“Well, what do you say?” she asked in the tone of a seasoned businesswoman.
“I agree. But I won’t tear up this paper. I will give you three months to secure a marriage proposal. If none is forthcoming, this paper will take effect. You will marry Prokunin.”
Katya agreed without hesitation. They shook hands on it like two businessmen. But somehow when she left his study, she felt dirty, as if she had made a deal with the devil. Only her father could have tainted what should have been a sweet, beautiful time in hers and Yuri’s lives.
33
Yuri had parted from Katya with her assurance that she would come to St. Petersburg within a matter of days to see him and take up where they had left off on his last night in Moscow. Still, he left her with a great deal of trepidation. He kept telling himself that this time was different. Yet each time they had parted in the past, their reunions had been not only disappointing, but downright depressing for Yuri. If he could have remained in Moscow, he wouldn’t have let her out of his sight. But duty called in Petersburg.
One duty he was anticipating less than all the others was that of talking to Talia. The day after his return to Petersburg he invited her out to dinner, selfishly hoping a public place would provide him some protection against what he knew would be an emotional scene. She looked absolutely radiant. He silently philosophized over the peculiarities of love. Here was a lovely woman, right under his nose, all his life. Yet it was to another, to a comparative stranger, that his heart belonged. Why was it that Katya stirred him so, made him feel alive, whole?
But he had to get his mind off Katya. He had to find a way to speak his heart to Talia without breaking hers. But when he looked into her shining brown eyes, gazing at him so expectantly, he realized he was seeking the impossible.
“So, how was Moscow, Yuri?” she said. “You’ve spoken so little of it.”
“I’m sure hearing about the conference would only bore you.”
“No, it wouldn’t. Tell me about it.”
“Well, I learned much that will help me with my research. There was a great deal of talk about the Price-Jones study of the size of red blood cells and the possible part their measurement plays in diagnosis.” He talked for several minutes about this, until even he was bored. He knew he was merely postponing the inevitable. But there was no sense ruining their dinner.
Dessert was being served when he took a breath and plunged forward, “Talia, something else did happen in Moscow that I haven’t mentioned. It’s not easy for me to tell you about it. I wouldn’t blame you if you despised me for what I’ve done. I only hope I can make you understand that I didn’t intend to hurt you. It was stupid and insensitive, Talia, but never malicious—”
“I know you couldn’t be malicious, Yuri.” She took his hand and squeezed it with an affectionate smile.
“Your understanding only makes this harder . . . Talia, that night on Nicholas Bridge, I was hurting and confused. You were there—I’m afraid, in the wrong place at the wrong time. And when you reached out to me with such love, it staggered me, and it touched a terrible need I was feeling at the time. You see, I had just heard that the woman I loved was engaged to another man.” Her hand went slack and fell from his. He avoided her eyes and forged ahead. “I saw her again when I was in Moscow. I learned the rumor of her engagement was untrue. I learned that she cares for me more than I ever hoped possible.”
“I see . . .” Talia’s voice was soft, strained. Still, Yuri could not meet her eyes.
“I have wronged you terribly, Talia. But I honestly didn’t mean to.”
“I know.”
“I don’t deserve your forgiveness. And I’ve probably ruined our friendship, as well—”
“You’ll always be my friend, Yuri,” she said firmly. Then she lifted her hand and turned it toward him. The little scar on her finger there was faded now, but still visible. “Remember, a three-fold cord isn’t easily broken.” Her lip quivered as she spoke, her emotions barely controlled.
Yuri dropped his head and covered his face with his hands so the sudden tears in his eyes were hidden. The memory of that childish, perhaps ignorant, act between him and Talia and Andrei had always been a pleasant memory—until now. The thought of their innocence brought a stab of pain to him. The worst of the pain was that he had to be the one to break that cord. For Talia’s assurance was little comfort. He would always know how he had hurt her, and it would be a wedge between them. He didn’t even want to think of Andrei’s reaction when he found out.
“I hope that is possible,” was all Yuri could say.
There was a long silence. The cake on the table was forgotten. Finally, Talia looked up. “C-can you take me home now, Yuri?”
When they reached their building on Vassily Island, Yuri thought it best to give Talia time alone, so he left her at the door, telling her he needed to walk a bit. She understood. She would also understand his decision to stay at the hospital rather than face the awkwardness of living in the same home. She was an understanding woman.
Talia had barely closed the door and started for the stairs that led to her mother’s third-floor flat when the flood of emotion caught her. She swiped desperately at her eyes, but she couldn’t stop the flow of tears. She climbed the stairs slowly, hoping that by the time she reached her flat, the weeping would have subsided. But it seemed impossible to control. She had been flying on a cloud this past week. All her dreams had come true. The man she had loved for years was at last hers.
She had flown too high.
She should have taken it more slowly, tried to cushion the fall. Instead, while shopping with a girlfriend yesterday, she had actually looked at clothes for a bridal trousseau. Worse still, they had gone into a designer’s shop and looked at sketches of wedding gowns. She would have been better off spending her time wondering what had brought about the incredible change in Yuri.
Still, she couldn’t hate him. She knew him well enough to know what he said in the restaurant was true, that he had acted more out of confusion and need than spite. But that insight didn’t stop her tears, her pain.
As she came to the door of the flat, she hoped she could slip in and to her room without being noticed. But she had to walk by the kitchen on the way to her room and, unfortunately, her mother and Anna were there. And they weren’t alone.
“Talia, come and hear the good news,” said Raisa. “Andrei’s sold a painting.”
“In a minute, Mama. I want to . . . to . . .” But in her present state of mind she could not think of even one flimsy excuse. Her voice was shaky. Maybe they wouldn’t notice.
“What’s wrong, Talia?” It was the voice she least wanted to hear just then. Andrei’s.
“Nothing.” But a stupid sob accompanied the lie.
Andrei came to the kitchen door. “You’re crying.”
“I’m going to my room.” She turned, but he laid a big restraining hand on her shoulder.
“Mama said you were with Yuri. Where is he?”
“Please, I just want to be left alone right now.”
Anna now came and stood by Andrei. “Son, let her go.”
“Not until I know what’s wrong.”
“You don’t have to know everything,” Talia retorted, her intended sharpness considerably dulled by her tears.
“He did it, didn’t he?” Andrei accused. “He’s hurt you.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“What happened? Did he find himself a countess or a princess he decided was better than you?” She sobbed again and he added angrily, “I’m right, aren’t I? How could he?”
“You don’t understand, Andrei. You always think the worst of him. He would never hurt anyone intentionally—”
“And still you defend him!”
“Please!”
“Where is he?”
“I . . . I don’t know. Walking, I think.”
“He was too ashamed to face his family.”
“Don’t talk that way, Andrei!” S
he pulled from his grasp and fled down the hall.
Andrei had been elated over the news of sale of a painting for five hundred rubles. He had gone home to tell his family—but especially to tell Talia. He had almost forgotten that she and Yuri had exchanged words of love. He tried to make the best of it when he discovered that she was not only gone but that she was out with Yuri. He’d had tea with his mama and Raisa and tried to maintain his enthusiasm. That was enough money for him to live on for some time.
Now it didn’t matter at all.
He let Talia run away, even though he ached to hold her, soothe her, comfort her. He wanted to tell her that Yuri’s love was nothing, that real love, true love, was still waiting for her. But she slipped from his grasp, leaving him there feeling her pain but helpless to do anything about it. Or was he helpless?
“I’ll find him,” he muttered. “I’ll teach him!”
“Andrei,” Anna warned, “don’t leave this apartment.”
“No, Mama. I can’t obey you. We’re no longer bickering children that you can pull apart and make us be friends again. He’s gone too far this time.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
But he knew very well—he wanted blood. Not just because Talia had been hurt, but because Yuri’s actions had also destroyed Andrei’s chances with her. There was no way she would consider a relationship with either of her two best friends now. Andrei’s hopes were destroyed, and Yuri would pay for that.
He started again for the door.
“Andrei, don’t do this.”
He ignored his mother and kept going.
34
Andrei figured Yuri would walk to the hospital. That’s where he usually went to hide from life. But it wouldn’t work this time. Andrei was going to have it out with his brother once and for all. He was sick of the prima donna, flaunting his successes, acting like such a saint, the caretaker of humanity. He was sick of Yuri’s condescension, his phony show of gentility and sensitivity. The highborn prince. The holy physician.
Andrei fed his anger with each stride he took. And if all Yuri’s past offenses weren’t enough, all Andrei had to do to keep the fire burning within him was to conjure up an image of Talia’s delicate tear-streaked face, her red eyes, her pale, devastated countenance.
He walked for ten minutes, his feet pounding, his visage mottled and dangerous. Passersby gave him a wide berth, for in his wrath he was an imposing figure indeed. Once or twice he wondered what he’d do if he didn’t find Yuri. What if Yuri had decided to take a cab? But that only made Andrei more angry, that he might be robbed of a chance to vent his fury. Then, just as he came in sight of the spires of the Nicholas Bridge, he saw the lone man walking toward the bridge. He knew immediately it was Yuri. He would recognize his brother’s walk anywhere.
“Yuri!” Andrei called.
Yuri turned. “Andrei? What in the world—?”
“You had to do it, didn’t you?” Andrei panted, drawing closer to Yuri.
“What’re you talking about?”
“I saw Talia.”
“Oh . . . ? How is she?” Andrei ignored his brother’s pained expression.
“You care, do you?” Andrei challenged. “I told you what I’d do if you hurt her.”
“Come on, Andrei, you are being foolish.”
“You heartless beast!” Andrei clenched his fist and sent it into Yuri’s face.
Yuri staggered back but didn’t fall, nor did he attempt to dodge Andrei’s next blow, which landed him on his backside on the pavement. Yuri made no move to stand, but just sat there staring up into Andrei’s red, twisted face.
“Defend yourself!” Andrei yelled, grabbing Yuri by the front of his shirt and yanking him to his feet. He lifted his fist again but stopped in midair as a sudden, unbidden image flashed through Andrei’s mind. He wanted to curse it, to ignore it, but he couldn’t. It was of his father. He dropped his fist.
“Go ahead, hit me again,” Yuri said. “I probably deserve it—I do deserve it!”
“You make me sick,” said Andrei, letting go of Yuri’s shirt with disgust. “You’re pathetic.”
“Me? Maybe you should look at yourself, Andrei. It’s so obvious you love Talia, and yet you haven’t been man enough to admit it. You hate me for hurting her, but do you think you do her any good by keeping the truth from her? You are her best friend, and you lie to her every time you see her and say nothing of your true feelings.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“All right, maybe I don’t. Maybe you just want to kill me out of righteous indignation—not because I got from Talia something you’ll never get—”
Andrei flew at his brother again, all restraint forgotten, all images of the past blotted from his mind. Yuri’s words stung too deeply, and he had to react physically—for to respond in any other way he might have to admit the truth of those words.
This time Yuri fought back, but it was an uneven match. Yuri was slightly taller, but Andrei weighed fifty pounds more than his brother and had the strong, muscular form of a peasant accustomed to physical labor, not that of a scholarly physician. Neither brother, however, was a skillful fighter, for the only fights they had ever been in were boyish scuffles with each other. Andrei was clumsy, and if his big, powerful figure was intimidating it was also slow and lumbering. Yuri’s hands were soft and slim and once, when he gave Andrei a good, painful clip on the jaw, Yuri winced with just as much pain in his fist as Andrei had felt himself. Andrei almost felt sorry for him.
Yuri was quick, though, and got in three or four good shots. But the final blow of the altercation was delivered by Andrei. His big fist plowed into Yuri’s patrician nose like an anvil, the impact bringing tears to Yuri’s eyes and blood spurting from his nose. Since the day their father was killed, Andrei had never had much of a stomach for blood. Yuri was well aware of his brother’s squeamishness, and, perhaps out of spite, he did nothing at first to staunch the flow, which was substantial, running over his lips and down his chin. Andrei felt his own blood drain from his head. He staggered back and grabbed at a lamppost, which probably prevented him from falling over in a faint. Only then did Yuri pull out a handkerchief.
“You okay?” Yuri asked, his voice muffled under the handkerchief.
“Yeah. You?”
“I’ll live, but I guess that’s not what you want to hear.”
Andrei shrugged. “It wouldn’t help anyway.”
“Now what?”
“I guess . . . the best thing is for us just to part company.”
“You mean stop being brothers?” Sarcasm was clearly evident in Yuri’s question.
“I don’t know. Our lives are pretty much separate anyway. Let’s just keep it that way.”
“That’s what you really want?”
“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t want it.”
“I don’t know, Andrei. You have been known to open your mouth before you’ve thought about what was going to come out.”
“Not this time, Yuri. Something you said before is true—I could never stand being around you knowing you shared, even for a few days, an intimacy with Talia that I will never know.”
“We weren’t that intimate.”
“It’s enough that you held her in your arms, that she—” A lump in his throat forced him to stop. It was just as well. Nothing more needed to be said. “I’m going. But I’d appreciate it if you mentioned nothing to Talia about what’s been said here. It would do more damage than good.”
And he turned and walked away and did not look back even when his brother called his name.
“Andrei!”
Andrei’s footsteps quickened, and Yuri resisted an urge to go after him. He’d give him a few hours, maybe a couple of days to cool off, then he would find him and try to mend the rift between them.
Yuri turned and walked in the opposite direction, back home. Heavily he climbed the steps to the flat. He had been on his
way to the hospital when Andrei found him, and he should have continued in that direction, considering his bruises and bleeding nose. But that would have meant following Andrei. So, he returned home in spite of the possibility that he might have to face his mother and Talia. His stupidity had made quite a mess of his life. His beloved home was fragmented now, his dearest friend was brokenhearted, his brother was alienated. He couldn’t even bask in the joy of his reconciliation with Katya. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if the love of a woman was worth the price he had paid for it.
As he entered the dark apartment, he hoped to have a reprieve from difficult encounters for one night at least. But he wasn’t really surprised when he heard his mother’s voice.
“Yuri.” She was standing in the parlor door. No doubt she had been waiting for her sons to come home and hoping they would be together. How much did she know?
“Mama.”
“Oh, look at you, Yuri.” There was enough moonlight coming through the parlor window to illuminate the bloody handkerchief he held over his nose, which was still oozing blood. “Come into the kitchen so I can clean you up.” She put an arm firmly around him and nudged him toward the kitchen.
“I . . . I . . .” He tried to protest, but then he glanced down into his mother’s eyes and crumbled inside. “Oh, Mama! I’ve ruined everything!” He put his arms around her and wept.
“There, there, son.” She patted his back lovingly.
They went to the kitchen, and Yuri sat at the table as his mother lit a lamp, then drew some warm water from the samovar onto a cloth so she could clean the blood from his face. He needed her gentle touch and her soothing words. If only he had gone to her when he had first heard the news of Katya’s engagement instead of to Talia.
“It’s still bleeding a little,” she said. “I don’t think it’s broken, though. Just pinch your nose together with this cloth and hold your head back.”
A half-smile invaded his misery.
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