“That is interesting. I always thought there must be more to it than blessings and good deeds.”
“I can almost hear my papa say, ‘If Russians based their faith on blessings, there’d be precious little of it.’” Andrei smiled. “He also said those who did base their faith on such tangible things usually had little else.”
Rudy nodded thoughtfully. “It does seem odd that you would have turned your back on that kind of wisdom. Had I heard such things I might never have become an atheist.”
“Why did you become an atheist, Rudy?”
“My family was forced from our home in a pogrom when I was twelve years old. I guess I gave up my faith because of bad things happening, like you said. If Russians are beleaguered people, Jews are even more so. And Russian Jews! Oy! I don’t even want to think about it.”
“And that’s when you refused your bar mitzva?”
“Yes. And my father has never spoken to me since.” Rudy paused uncomfortably. Then, probably wishing not to be the subject of the conversation, he cast an incisive look at his friend. “So, Andrei, does this mean you have returned to the faith of your father?”
“It means I am thinking more about it than I ever have before. If only Papa were here to answer my questions now. The answers I remember were geared toward a child. My questions are different now, more complex.”
They started walking again and reached the end of the bridge, where they would have to part company. Rudy would go to the right to the Trinity Bridge, which would take him into downtown Petrograd. Andrei would head to the left, where he would come to the Stock Exchange Bridge that would take him to Vassily Island—and home.
Before the two young men went their own ways they briefly embraced.
“I hope . . .” Rudy began, then paused awkwardly. “Well, I just want to say, I will understand if we don’t see as much of each other now that you have found your family.”
“You won’t so easily be rid of this bear.” Andrei grinned. “Once you rescue me from an alley, you are stuck with me. I expect to see you soon.”
Rudy’s thin face brightened. He grasped Andrei’s hand and shook it vigorously. “I’m happy to hear that. I haven’t had many friends in my life.”
“Neither have I. Just my brother and Talia. But I am honored to count you with them as a dear friend.”
“After all you have said about them, I know I am in good company.”
They were about to turn away when Andrei paused once again. “Rudy, as a friend, may I offer some advice?” When Rudy nodded, Andrei continued, “Go see your father. The whole world has changed, and it might well be that he has changed also.”
“I might just do that. But first I will see to Sonja.”
“Good. Tell her I will be along soon.”
Once they parted, Andrei found his darkened route deserted. Most of the activity in the city was downtown where Rudy was heading. It suddenly occurred to him how strange it was for him to be walking away from the action—from the revolution. From practically his earliest memory the revolution had drawn him, captured him, dominated him. Especially after his father’s death it had been everything, to the extent of pulling him from his family.
Now he was walking away from it—literally and, he believed, figuratively.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a handbill tacked to a wall. He paused, tore it down, and though he had to strain a bit in the darkness, read:
TO THE CITIZENS OF RUSSIA!
The Provisional Government is deposed. The State Power has passed into the hands of the organ of the Petrograd Soviet of Workers and Soldiers’ Deputies, the Military Revolutionary Committee, which stands at the head of the Petrograd proletariat and garrison.
The cause for which the people were fighting: immediate proposal of a democratic peace, abolition of landlord property rights over the land, labor control over production, creation of a Soviet Government—that cause is securely achieved.
LONG LIVE THE REVOLUTION OF WORKMEN, SOLDIERS, AND PEASANTS!
Andrei smiled ironically. What mad celebration there must be among the Bolsheviks. Lenin’s Central Committee must be hysterical. And, in spite of everything, there was still part of Andrei that was glad for them. They had worked hard and suffered much for this day. He had been close comrades to them all—not in the way he felt close to Rudy or Yuri or Talia, but nevertheless, his life had been bound to them for a long time. He had worked and suffered, too, to bring about this victory.
Perhaps that was the true irony. To have worked half his life for something only to realize practically at the moment of final victory that he no longer cared about any of it. Well, he did still care on some level. He cared in the sense that one should always care about injustice. Tyranny was something he could never ignore. Russian freedom would never cease being a noble cause. Yet his amnesia had taught him that these causes were not what made him the person he was. And when he let them separate him from those he loved, he had cut off the most vital part of who he was. He was nothing without his family. His causes were meaningless without his family.
He glanced again at the handbill. “Ilyich, you have what you wanted.” He crumpled up the paper and dropped it into the gutter. Then he reached into his pocket and took out the “Ballet Russe” poster that he’d always kept close to him. “Now I must go find what I want.”
26
The old neighborhood had not changed. Even as he could hear artillery shells exploding in the city center, he approached his home with a sense of warm security. A new order was rising up in Russia. The old was about to be swept away—if Andrei did not misjudge Lenin—in a way that would be staggering. Yet the old babushkas still gossiped to each other on their doorsteps; children still squabbled in the street; the grocer was still yelling at his wife. Andrei almost expected to see Talia sitting on the doorstep of their building as she had many times in the past in order to catch him and fill him in on the day’s events.
But Talia wasn’t there. He wondered if she would even be inside. At least his mama would be there. Then Andrei hesitated. He knew his mama would never hold grudges against him for any of his actions. He was not so sure about anyone else. They must know about his amnesia and would no doubt forgive him for his disappearance since getting shot eight months ago. But what about before that? He and Yuri had had little chance to talk in the turmoil of their last meeting. He remembered his last words to Yuri were “I love you.” But what had been Yuri’s response? Andrei couldn’t remember.
Of course his brother loved him. The wisdom Andrei had offered Rudy regarding reconciliation with his father was just as applicable to him and Yuri. The world had changed radically in the last several months. It was hard to believe that Yuri had not changed also.
And Talia . . . ?
Andrei could still see the devastation in her eyes when he did not recognize her. It must have hurt her terribly. Then for him to disappear again. Suddenly something occurred to Andrei. That look . . . had there been more to it than simply being rejected by a friend? Could there have been more?
“Andrei,” he mumbled into the night air, “you are worse than Yuri standing here analyzing everything. You’ll never know anything unless you get moving.”
He took a steadying breath, then started toward his mother’s building. He climbed the steps, opened the door, and entered. Even the smell in the entry hall had not changed—musty dampness mingled with onions and frying lard, and whatever else various tenants had cooked for dinner. He mounted the long flight of stairs to their floor. He met a woman he knew from years ago on the stairs, but she did not seem to recognize him, so he said nothing. It made him realize how long it had been since he had been home, not counting that brief stay when he came in March. He was acutely aware of how much he had changed.
When he reached the door, he felt stiff and awkward as he lifted his hand to knock. How many times had he burst through that door as an exuberant boy? What would he do now?
But when the door opened in response to his
knock, he completely gave up his analyzing and followed his first impulse.
“Mama!” he cried and threw his arms around her, not caring about the past or the present. All he knew was that he really wanted to hold his mother close and feel her comforting embrace.
It took several moments for him to realize he was holding a limp, silent form in his arms.
“Oh no! Mama, what have I done?”
“What’s going on—?” came a new voice.
Andrei glanced up to see Yuri several paces away. “I’m afraid I’ve shocked her,” he said, his voice filled with the misery he felt.
At that moment, Anna stirred and opened her eyes. “It . . . it is you . . . Andrei. . . .”
“Forgive me, Mama . . .” said Andrei.
Anna reached up and touched his face as if she feared he was but an apparition that might fade away at any moment.
“Praise be to God!” she breathed, crossing herself.
“Mama, come and sit—” Yuri began.
“Yuri, do you see, it is your brother?”
“Yes, Mama. I see.” Yuri now smiled and Andrei could see moisture glistening in his brother’s eyes.
Together, the brothers helped their mother, who was still a bit shaky in the legs, to a seat in the parlor. As Yuri let go of his mother he lay a hand on Andrei’s shoulder, gripping him with a trembling hand.
“So, you have returned to stir some excitement into our lives,” Yuri said lightly, his voice nonetheless huskier than usual.
“There is a revolution going on outside,” said Andrei. “Is that not enough excitement for you?” The brothers sat on either side of their mother. No one seemed to think to inform the rest of the household of the unexpected reunion.
“Don’t you two boys start at each other so soon,” said Anna with a smile. “Oh, on second thought, forget what I said. It is music to my ears.” She put an arm around each of her sons and gave them a squeeze. “Andrei, you don’t know how many times when I opened that door, I hoped it would be you.”
“You too, Mama?” said Yuri.
“I did not want to say anything because I knew I had to be strong.”
“Mama,” said Andrei, “I put you through so much heartache. Did Talia tell you I had amnesia?”
“Amnesia? Talia? I don’t understand.” But Anna did not look too perplexed. She just gazed with wonder at her son returned to her from death.
“When I was wounded, I was found by a woman—”
“Wait a minute,” said Yuri. “Unless you want to tell your story a dozen times, let me get the rest of the family.”
It was another few minutes before everyone in the house was gathered in the parlor. Daniel was absent because he was somewhere in the city working, and Yuri was only home because he had been up all night with an emergency surgery. But Andrei did not get a chance to begin his story for several more minutes after many emotional greetings were exchanged. Raisa insisted that Andrei must have a hot glass of tea and something to eat.
Andrei did not mind the attention. In fact, he would have absolutely basked in it except that one important person was missing from the gathering. He desperately wanted to ask where Talia was, but the question was burning so intensely in him, he feared all would know his intent if he spoke it.
This somewhat distracted him as he told his story, but nevertheless he had a most attentive audience. Yuri laughed harder than anyone had heard him laugh in months when Andrei confessed that even with amnesia he nearly fainted when he first saw his wound. The children wanted to see his scar, but Andrei demurred because of the ladies present. What probably amazed everyone, and certainly amazed Andrei, was in all the telling of his story, he hardly mentioned politics at all. He did mention that he had a score to settle with Stephan Kaminsky for keeping the identity of his family secret. But other than that which pertained to events in his life, he said little about the revolution and made no mention at all of his opinions regarding it.
When he finished, Raisa determined that he needed to finish his meal. He had gained back some of the weight lost during his illness, but he was still much lighter than normal. Anna was reluctant to leave Andrei’s side, and Raisa insisted it was not necessary. One by one all the others migrated to other parts of the house for various reasons, though probably mostly because they wanted to give Anna and her sons time alone. However, by now Andrei was growing restless. Being with his family was glorious, but he knew he would not be able to fully appreciate that until he could see Talia.
He had no idea what would happen between them. Perhaps she had fallen in love with someone else. Perhaps she was married, though no one had mentioned it, and he felt as if it could not be so. He did know that when he saw her again, he was going to let his impulsive nature have full reign. He was not going to risk losing her again.
He searched in his mind for a casual way to ask about her. There was none except to just do it.
“No one has mentioned Talia,” he said, but his voice was stiff and much too high pitched to be casual. “She’s well, isn’t she?”
“I’m surprised it took you this long to ask about her,” said Yuri dryly.
“Well, I—”
“I’ll try to telephone her if you’d like.”
Andrei wanted to scream, “Why didn’t you do that an hour ago?” But instead, he just nodded and said with restraint, “Yes, I’d like that.”
Yuri left and a few moments later returned. “The phone line is dead.”
“Oh . . .” Andrei must have been wearing an extremely woeful expression because Yuri smiled sympathetically.
“Confound it, man!” Yuri finally exclaimed. “Why are you just sitting there? Go find her!”
“Do you think I should?” Suddenly all Andrei’s determination was swallowed in self-doubt.
“Am I missing something here?” asked Anna, truly perplexed.
“Mama,” answered Yuri, “Andrei is in love with Talia but has been afraid for years to tell her.”
“Yuri!” Andrei protested, feeling like a love-struck child.
A slight smile of enlightenment bent Anna’s lips. “She was so very upset when we thought you . . . were gone. I knew you were close friends, but it still seemed rather out of proportion to friendship.”
“She was upset?” said Andrei, hope soaring.
“Of course she was, you dolt!” said Yuri. Then he shook his head with frustration, only partly in jest. “I see I am going to have to do what the two of you are simply too dull to do for yourselves.” He jumped up and grabbed Andrei’s coat, which he had shed earlier. He thrust it at Andrei, but when Andrei still made no move, Yuri grabbed his brother’s arm and tugged him to his feet. He would have put the coat on Andrei had his brother not stirred into motion and done it for himself.
“All right, let’s be off with you,” Yuri said.
Andrei glanced at his mother. “Do you mind . . . ?”
“Do as your brother says,” Anna replied. “Find that girl and tell her how you feel.”
“I’ll be back soon!” Andrei briefly kissed his mother’s cheek.
Yuri told Andrei where Talia lived, then fairly shoved him out the door.
It had started to rain again, and a stiff wind drove it right into Andrei’s face. But he hardly noticed. He was just barely aware, once he crossed the river to the Southside, of the armored vehicles barreling down the main streets with units of machine gunners crouched on top of the trucks. He couldn’t avoid seeing units of troops on foot jogging east toward the center of town. Several almost ran him down.
But the heightened energy sizzling through the city could never match that within himself—his pounding heart, his tingling nerves, his mind racing to conjure every possible scenario in this long-awaited meeting.
It startled him and made him pause a moment when artillery fire caused the ground beneath his feet to quake. He glanced toward the Winter Palace whose spires he could barely see over the buildings nearer to him. Apparently the Reds had started shelling the pal
ace again. The surrounding darkness allowed him to clearly see the bursts of light accompanying the explosions.
Then he turned and continued in the opposite direction. What mattered to him did not lie in the direction of the Winter Palace.
He crossed the Moika Canal, then found Talia’s street. He was looking for numbers when he saw several women standing in front of one of the buildings about halfway down the street. They must have come out to see what the noise was about. All at once one of the women saw him and started down the steps that led to the street.
“Talia!” Andrei broke into a run.
She raced down the steps, hardly touching them as she descended. “Andrei!” she cried.
In another moment he had caught her up in his arms, literally lifting her light form two feet from the ground. Rain beat upon them, artillery shells burst in the background, but both felt only warmth and love and security.
“You remembered!” she said, her tears mingling with the raindrops.
“How could I ever have forgotten?” He was crying too. “It only shows what a fool I am and have always been. I wasted so many years with my stupidity.”
“You were smart enough to love me.” She was laughing and crying and panting. And he still held her in his arms. “You do love me . . . ?”
“I love you, Talia! I have always loved you. I will always love you.”
“And I love you, Andrei! Ah, it feels so good to finally say the words.”
“Like a weight lifted.”
“Like a dream fulfilled.”
He pressed his lips against hers as he had longed to do for so many years. And her hungry response was more than he ever could have imagined. She truly did love him!
A moment later he lowered her so her feet touched the ground. Still he did not let go of her, and she also clung to him. Only then did they notice the women on the doorstep pointing and giggling at them. The scene Andrei and Talia were making was far more entertaining than any revolution.
The Russians Collection Page 253