together with the NKVD to clear up the confusion, it’ll be too late for her. Forget me, I said. Just take care of her.”

  “No,” Sayers said. He bucked, he couldn’t sit. He walked around Alexander’s bed, adjusted his blankets.

  “Doctor!” Alexander exclaimed. “You have no time to think this through, I know. But what do you think will happen to a Russian girl once it’s discovered she is married to a man suspected of being an American and infiltrating the Red Army’s high command? What use do you think the Commissariat of Internal Affairs will have for my pregnant Russian wife?”

  Sayers was mute.

  “I’ll tell you what use—they will use her as leverage against me when they interrogate us. Tell us everything, or your wife will be ‘strictly judged.’ Do you know what that means, Doctor? It means I will be forced to tell them everything. I won’t stand a chance. Or they will use me as leverage against her. Your husband will be safe, but only if you tell the truth. And she will. And afterward—”

  Shaking his head, Sayers said, “No! We will put you in my ambulance right now and take you back to Leningrad, to Grechesky. Right now. Get up. And from there we will drive to Finland.”

  “Fine,” said Alexander. “But those men”—he nodded in their direction—”will come with us. They will come with us every step of the way. You won’t get either of us out.”

  Alexander could see that Dr. Sayers was grasping at what he could. Glancing toward the door, to Ina, to the shuffling, smoking men standing chatting with her, Alexander shook his head. Sayers was not getting it.

  “What about him? Chernenko? I don’t know him or owe him anything.”

  “You must take him,” whispered Alexander. “After this afternoon, he finally understood. He thought I would sacrifice her to save myself because he could not imagine any other way. Now he knows the truth. He also knows I will not sacrifice her to destroy him. I will not keep her from escaping to keep him from escaping. And he is right. So take him. It’ll help her, and I don’t give a shit about anything else.”

  Dr. Sayers was at a loss for words.

  “Doctor,” said Alexander gently, “stop fighting for me. She does that. I don’t want you to worry about me; my fate is sealed. But hers is wide open. Concern yourself only with her.”

  Rubbing his face, Dr. Sayers said, still shaking his head, “Alexander, I’ve seen that girl—” His voice broke. “I’ve seen that girl drain her lifeblood into you. I’m fighting for you because I know what it will do to her—”

  “Doctor!” Alexander was nearly at the end of his tether. “You’re not helping me. Don’t you think I know?” He closed his eyes. Everything she had she gave to me.

  “Major, do you think she’ll even go without you?”

  “Never,” said Alexander.

  “God! So what can I possibly do?” Sayers exclaimed.

  “She must never know I’ve been arrested. If she finds out, she will not go. She’ll stay—to find out what happened to me, to help me in some way, to see me one last time, and then it will be too late for her.”

  Alexander told Dr. Sayers what they had to do.

  “Major, I can’t do that!” Sayers exclaimed.

  “Yes, you can. It’s just words from you, Doctor. Words and an impassive face.”

  Sayers shook his head.

  “Many things can go wrong. And they will,” said Alexander. “It’s not a perfect plan. It’s not a safe plan. It’s not a foolproof plan. But we have no choice. If we’re to succeed at all, we must use all the weapons at our disposal.” Alexander paused. “Even the ones with no ammunition.”

  “Major, you’re out of your mind. She will never believe me,” said Sayers.

  Alexander grabbed the doctor’s wrist. “Well, that will depend on you, Doctor! The only chance she has of living is if you get her out. If you waver, if you’re unconvincing, if when faced with her grief you weaken and she sees for a split second that you are not telling her the truth, she will not go. If she thinks I’m still alive, she will never go, remember that, and if she doesn’t go, know that she has days before they come for her.” Stricken, Alexander said, “When she sees my empty bed, she will break down i
n front of you, her façade will crumble, and she will raise her tearful face to yours and say, ‘You’re lying, I know you’re lying. I can feel he’s still alive,’ and that’s when you will look at her and you’ll want to comfort her, because you’ve seen her comfort so many. Her grief will be too much for you to take. She will say to you, ‘Tell me the truth, and I will go with you anywhere.’ You will pause just for a second, you will blink, you will purse your lips, and in that instant know, Doctor, that you are condemning her and our baby to prison or death. She is very persuasive, and she is very hard to say no to, and she will keep on at you until you break down. Know—that when you comfort her with the truth, you will have killed her.” Alexander let go of Sayers’s wrist. “Now, go. Look her in the eye and lie. Lie with all your heart!” His voice nearly gone, Alexander whispered, “And if you save her, you will help me.”

  There were tears in Sayers’s eyes as he stood up. “This fucking country,” he said, “is too much for me.”

  “Me, too,” said Alexander, extending his hand. “Now, can you get her for me? I need to see her one last time. But come with her. Come with her and stand by my side. She is shy with other people around. She will have to be distant.”

  “Maybe alone for just a minute?”

  “Doctor, remember what I told you about looking her in the eye? I can’t face her alone. Maybe you can hide, but I cannot.”

  Alexander kept his eyes closed. In ten minutes he heard footsteps and her choral voice. “Doctor, I told you he’s sleeping. What made you think he was restless?”

  “Major?” Dr. Sayers called.

  “Yes,” said Tatiana. “Major? Can you wake up?” And Alexander felt her warm, familiar hands on his head. “He doesn’t feel hot. He feels fine.”

  Reaching up, Alexander placed his hand on hers.

  Here it is, Tatiana.

  Here is my brave and indifferent face.

  Alexander took a breath and opened his eyes. Tatiana was gazing down at him with a look of such unrelenting affection that he closed his eyes again and said, his lips carrying the cracked words mere centimeters from his mouth, “I’m just tired, Tatia. How are you? How are you feeling?”