8
The next morning at dawn Tatiana stumbled out to the water, barely able to walk. She felt raw.
Alexander followed her in. The Kama was cold. They were both naked.
“I brought soap,” he said.
“Oh, my.”
Alexander washed her entire body. “With this soap I thee wash,” he sleepily murmured. “I wash you of the horrors that befell you, and I wash you of your nightmares . . . I wash your arms and your legs and your love-giving heart and your life-giving belly—”
“Give me the soap,” Tatiana said. “I’ll wash you.”
“Wait, how does it go? What did God say to Moses—”
“Have no idea.”
“Thou shall not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day . . .” Alexander broke off. “I can’t remember the rest of it. Certainly not in Russian. Something about ten thousand falling at your right hand. I’ve got to brush up on my Bible and tell it to you. I think you’d like it. But you get my meaning.”
“I get your meaning,” Tatiana said. “I won’t be afraid.” She gazed at him. “How can I be afraid now?” she whispered. “Look what I’ve been given. Give me the soap,” she repeated.
“I can’t stand up,” Alexander muttered. “I’m finished.”
Her hands with the soap moved lower. “Not quite finished.”
He fell backward in the water.
“Done for, certainly,” Tatiana said, falling on top of him. “But not finished.”
Tatiana was clinging to Alexander in the cold Kama, her feet not touching bottom, her arms wrapped around his neck. “Look at the sunrise over the mountains. It’s pretty, isn’t it?” she murmured. He was standing in the water.
She saw he was oblivious to the sunrise, holding her to him with one hand and stroking her face with the other. “I found my true love on the banks of the river Kama,” whispered Alexander, staring at her.
“I found my true love on Ulitsa Saltykov-Schedrin, while I sat on a bench eating ice cream.”
“You didn’t find me. You weren’t even looking for me. I found you.”
Long pause. “Alexander, were you . . . looking for me?”
“All my life.”
“Shura, how can we have such a closeness? How can we have such a connection? Right from the start.”
“We don’t have a closeness.”
“No?”
“No. We don’t have a connection.”
“No?”
“No. We have communion.”
Alexander built a fire in the foggy cool morning on the shore of the quietly flowing river. They had some bread from his rucksack and some water. He smoked.
“We didn’t really come prepared,” Tatiana said. “Wish we had a cup. A spoon. Some plates. Coffee.” She smiled.
“I don’t know about you,” Alexander said, “but I brought everything I needed.”
She blushed.
“No, no, don’t do it,” he said, his hands on her. “We’ll never leave here.”
“Are we leaving here?”
“Let’s get dressed. We’re going to Molotov.”
“We are?” Last night, was that just a dream? What he said to her under the moon and the stars of night? “What for?” Holding her breath.
“We need to buy a couple of things.”
“Like what?”
“Blankets, pillows. Pots, pans, plates. Cups. A laundry basket. Some food. Rings.”
“Rings?”
“Rings, yes. To put on our fingers.”
