PART XII

Wanda walked home slowly, thinking about her conversation with Dmitri Nikolayevich. Something about their discussion disturbed her. Why did he ignore what she said about her loving and being loved and, instead, concentrate on life when love is gone? He seemed fascinated by death.

She walked past the new building and noticed a large canvas-covered truck. From the back of it, young girls jumped. Wanda watched them. They carried small wooden trunks and rucksacks.

“Oh. I see who’ll live in this dormitory,” she thought. “They’re just children.”

She noticed they wore some kind of uniform—black. As she drew closer, she saw they were all girls, two dozen of them, no boys. They walked past her, carrying their luggage, paying no attention to her. One girl, however, stopped and asked her, “Do you live her, auntie?”

“No, my child. I’ll be working here. I’ll warm the apartments and clean.”

“You’re not retired yet?” the girl asked.

Wanda did not answer because someone yelled, “Hey, Rita. If you don’t get going, you won’t find a place next to the window.”

“Excuse me,” Rita whispered to Wanda. “I have to run. I’ll see you later.” She followed the other girls. Wanda stayed, watching the girl walk toward the building.

“Interesting,” she thought. “How old is she? She couldn’t be more than fourteen. She’s so tiny, only two big, questioning eyes. And these children came to work? How could their parents let them go to another city at their age?”

Wanda’s mind was occupied with the girls, and she forgot her conversation with Dmitri Nikolayevich.

The next day was Sunday. At seven in the morning, Wanda walked to the city market carrying a basket. She saw the girls who had arrived the night before jogging. They all wore the same gray running clothes. Again, Rita slowed to talk to Wanda.

“We’re jogging after our morning exercise,” Rita said. “Where are you going so early with your basket?”

“I’m going to the market,” Wanda answered. “I need to buy some things.”

“Wait for me. I’ll come with you. All right? Give me five minutes.”

Rita ran back to the building. Wanda had not itme to answer, so she stood and waited.

A short time later, Wanda saw Rita coming toward her. At the same time, the rest of the girls returned from their run.

“Rita, you’ve got nothing to do?” one of the girls asked.

“Listen,” another girl yelled. “Buy me bread and a package of butter. I’ll give you the money later.”

A third girl chimed in. “For me, radishes and green onions, please.”

Wanda and Rita had already crossed the street. They walked to the end of the block and turned the the corner.

“It’s always like that,” Rita said. “They don’t want to go by themselves. I have to bring them everything.”

“How old are you, Rita?” Wanda asked.

“Last April I was sixteen. Two months ago. How old are you? Why are you still working?”

“You look no more than fourteen years. You’re so little and fragile.”

“Nobody can tell my age. Just a year ago, I could go to the movie with a child’s ticket. We children who grew up during the war didn’t grow very tall because we didn’t have vitamins and sometimes not even bread. But we’ll grow now that we eat better. Don’t you think?”

“Of course you can grow. My time was different. When I was sixteen, I looked like an adult. When I was fourteen, I looked seventeen. But that was a different time.”

“You have some kind of soft accent. Did you live someplace else before?”

“You have good hearing. Not everyone hears my accent. I’m from Poland. I came here a long, long time ago. Where did you come from, and all these girls?”

“We’re from different places. We went to the same community college for two years. The government sent us to work in this factory.”

They walked in the early morning, two entirely different people, one older woman carrying the burden of her past life, and a young girl with the burden of a difficult childhood. The young girl, however, could still look forward to a future and looked at life through more cheerful eyes.

Wanda found out that there were twenty-four girls. None of them had parents. They grew up in orphanages. They received training in a trade while attending high school.

“You poor orphans,” Wanda said when Rita had finished. “Now I understand the uniforms. How old were you when you went to the orphanage?”

“Since 1941. I was five. My sister was a year and a half, and my brother was eleven. The three of us were sent to an orphanage when Mama was killed by a bomb. My father was killed in the war, in 1944.”

“What happened to your mama?”

“We were sitting in the train station, waitin for the train. Mama went to the commissary about two kilometers away from the station. She was standing in line. A German plane dropped a bomb, but we didn’t know what had happened. We sat and waited until it was almost dark. My sister was crying. Then the soldiers came and asked us why we were sitting by ourselves. My brother explained where my mother had gone and that she hadn’t come back yet. They took him to the commissary. He recognized her dress. She was killed along with many others.”

“We were taken with the wounded soldiers to Novosibirsk, deep in Siberia. When we reached the town, we were sent to an orphanage.”

“You poor children. I can imagine what you’ve gone through. What that war has done to people!”

“We’re not poor children. The government takes care of us, feeds us, gives us clothes. When you lose your parents when you’re little, you don’t understand what you’ve lost. Only in the evenings did we miss Mama. Nobody told us stories; nobody sang for us. And we missed Father because nobody was there to hold us on his lap.”

Wanda was crying. Listening to the story of this girl’s life, explained so simply, as if she were talking about everyday things, touched her. Rita was sure of what she was saying about the good that had happened to her. But the story could not leave Wanda indifferent.

“Why are you crying?” Rita asked. “Everything is past. I’m sixteen now. I have a trade as a lathe operator. I’ll make money, support myself, and get an education. In a year, I’ll graduate from high school and go to college.”

“Oh, you poor, poor orphan. You understand nothing about this life yet. Where are your sister and brother? Are they still alive?”

“My brother graduated from the university. He’s a geologist. He was sent to work in Siberia. My sister lives with my aunt in Kiev, the city where I was born. We didn’t grow up together, but we haven’t lost each other.”

Tears fell from Wanda’s eyes. Rita stopped walking and took Wanda’s arm.

“Listen,” she said. “I forgot to ask your name. Please, stop crying. I don’t like it when people cry. You need to be strong and control your feelings. I don’t cry, even though sometimes it is very difficult not to.”

Wanda smiled through her tears. She looked at the little girl.

“My name is Wanda,” she said. “Just call me that.”

“Oh, no, I can’t call you by your first name. You’re older than me. They taught me to call older people by their full names.”

“In your orphanage, discipline was very strict, like in a soldiers’ camp. Did you say you don’t cry? That must be the result of the way you were raised.”

Wanda held Rita by the shoulders and said, “Listen, my dear child. If you feel like crying, cry. You’ll feel better when you let it out. Sometimes, it’s just necessary.”

Rita looked at Wanda with wide eyes. Wanda smiled and continued, “I didn’t cry for some time, but now after I cry, I feel better.”

As they talked, they approached the city market. Wanda put all her purchases in her basket. Rita carried a fishnet bag. She bought bread, packages of butter, green onions, sausage. The long loaves of bread poked out of the top of her bag.

“May I call you Aunt Wanda?” Rita asked. “You didn’t tell me your full name.”

“Call me whatever you like, child.”

“While we were walking to the market, I told you my life store. While we’re walking back, could you tell me the story of your life? Do you have children, grandchildren? How many?”

Wanda did not know what to say. No one had ever asked her those questions so directly. She said, quietly, “No, I don’t have anybody. Everybody died.”

“Now I understand why you cried when I told you about myself. Forgive me, please. I didn’t know you lost your family. I talk too much. It’s too much excitement, coming to a new town. From the train, we jumped into a truck. We sat on the benches and sang. Monday and Tuesday, we have to have medical examinations. On Wednesday, we go to work. It’s all new and interesting. I love new things.”

Wanda understood that Rita talked as she did for a purpose. Before they reached the building where Rita lived, they had talked about the climate in Odessa and many other subjects.

Wanda noticed that Rita had an inquiring nature. She was well read for someone in her teens.

“Bye-bye, Aunt Wanda,” Rita said. “Thanks for the company.”

“Thank you, child. You’ve made my day.”

Rita ran to the dormitory.

When Wanda returned to her apartment, she boiled a potato on the primus and lay down on the bed. Somehow this girl had touched her deeply, in her soul. She could not remember anyone touching her that way so quickly. Maybe it was because Rita was an orphan. But Wanda had seen many orphans before. Most of them looked lost and frightened, and they were angry at the world because they were alone. This girl, though, was different. She was full of life. She did not see herself as a poor orphan. She blamed no one for what had happened in her life.

A knock at the door interrupted Wanda’s reverie. Someone knocked persistently and called Wanda’s name. When Wanda opened the door, she saw a janitor she knew from the school.

“Something terrible has happened, Wanda,” the woman said, “something very terrible.”

“What is it?” Wanda asked. “What happened to whom?”

“Dmitri Nikolayevich is dead.”

“What are you saying? I just talked to him yesterday. This is impossible.”

“Yes. He hanged himself last night. He was very drunk and hanged himself with his scarf.”

“Like I said, this is impossible. He had only one arm. How could he tie a knot? And he was very drunk.”

“I told you what I heard. Maybe somebody hanged him, maybe even his wife. She’s scum.”

“This is nonsense. Why would his wife hang him? Or anyone else?”

“You don’t know anything, Wanda. He was a rich man. He brought a lot of valuable things from Germany. He had a lot of gold. That’s how he was able to buy her. But she didn’t stay with him long. He bored her—older, crippled. Maybe she just decided to get rid of him.”

“Oh, God,” Wanda cried. “What rumors people spread. When is the funeral? I must go pay my respects. He wasn’t a bad man. I remember he helped me.”

“There’ll be a lot of people at his funeral. I heard it’s scheduled for Tuesday at eleven.”

When the woman had left, Wanda closed the door. The primus was making noise, the potato was boiling, and steam billowed from the pot. Wanda turned the primus off and walked out to the street.

It was still early on a Sunday morning. Not many pedestrians were out. She walked slowly, looking down. She could not get enough air, even though the morning was very fresh and the air clear.

“This is so frightening,” she thought. “He hanged himself with the scarf I made for him.”

“Aunt Wanda,” Rita called. “Is that you? Wait for me.”

Wanda turned and saw Rita running across the street toward her.

“Are you going to town?” the girl asked. “Can I go with you, please? I’ve never seen the sea. I want to touch the water. The real Black Sea. I’m so glad they sent us to Odessa.”

Wanda stopped and said, “Listen, Rita, dear, I’m not going to town. I’m not going to the sea. I’m just walking. Someone told me some terrible news. A good person has died. I knew him well.”

“I’m so sorry. Was he very old? How old was he?”

“No, Rita, he wasn’t very old. He was about fifty.”

“He wasn’t young. Fifty is a lot.”

“Yes, Rita, of course. If you’re sixteen, even thirty years is old, it’s a lot of years to you. But believe me, fifty is not old. I’ll be sixty-two this year. In your thinking, I’m an old, old woman.”

“No, you’re not an old, old woman,” Rita said with a shrug. “You’re just not young.”

“You’re a diplomat. I believe I’ll never be bored with you. All right, let’s walk together. We can go to the park, if you wish. Maybe I won’t feel so burdened if you’re with me.”

As they talked, they heard a girl from the dormitory call Rita.

“Rita! Come here! I need to talk to you.”

The girl’s name was Anna. Rita answered her. “If you need me, come here.”

The girl approached but stopped a few steps away. “Listen, Rita,” Anna said, “I can’t talk in front of strangers. Come here.”

“All right. What do you want?” Turning to Wanda, Rita said, “Wait for me, please. I’ll be right back.”

The girls whispered. Wanda heard only pieces of the conversation. After a few minutes, Rita dismissed Anna with a wave of her hand, and she and Wanda went to the park.

“Even though all the girls are bigger than you, they pay attention to you,” Wanda said.

“Sometimes yes, sometimes no, but they like when I tell them stories. They don’t like to read, but listen—yes. I can read books and tell them what I read. For two years, almost every Sunday, everybody has come together and sat on the beds. They listen very quietly. Today is Sundy. I promised I’d finish the story I started a couple of Sundays ago. I told Anna I’d finish the story today, when I come back.”

“Rita, I heard the girl say, ‘with some old woman.’ Was she talking about me?”

Rita was embarrassed and did not answer right away. She explained later.

“Yes, Anna said everybody was waiting for me, and I was going with some old woman. I told her your name is Aunt Wanda, not ‘old woman.’”

“Tell me, Rita, why did you decide to come with me if everybody was waiting for you?”

“Try to understand. All the time I’m telling stories. For a long time, I’ve wanted to listen to someone who can tell me something interesting.”

“I understand. If you come visit me, I’ll give you something interesting to read.”

“I like short stories by Lydia Charsky, but her stories were banned after the revolution. I found her books a couple of times. I also like short stories by Eliza Ozheshko. I’ve read only one of heer books. I think there are five.”

“Now I know your interests. I have something for you from a second-hand bookstore. How does it happen that you’re the only one who reads, and the other girls listen?”

“I’ve always liked to tell stories, ever since I was a child. Everything I read I like to talk about. That’s how it started. Also, I like to write poetry. And you know, Aunt Wanda, when I write, nobody interrupts me.”

Wanda listened to Rita and realized she liked the girl, and she liked to listen to her and talk to her.

“I believe someday you’ll become a writer,” Wanda said. “I think a professional writer. Would you like to be one?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it. I like physics and calculus, but I’d like to know more about literature, what is already written.”

“Can you read one of your poems for me, please?”

“My poems are not polished, I write them because I have feeling inside me.”

Rita recited the poem she had written called “Wind.”

WIND

The wind is caressing the wheat in the glens,

Singing and wailing ‘til the day begins.

Now rambling in the field, to the forest he flies,

Lifting up from the earth, he races to the skies.

He restlessly passes the bankof the river

And causes the leaves of the willow to quiver.

He touches the hair of a beautiful maiden

Who sits under the willow, her heart heavy-laden.

Resembling Alonushka,9 with a sorrowful look,

She hangs her head low, gazes into the brook.

It is said, though love is the essence of life,

The love itself can bring pain and inner strife.

Oh wind, please rest for a while, pause for a moment,

That she may send a message to relieve her torment.

But the wind is uncaring. He shows no concern.

He knows not of sorrows. Amusement he years.

He tousles the hair of the beautiful maiden.

Who cries under the willow, her heart heavy-laden.

 

“And you wrote that yourself?” Wanda exclaimed.

“Of course. I’ve written since I was ten years old. But like I told you, I haven’t had enough school.”

“You’re so modest. Do you have something about love?”

“No. I don’t write about love because I have to feel what I’m writing about.”

“Have you ever had a boyfriend?”

“What are you talking about? I grew up under very strict conditions. Ours was a girls’ school. Even in college, our group is all girls.”

“What kind of rules are those? God knows what they’ll turn you into. Tell me, have you learned how to think freely? Or do you think only what they tell you to think?”

“You’re joking. What’s bad about it, if we learn endurance and to have a strong will?”

“Sure. You’ll grow up without endearments and kind words, all by command.”

“It’s not as bad as it seems. We children who grew up in orphanages did much better in school than children who had parents and lived at home.”

“Someday, Rita, you’ll understand what I’m talking about. When you start work and are making almost nothing, maybe enough for a dry piece of bread, and you see what it’s like to live that way, we can talk about it. For now, we can walk and breathe fresh air, and smell the acacias.”

For a few minutes, they walked in silence. Then Wanda said, “Next Tuesday I have to go to a funeral. When I think about that my heart trembles. It’s such a tragedy.”

“Aunt Wanda,” Rita begged, “take me with you. I’ve never been to a funeral. We go for our physicals in the morning, and I’ll be free.”

“Child, why do you want to see a funeral? You don’t need that experience.”

“Please, I beg you. I’ll be very quiet. I’d like to see a funeral.”

“All right. You can come with me, but I still don’t know why you need to see that spectacle.”

They walked for an hour in the park and returned. Rita asked many questions, and Wanda tried to answer her. Wanda felt much better after she got back because she was no longer alone.

On Tuesday, as agreed, Rita arrived at Wanda’s room at ten o’clock. She knocked, and Wanda said, “Come in, Rita.”

From the bright outdoors, Rita entered the dark room. For a moment, she could not see.

“I’ll be ready in a minute,” Wanda said, putting on her shoes.

Rita sat in a chair and looked around. In the corner, she saw the icon of the Mother of God. The icon lamp was lit. She walked closer and examined the display.

“I saw an icon like that in church. One time I saw an icon in clothes like that.”

“You go to church?” Wanda asked.

“No. Oh, no. They don’t let us go to church. I went once last year, at Eastertime. I’ll remember it for a long time. This icon is beautiful. I like it.”

“Let’s go, Rita. I already bought flowers. We have to walk about thirty minutes.”

As they walked out, Wanda gave Rita a bouquet of lilacs and tulips.

“Tell me, Rita, please. How did it happen you were in a church? You weren’t punished for that?

“Nobody knew. I’ll tell you what happened. I didn’t know then that I’d be going to church. I bought some greeting cards for the holidays from a girl in a little shop. I always bought cards from her to send to my sister, my brother, and my aunt for holidays and birthdays. The girl’s name was Irena. She knew me by name, too.

“I bought cards for May Day, and she asked me where I was going for Easter. I didn’t even know what Easter was.”

“‘Listen,’ she told me, ‘come with me. My home is thirty kilometetrs from here by train.’”

“She knew I didn’t have parents and that I lived in the community college dormitory. I had spring vacation, and she told me I would be gone for only three days. We would leave Friday and be back Monday.

“‘You’re an orphan,’ she told me. ‘You’ve never had a holiday like that. My parents would be very happy if I brought you with me.’”

“I asked the counselor if I could go with a friend for a couple of days. I lived in a west Ukrainian city called Strei. In the village where Irena lived, the people were religious, as I found out later.”

“Irena was tall, blonde, and a beautiful girl. When we got to her home, she introduced me to her parents. ‘This is Rita,’ she said. ‘She doesn’t know what Easter is. She’s never celebrated the holiday, and she doesn’t believe in God. She’s been raised in an orphanage.’”

“I said, ‘Thank you very much, Irena, for that kind of introduction.’ Irena just laughted. Her parents looked at me as if I were from another planet. I spoke Ukrainian, but even that was different. In their village, people spoke with a Polish accent.”

“Irena had an old grandmother who lived with her parents. It was late in the evening, but nobody had eaten yet. I was so hungry, because I’d missed dinner at the school. I was ashamed to ask, though, and I went to sleep on an empty stomach.”

“In the morning, I washed my face, brushed my teeth, braided my ahir, and then sat to wait until everybody was ready for breakfast. I saw colored eggs surrounding a tall cake on the table. My mouth was watering.

“I saw Irena’s mother put everything that was on the table into a basket. She also added ham and sausage, and she covered it with a napkin. I just wandered around, waiting for breakfast, but nobody ate.

“I whispered to Irena, ‘Tell me, are you hungry? When do you eat breakfast?’”

“She just looked at me funny and said, ‘Rita! Today we fast.10 Nobody can eat. Tomorrow we break the fast. For today, you suffer!”

“What was this? I understood what it meant to suffer when there’s nothing to eat. But there was a whole table full of food. I couldn’t figure it out.”

“In the backyard, a chicken clucked and a rooster crowed. A cow lay on the ground with her calf. I could see the forest not far away. Nature was beautiful there; the air was fresh and clear. Everhting was find, but how could I enjoy it when I was so hungry? I tried to keep my mind off my stomach. I petted the calf; he was so cute. That’s how I spent my time until five o’clock that afternoon.

“At five, Irena told me it was time to go to church. The service would start at six. We had to walk instead of drive. My feet were so tired. I couldn’t see anything except open fields and forest.”

“I asked Irena, ‘How far is the church?’”

“‘Maybe two more kilometeres,’ she said. ‘It’s in the middle of a cemetery. Are you frightened of cemeteries?’”

“‘No, I’m not,’ I said. ‘The orphanage where I grew up was next to an old Polish cemetery. We used to play there after school. It was over two hundred years old, and nobody had been buried there for many years. Two years ago, the cemetery was destroyed and turned into a park. I saw how they opened the crypts and broke the coffins open and removed the jewelry with hooks.’”

“Irena said, ‘Oh, my God, who would do that?’”

“I told her, ‘It was the soldiers. I believe the government sent them. We children ran around, and nobody paid any attention to us.’”

“Irena was quiet, and we went on walking. My legs were so tired I couldn’t go on, so I stopped. She took my arm and helped me. In a little while, I saw the church steeple and then the cemetery fence.”

“At the church, people were standing outside, waiting. When the doors opened, we went inside. The church wasn’t very big. The altar was surrounded by icons, so were the walls. I looked around and saw tall candles standing on the floor, and I could smell the burning wax.”

“Irena whispered to me, ‘I’m going to sing in the choir. We’re to the left of the altar. You watch the people and do exactly what they do. When they pray, you keep quiet. This is vespers. Be prepared.’”

“I nodded my head, and she walked to the choir. I didn’t understand what vespers were, but I decided to stay and wait and do what the people around me did.”

“The service started, and the priest opened a big book on the pulpit. He started to read, and I didn’t understand one word. The people around me repeated some of it. I looked around and saw that the church was packed with people of all ages. People knelt down, and I did the same.”

“Up by the altar, behind the pulpit, was a big wooden coffin, and lying in it was a clay statue of Jesus. The statue was very brightly painted. The people crawled on their knees up to the coffin and kissed the statue’s feet.”

“I didn’t want to do it, but the people behind me forced me ahead. When I reached the coffin, I didn’t kiss the feet; I just looked and crawled away.”

“After they kissed the feet, everybody stood up and walked behind the pulpit to a big stand with an icon on top of it. The icon was covered by glass. They kissed the glass. I couldn’t do it. There were too many kisses all over it. Once they kissed the icon, all the people went back to their places, but they had to stand through the whole service.

“When everybody was finished kissing the statue and the icon, the priest continued reading, and the people continued to repeat some things he read. I looked around some more. Irena stood in the first row of the choir. When the priest stopped reading, the choir started singing. They started singing very quietly, then more loudly, then softly again. It was a beautiful melody. The choir stopped singing, and the people started to pray again.

“It was so stuffy in there. The smoke from the candles and the stuffy air made it hard to breathe. I took my coat off and held it in my arms. The coat was made of heavy wool; it was a uniform coat.”

“I don’t remember how long I stood like that, but I felt like I had no energy. I felt nauseous, and my head started spinning, amaybe because of the stuffiness of the place or maybe because I was hungry, or maybe both. For a minute, everything was completely silent. People stood with their heads bowed and prayed without a sound.”

“Suddenly, I said, very loudly, ‘Irena! Let’s go.’”

“Maybe my voice was too loud. Everybody turned and looked at me. Irena’s eyes were wide open. The next moment, somebody grabbed me by the collar. The church door was open, and they kicked me out.”

“I walked into the middle of the cemetery. It was very late. All around me were crypts and graves. The moonlight was hazy. I walked down the paths. It was cold, and I put my coat on and put my collar up. I heard an owl hoot in the trees. Leaves on the ground rustled. I was so tired and hungry, and I felt I didn’t have the energy to walk anymore.”

“To the right of where I stood was a grave covered by a flat marble slab. I took my coat off, put it down on the slab, lay on half of it and covered myself with the other half. I remember looking at the sky and seeing the stars, but I don’t remember anything else. I just fell asleep.”

“I woke up because somebody was shaking me by a shoulder. When I opened my eyes, I saw a man and a woman looking at me. The woman was holding a lighted candle. I stood up, took my coat, and walked away.”

“I heard the woman say, ‘Homeless and wandering around. What kind of place is this to sleep?’”

“When I got close to the church, I heard Irena calling me. ‘Rita! Where are you?’ When I came close to her, she shushed me, and then she said, ‘How in the world could you scream in church? Don’t you know how to behave yourself?’”

“No, I didn’t know how to behave in church. How could I know? Nobody told me. But Irena didn’t understand. I was so far away from religion and had no idea how to behave myself in that situation. If I’d known what vespers were, I would never have agreed to go. And to be hungry for a whole day before!”

“You make me laugh so hard I’m crying,” Wanda said, wiping her tears. “We’re going to a funeral, and you’re telling me a story like that. You can finish it later. We’re at the building where he lived.”

They walked through a gate at the side of the building and followed an alley around to the rear courtyard. They saw a coffin lying on a table in the middle of the courtyard. On it were flowers, and around it were wreaths. Wanda put her flowers on the coffin and then took the flowers from Rita and placed them on the coffin as well.

Rita looked at the deceased and turned her face away. Wanda took her arm and said, “Let’s go. I can’t stay here.” Rita nodded, and they walked back to the street.

“Now you’ve seen the spectacle,” Wanda said. “But this is nothing. When the whole procession walks to the cemetery, you can hear crying, screaming, and lamentation. I don’t think you’d like that.”

“You’re right,” Rita said. “Let’s go home. I feel sick.”

They walked quietly home.

Rita had wanted to see the funeral because she was curious, but she could not stand more than a few minutes. She could not look at the dead man’s blue face and the mark on his neck.

Wanda had not thought there would be so many people. They were probably neighbors from the buildings around. And she had not expected so many wreaths. He had been in the Army and was a hero, but because he had committed suicide he received only a civilian ceremony, according to law.

Wanda thought about many things during the thirty-minute walk home. Yesterday, this was a person; today, he was gone. Rita walked next to her and asked no questions. Wanda was glad she was quiet.

“We’re almost home,” Wanda said when they stopped at the corner of their block. “Do you see your building? The one with the columns? I have to stop at the grocery store.”

“Oh, yes,” Rita answered, “I see it. Good-bye, Aunt Wanda.”

Wanda turned right to the store. She had not had wine for a long time. She had not wanted it. But now something inside her craved a drink. Perhaps she saw life from a different perspective.

Like before, she bought a large bottle of wine and went home. She drank a glass, then a second. She became intoxicated at last and fell asleep with her head on the table. She awoke with a terrible headache, finished the wine, and felt better. Subconsciously, she knew she was an alcoholic. Any kind of stress pushed her to the bottle. She wanted only to forget her past and not think about her unhappy future.

The next morning, she went to work very early. She covered her head with a kerchief and pulled it low over her eyes. The girls walked past her and said hello. When Rita opened the door and saw Wanda, she asked, “Why have you covered your head like that? Are you ill?”

“Yes,” Wanda said. “I have a headache. Why are you not at work?”

“I’m on the second shift this summer. In September, when I start school, I’ll work one week on the day shift and one week on the night shift. I’ll rotate between the first and third shifts.”

“I see. But tell me, how can you work at night after you come home from school? You’re so tiny. How will you find the strength?”

“Like I told you before, I’m strong. Your face looks sweaty. Did you cry when we got back from the funeral?”

“You see everything. Don’t pay attention to me.” Wanda walked away, carrying a mop and bucket.

Rita saw that she was bothering Wanda with her questions, and she walked to the back courtyard. She had known Wanda only a few days, but she felt drawn to her. Rita was an orphan. She was not used to having someone take care of her. No one had paid special attention to her. She always watched people, however, especially older people. She liked to ask questions because she knew older people could teach her. Rita had seen Wanda stop and watch the girls jump down from the truck that first day. Wanda had looked different, not like the janitors Rita had seen before. She saw a kind of nobility in Wanda’s face, a soft smile. Rita caught herself thinking about Wanda often, and sometimes she felt as though she had known the lady for a long time.

Wanda cleaned the corridors and kitchens and walked out to the courtyard. She saw Rita sitting on a bench, reading a book.

“Where does she find her optimism, her courage, and her stubbornness?” Wanda thought, looking at the girl. She put the mop and bucket away and sat down on the bench next to Rita.

The girl raised her head and looked at Wanda questioningly.

“What are you reading?” Wanda asked. “Let me see the book.”

“This is Jenny Gerhardt by Theodore Dreiser.”

Rita handed the book to Wanda and added, “I finished Jane Eyre not long ago. It was a very good novel by Charlotte Bronte, very easy to read.”

“That’s good. You like to read. It’s important that you understand what you read. Many people read all the time, but when you ask them what they’ve read, they can’t tell you.”

“As I told you before, I have to talk about everything I read to the girls. I don’t know how we’ll manage now that we’re working different shifts. There’s only one Sunday left.”

“Tell me, would you like to be a writer someday, and write novels people will read again and again? What do you think about that?”

“Oh, no. I don’t have anything to write. I don’t have any interesting characters to write about. Also, you have to be in school for a long time to become a professional writer.”

“You’re right about that,” Wanda said with a smile. “If you have a story and find characters for a novel, would you be able to write about them?”

“I’ve never thought about it,” Rita answered, shrugging. “What can I write about now? It’s a different time, and there are so many writers.”

“I can give you a subject, and I believe you can write it someday. But I’m not sure this book will be published here.”

“In a year, I’ll graduate from high school and go to the university. I have to support myself. I’m not sure I’ll be able to find the time to write a book.”

“You’re right. I don’t know what I’m talking about. Come to my place tomorrow. I’ll give you an interesting book I bought in the flea market. It’s an old book, Princess Kozansky. I think you’ll like it.”

“Thank you. When I finish this book, I’ll come over. I’ve never heard of that book.”

“I have to go,” Wanda said. “Good luck to you on your first day at work … Oh, I almost forgot to ask you to finish your story about your first Easter. How does it end?”

Rita smiled and closed her book. “I stopped when Irena told me that I hadn’t behaved myself because I talked loud in church. I didn’t answer her back because I was half asleep, hungry, and very, very tired.

“The people were standing outside around the church in a circle with their baskets of food at their feet. Irena’s sister had come with her husband, and they had brought a basket, too. They joined the circle.

“I saw the priest’s assistant, a man with a long beard and long hair, walking and swinging a container with smoke coming out of it. The priest walked behind him and dipped a brush in a bucket of water and sprinkled water on the food in the baskets. Some of the water hit me, and I tried to brush it off.

“Irena said, ‘don’t brush the water away. It’s holy water.’”

“When the priest walked away, everybody picked up his basket and left through the gate in the churchyard.”

“Irena said, ‘He blessed our food. Now we go home and break our fast.’”

“I didn’t ask any questions, even though I didn’t know what she meant by ‘break our fast.’ I followed her and her sister and her sister’s husband.”

“The road back looked so long to me because I was so tired. When we finally reached their home, I had no strength at all. Inside the house, everybody started kissing each other and saying, ‘Jesus has risen.’ And everybody answered, ‘Truly risen.’”

“I didn’t understand anything they were talking about. I asked permission to lie down on the chimney seat where it was warm. They gave me a blanket and I fell asleep right away.”

“They tried to wake me a couple of times, but I couldn’t open my eyes. I slept all day and all night. I don’t remember when I’ve slept that long in my life.”

“The next morning I climbed down from the chimney seat. I felt refreshed. I brushed and braided my hair and sat down for breakfast. Everybody looked at me and then at each other.”

“I can see everything you’ve told me. I think someday you’ll be a writer. Remember my words.”

“I’d like to be an engineer, but time will tell.”

“Tell me, do you remember who your parents were?”

“No, I can’t remember, but my aunt told me. My father was a physics and mathematics professor. He was a teacher in a military academy. That’s why he went into active service the first day of the war. He was a volunteer instructor for a civilian aviation club, too. He was killed in nineteen forty-four. His plane was shot down.”

“My mother was a pianist. We had a nanny who lived with us. I remember her much better than anyone else. When we evacuated, she moved to the village she came from, and we didn’t see her anymore. Her name was Elizabeth.”

“Of course. If there had been no war, your life would be completely different. It’s the same with me. If there had been no war in nineteen fourteen, I would have lived a different life. All right. I have to go now. We’ll talk more another time.”

Wanda walked to her forlorn little corner and memories of her past gathered around her. She understood the girl whom she had left sitting on the bench with a book. She knew they shared the same grief brought on by war. But Wanda was from a different generation. She had had a different childhood. She had been raised differently.

She rushed home to have a drink and forget about everything. When she was drunk, her feelings were half asleep, and she saw things in a different light. Later, she fell asleep, and when she awoke, she felt awful. Her head hurt, and her whole body ached. Only more alcohol could make her feel better.

About two weeks later, after drinking some wine, one morning Wanda felt a little drunk. She walked over to the corner where the icon was displayed and fell to her knees.

“Maybe you can answer my questions,” she said. “Even just one question. Why am I still alive? Please, ask your son to take me. If you can, beg him for me. Nobody needs me. Where is my daughter? Is she still alive? And my sister and her family? Why do I have this destiny? Why do I have to lead such a wretched existence? No. You look at me and say nothing. You don’t have any answers. You don’t have anything to say.”

Tears fell from her eyes. Her face was wet with them. She sobbed loudly, in bursts of anguish. She had to release the pain she had held inside for so long. She did not hear the knock at her door or the door opening.

It was Rita. She had knocked, and when no one answered, she had pushed the door open. She saw Wanda on her knees in front of the icon. She did not understand what she saw and heard. Wanda’s tears and her sobs confused Rita. She thought something terrible had happened. She walked up to Wanda and put her hands on the older woman’s shoulders.

“Please,” she said, “don’t cry. Has something happened? Maybe I can help you.”

Wanda jumped with surprise, and Rita continued, “I knocked, but you didn’t answer. I opened the door and came in, and I saw you crying so hard.”

Wanda did not answer. She stood and then sat down in a chair at the table. Rita sat in another chair and gave Wanda a handkerchief.

“No, thank you,” Wanda said. “I’ll wash my face.”

She washed and then sat down, wiping her face with a towel. Rita was quiet. She knew it was no time to ask questions. Wanda looked at the girl and felt a burden lifted from her heart.

“You know,” she said, “God himself sent you to me. I don’t feel lonely when you’re around. I have someone to talk to. How is your job? I haven’t seen you for a couple of weeks.”

“It’s very hard, physically. The machine is very old and big. I don’t have the strength to stay on my feet for a whole shift. I make very little money because I can’t keep up with my production schedule. In a month, I go to school. I don’t know how I’ll manage.”

“I think you’re hungry. I have some potato soup and bread. Let’s eat together.”

Wanda was right. Rita was hungry. Her salary was enough to buy one summer dress, a pair of summer shoes, and a ribbon for her braided hair. The rest was only enough for stamps to send letters to her brother in Siberia and her aunt in Kiev. In the letters, she explained that she was happy and everything was fine.

They sat and ate the potato soup. To Rita, it was delicious. She noticed the half-empty bottle of wine on the table.

“Aunt Wanda,” she asked, “do you drink wine?”

“Yes, I drink. What else did I have left?”

Rita was quiet. She shrugged one shoulder and continued eating.

“You remember I told you I’d like you to write a book?” Wanda asked. “Not now. Some time in the future.”

“What book? About what? I don’t understand.”

“Finish your soup and all the bread I cut for you. I’ll try to explain what I’m talking about.”

Wanda walked to her bed and pulled out the package wrapped in a blanket. As Rita ate, she unwrapped the portrait and leaned it against the edge of the bed.

“Who is that?” Rita asked, startled.

“Look closer. Maybe you’ll recognize her.”

Rita walked close and then backed away, surveying the painting.

“No,” she said. “I don’t know who she is. All I can say is that she’s a very rich and very young woman. How did you get this picture? And why do you keep it under your bed? The place for a picture like that is in a museum.”

“Oh, Rita, you don’t understand. Sit down, my dear. I’ll try to explain.”

Rita sat, and Wanda continued. “This is my portrait. I was seventeen then. This was painted in Italy. Do you see the date? Nineteen hundred and seven. It was my honeymoon.”

Rita was mesmerized. She had read fairy tales and novels, but she had never seen a character from a fairy tale or novel.

Wanda looked at her and thought, “If only this girl can do what I want her to do.”

“Listen,” she said to Rita, “I don’t know how long I’ll live. I know my health is ruined. I drink every day. I’m an alcoholic. I have one wish—someday, when I’m gone, people will read about my life. I’d like to tell you the story of my life. Maybe, when people read it, they’ll learn something from it. But I wonder. Maybe you could go to Poland someday, and they’ll publish it there. Do you speak and understand Polish?”

“Yes. I was raised in the west Ukraine. Before nineteen thirty-nine I was in Poland. Of course we spoke and understood Polish, but we couldn’t read or write it. Why do you ask?”

“I have a sister and her family in Poland. I’ve had no letters from her since the early thirties. Can you make notes and take down everything I tell you about my life? Someday, maybe you can write the book.”

“I’ve never tried. Yes, I can make notes about everything you tell me. We can see what happens.”

“That’s good. But don’t tell anybody. Keep this between us. Do you agree?”

“All right. What time is it? I have to go to work. I’m on the second shift. Thank you for the soup.”

“Listen, my child. I think you have no money. I can give you some. I don’t use it anyway.”

“I’ll just borrow it and pay you back when I get paid.”

“That’s fine. As you wish.”

Wanda gave Rita the money and said, “Come tomorrow. Bring a notebook and a pen. At ten o’clock. All right?”

“Yes, that’s a good time.”

Rita left, taking with her some money and some of the warmth of this suffering woman.

At ten o’clock the next morning, as they had agreed, Rita knocked on Wanda’s door. It wasn’t clear to her what Wanda wanted, but she knew Wanda needed someone to hear her out. She would not feel lonely and unneeded.

On that morning, in July, 1952, Wanda started her story from her childhood. Rita listened with great interest. She made notes of dates, names, places, and events.

A short time before, Rita had told Wanda that she did not cry, that she was strong and tenacious. But now, Rita often brushed tears away from her childlike face. When she returned to the dormitory, she hid the notebook in her nightstand.

Naturally, the girls noticed how Rita had changed. She was quieter, more introspective. They saw she spent her free time with the old woman.

“Rita,” one of the girls asked, “have you found a relative?”

“What are you talking about?” Rita responded, looking at the other girl anxiously.

“Everybody’s talking about how you spend all your time with that old woman.”

“Her name is Aunt Wanda. Why do you call her ‘old woman?’ That’s not nice.”

“You haven’t read anything lately, and you don’t tell us stories anymore, because you don’t have time.”

“Try to read by yourself. It’s good for you.”

“That old woman has cast a spell over you. We heard she has an icon. Maybe she’s teaching you to believe in God and how to pray?”

“That’s nonsense. We have freedom of religion. If she believes in God, she can pray. That’s her right, but she never talks to me about that.”

“Ok. Then tell us, what are you talking about every day?”

“It’s none of your business.” Rita walked out of the room, ending the discussion.

Very often, however, the girls bothered her with questions. Finally, though, all of them found their own interests, their own boyfriends, and left her alone. They went dancing, to the movies, to the park, and to the beach.

Some days, Rita went to Wanda’s and found her very drunk, asleep with her head on the table. She never locked her door during the day. With difficulty, Rita dragged Wanda to the bed, removed her shoes, and covered her with a blanket.

Rita was always curious to find out what was next in Wanda’s story. When Wanda was drunk, however, she could not talk, only mumble and then fall asleep again.

“You asked me to make these notes,” Rita told Wanda when the older woman was able to listen, “but if you continue to drink your wine, I can’t take notes. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. Maybe I don’t need to come over anymore. What do you think?”

“You’re right,” Wanda said. “I have nothing to say. I drink. It’s very painful for me to tell you about myself. I know very well what I’ve lost and whom I’ve lost. Please, be patient, my child. I’ll be sober, and we can continue. Don’t say this isn’t a good idea. Try to understand, a little, how hard it is for me to go over and over my past and my grief.”

“I’m trying to understand. I swear. But try not to drink like that. Your hands are shaking. You can’t do your work in this condition. It hurts to look at you.”

“I’ll retire soon. I have eight months left. As people say, ‘Drunks always wake up, but the stupid never do.’ But you’re right, of course. I drink more now.”

All her free time, and she had little of it, Rita spent with Wanda. On Sundays, they sat for hours. Wanda told Rita the story of her life, and Rita took notes. Now Rita understood clearly that she could not write this book, and even if she did write it, it would not be published. This girl, who was raised by the Soviet authorities and who was still being educated by them, instead of by her parents who gave their lives for their country, understood life differently. She saw the world around her from a different perspective, with Wanda’s help. She was no longer excited by the words from a popular song: “How beautiful life is in this Soviet country.” She felt hungry and impoverished even though she worked very hard. She knew she had to do everything by herself, to fight for survival. Even though she knew she could not write a book about Wanda’s life, she continued to take notes.

School started for Rita, and she had less and less time for Wanda. On the weekends, however, she always visited her. They ate breakfast together. Rita brought something, and Wanda prepared it. After breakfast, Wanda talked and Rita took notes. Wanda no longer drank until after Rita left.

On New Year’s Eve, 1953, Rita celebrated with the young people from the factory. The next day, January 1, she visited Wanda.

The Soviet authorities had taken the religious holiday, Christmas, away, but they could not remove the custom. People celebrated New Years by decorating a Christmas tree and giving each other gifts on New Year’s Day. Children had their school holidays after New Year’s, and they were called the winter holidays.

Rita brought Wanda a pair of slippers. She knocked on Wanda’s door with the box tucked under her arm. Wanda answered the door and smiled when she saw Rita.

“I knew you were coming,” Wanda said. “I’ve been waiting for you. I made a wish yesterday, and I remember, in my time, when I was young, if we made a wish on New Year’s Eve, it would come true. Come in and sit down. I have some lemon and some jam pastries. We’ll have some tea.”

Rita looked at Wanda, puzzled. Wanda’s eyes sparkled, but she was absolutely sober. Rita had seen her drunk many times.

“Aunt Wanda, I brought these for you,” Rita said. “Please try them on. I didn’t know your size.” She handed Wanda the box.

“Thank you, my child,” Wanda said, “for your kindness. It’s very nice to know that somebody remembers you.”

She tried on the slippers. They were soft and comfortable, and they were the right size.

“I have something for you, too,” she said, “but I’ll explain it later. Right now, let’s have tea.”

“Aunt Wanda,” Rita said, “I see you haven’t been drinking, but you’re in a very good mood. What happened?”

“I have a surprise for you. This year, you’ll be seventeen, and I’d like to give you one special gift. You’ll always remember me.”

Rita thought, “Oh, I believe she wants to give me her icon. What will I do with it?”

They drank tea, and Wanda asked, “Did you bring your notebook and pen with you? We need to continue the story.”

“Of course. I always have them with me when I visit you. Last time, we stopped where Esther passed away.”

“I remember. We’ll make notes later. Now, we should wish each other happiness during this year. For your success in school. You’ll graduate this year with good grades. For your poetry, I wish your muse will often visit you.”

“To your health, Aunt Wanda. I hope to come over and visit you for a long time to come.”

They raised their glasses of tea, laughed, and drank.

“I’d also like to wish you—but I suppose it’s just advice—never in your life will you smoke, and don’t touch alcohol. I see your nature, your character. If you ever start, you’ll never stop.”

“I’ve never had a desire to drink or smoke. Almost all the girls in the dormitory smoke, and on the weekends, they pool their money and drink. Never has anyone asked me to join them. They know my principles.”

“I know, but just keep it in mind. Now, my dear girl, I’d like to give you my portrait. That’s all that’s left to me from my past. Someday, you’ll get married, have your own family, your own apartment, and you can hang my portrait on your wall. I was seventeen then, as you will be in April. This is my gift to you.”

“No, no. This is a very expensive gift. I have no place for it. What can I do with your portrait in the dormitory?”

“You can leave it here, but remember, it’s yours from now on.”

“Thank you very much, but it will be years and years before I can take it.”

After discussing the portrait, they turned back to Wanda’s story.

Historic events occurred in 1953. The people’s leader, Joseph Stalin, died. It was announced on the radio on March 5. They recounted his many titles and his great services to his country.

Rita entered Wanda’s room just as Wanda was pouring herself a glass of wine.

“Oh, Rita,” Wanda cried. “I waited for you today. I even fried potatoes, your favorite. Now I have to have a drink because the great leader has died, and I hope he floats in limbo forever.” As she finished speaking she put the glass to her lips and drank.

“How can you talk like that?” Rita protested. “What will happen now that he’s dead?”

“Nothing will happen. The earth will spin as it has spun before, and life will be better than it was before. Maybe never again will his terror of the thirties occur.”

“What are you saying? Stalin was our leader. He took the country after Lenin, and the people followed him. Thousands died in the war with his name on their lips. I know that everything isn’t as it should be and needs to be changed, but it’s the local governments that are the problem. Stalin was the leader. He was always right. In the orphanage, we called him Father.”

“Rita, my dear, sit down. Listen. The time will come when you’ll remember my words. Your great leader will be dethroned. You don’t know anything about thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, and after. I met people and talked to them, people who were sent to jail during his ‘cleansings.’ In Ural and Siberia, many, many innocent people spent years. Many of them were exonerated, but only after death. Their relatives received letters saying that they had been sent away by mistake. Many of those who survived were made invalids. If you could hear how people in Ural and Siberia talked about your leader. Only the relatives and some close friends know exactly what happened. You won’t find that story in any Soviet history book.”

“What did you do in Siberia? Did they send you over there during one of Stalin’s cleansings?”

“No. Something happened to me before that. Today, we start from nineteen thirty-three. Don’t look at me with so much surprise in those big eyes. All right, I’ve had a drink, but my head is clear.”

It was true. Sometimes, Rita was surprised at Wanda’s ability to remember dates and events. On this day of Stalin’s death, she found out what she had never known in her life. She believed Wanda. She trusted her. She knew Wanda had no reason to lie.

On the same day, she discovered Wanda had a daughter, Maria—Masha—somewhere in Rumania, and Wanda did not know what had happened to her.

Wanda gave Masha’s diary to Rita. The diary’s contents surprised Rita. She found out about a good Rumanian. Not all of them were fascist. But what had happened to Masha? Rita thought about it often. If she were still alive, why had she not returned? Perhaps she was afraid to come back because she had left Odessa with a Rumanian. Rita said nothing to Wanda and decided to look for Masha on her own.

In the factory where Rita worked was a young man from Muldavia, one of the Russian republics. It had been part of Rumania before 1940. He liked Rita and had asked her to go to the movie with him a few times. She always refused. She told him she was busy and had no time for dates. It was true. Her final examinations were approaching.

Recently, Rita had been promoted at work. She was no longer a lathe operator. She worked as a tool inspector. She no longer made parts; she checked them for quality control. She made a little more money. Like everyone else, she worked six days a week, with only Sunday free.

One Saturday, Ivan, the young Muldavian, asked Rita for a date again.

Ivan was a good looking young man with full, chestnut-colored, curly hair, gray eyes, and a kind smile. Every girl would have liked to have a date with him, but Rita was not interested in boys then. She spent time at work, at school, and with Aunt Wanda.

But on that day, she agreed to go. Ivan was smiling. He was happy because the men in his dormitory had bet that Rita would never date him. They had been mistaken.

Rita and Ivan walked on the path in the park. He told her about Muldavia, and she told him about western Ukraine.

“Listen, Vanya,” she said. “Can I call you that? In Muldavia, do people speak the same language as in Rumania?”

“Yes, the language is the same, but it’s a different dialect.”

“Can you read and write Rumanian?”

“Of course. I graduated from school in Kishenev, the capitol of Muldavia. Why do you ask?”

“Because I can speak and understand Polish, but I can’t read or write it. My orphanage was in Strei City, close to Livov. It was in Poland before nineteen thirty-nine, and my language, Ukrainian, has many words that are the same in Polish. I like Russian, though, and I think it’s the most beautiful language.”

“No. Rumanian is a very soft and beautiful language. If you’d like, I can teach you.”

“No,” Rita said, shaking her head. “You can do me another favor. Can we sit down on a bench? I’ll explain what I need.”

She told him briefly about a woman who lost her daughter during the war. The daughter lived in Rumania, and Rita was helping find her.

“I hope you can help me,” she said, finally. “You could send a letter, in Rumanian, to the Red Cross. I’ve heard that that organization searches for people.”

Vanya agreed to help her, if she would agree to go to the movie with him the next day.

“Only in the daytime,” she answered. “If you don’t agree, I won’t go at all.”

He submitted and said he would prepare a letter in the morning. Rita said nothing to Wanda. Why make her worry? It was Rita’s hope to find Wanda’s daughter.

Rita figured Masha’s age at about thirty-five from the notes she had taken. Masha’s name was Stanishevsky. Rita gave all the information to Vanya for the letter.

When Vanya gave her the letter, he said, “The first of May I have some vacation. I’m going to Kishenev for two weeks. We have a Rumanian consulate there. I can give the letter to them.”

“Thank you very, very much,” Rita said. “You can’t imagine how much you’ve helped me.”

Rita had to pay for Vanya’s help, of course. She went with him to the movies and to the theatre, where they watched Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty ballet and the Nutcracker. They heard the opera Iolanta, also by Tchaikovsky, Rita’s favorite composer. She went with Vanya even though she felt nothing for him.

Vanya had already told her he loved her, but he saw that his words got no reaction. Finally, he stopped talking about love.

Once, at the end of April, when Rita visited Wanda, she said, “You told me you were in love many times. You liked young men, and you had some feeling for them. Why don’t I feel anything? I go with Vanya only because he is a good friend who takes me to the movies and the theatre when I have no money. I don’t want him to touch my hand, much less kiss me.”

“Your time hasn’t come yet,” Wanda told her. You’ll meet someone later whom you will love. You’re not grown up yet. You’re seventeen, but you look like a little chicken. The war and starvation left an impression on you. Look at the girls around you. They have full chests, and you haven’t had a bra in your seventeen years. You’re just a late bloomer.”

“Can we change the subject?” Rita protested. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

“You see. You’re even ashamed to talk about it. This is a normal conversation. This is a result of the way you were raised in the orphanage. I was raised in a Catholic girl’s school until I was fifteen. I didn’t know much then, but later I discovered the world in a different way. Believe me, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. If you don’t like this boy, don’t force yourself to go with him.”

“Sure,” Rita thought, “it’s easy for her to say that.” She waited for an answer from Rumania and hoped Vanya would be able to read it. She did not want to tell Wanda about her agreement with him.

In May, Vanya went home for vacation. He was eighteen years old and would go into the Army soon. All young men had to serve when they reached eighteen. Rita knew that when Vanya went into the Army, their relationship would end.

Rita’s examinations began, and she took time off work so she could prepare. On Sundays, she still visited Wanda.

“Pretty soon, my child,” Wanda said, “you’ll be finished taking notes. In a few months, I’ll be retired. I know my retirement pension will be half what I make now, but it will be enough for me to survive until I die. What I want to ask you is that, when I die, you will arrange to have me buried. I’ve saved a little money, enough for the funeral. I want to be buried next to my father. There’s an empty space next to his grave. In a week, it will be Easter. Perhaps you can come with me to the cemetery and I’ll show you.”

“What are you saying, Aunt Wanda? You’ll live a long life. You have to live, not think about death. I’ll go with you to the cemetery, but where is it?”

Wanda told her where the cemetery was and what kind of transportation she used.

Rita said, “Oh, no. That cemetery is closed. They don’t bury anybody there anymore.”

“But if there’s space? You can do me this favor. I’m counting on you. I have no one except you.”

Rita did not argue. Why should she? She knew it was only a wish. At that moment, she did not need to upset Wanda. “All right,” she said. “We’ll go to the cemetery together, and you can show me your father’s grave.”

Easter came. It was later that year and very warm. Acacias bloomed. Lilacs flowered, and tulips on the graves nodded their beautiful heads in the breeze. Wanda and Rita walked on the cemetery path, and Wanda said, “This is my destiny, to stay in Russia forever and walk on this path. Through the years of my grief I’ve returned here and talked like a madwoman to my father’s grave. You see, my child, this is all that is left for me.”

Rita walked quietly. Now she knew the entire story of Wanda’s life. She was not frightened of the cemetery, but she felt chilled by Wanda’s words.

They reached the grave, and Wanda knelt. She crossed herself and began to pray silently. Rita stood aside and watched her.

The white-haired woman knelt on the ground facing the monument. On the obelisk, in its frame, was the brown-toned picture of the man who lay there. She knelt with her shoulders straight and her head held proudly. Her hair, still thick and wavy, was tied in a bun on the back of her head. Her face, thus exposed, was classic in profile. She had obviously been a very beautiful woman, but at that moment, Rita saw her differently than she ever had before.

Wanda did not cry. She stood and turned to Rita. “You see that empty plot behind you? I’d like to be buried there.”

Rita listened without speaking. They walked toward the gate, and Wanda said, “Here everybody finds peace; all vanities are at an end. When we’re young and healthy, we never think about it, but it is a fact of life, my dear. This is final.”

“Aunt Wanda,” Rita asked, “who planted the mountain ash beside your father’s grave?”

“Sophie and I planted it. It was a very tiny tree.”

They walked on without talking. Wanda thought her own thoughts. Rita could see the episodes of Wanda’s life as they had been told to her.

On the envelope Rita had given to Ivan was her return address. She waited for an answer. Ivan returned from vacation. He had given the letter to the Rumanian consulate.

“I did everything you asked,” Ivan told Rita. “They told me the letter would go to the Rumanian Red Cross. I have some news. In June I go into the Army for three whole years. Can we spend some time together before I go?”

“You’re joking. I have final exams. July second is the last one. After that, I have a prom to attend.”

“I forgot, but you can see me off at the train station, can’t you?”

Rita said yes, that she would see him off, and she kept her word. As they said good-bye, Ivan kissed her on the cheek and said, “I’ll write often. Do you promise to answer?”

“I won’t promise anybody anything. Circumstances might change.”

“You’ll be married before I come back.”

Rita laughed. “You’re so cute, Vanya. I don’t even date. I’m too busy. I work and I’ll be going to the university. Look at me. Do I look like a girl who’s going to be married? As Aunt Wanda says, I look like a little chicken.”

“It’s good, Rita, that you spend time with that lonely woman. I’ve followed you many times and then waited for you—sometimes for a couple of hours—until you leave her room.”

Rita stared at him surprised. She had no idea he had followed her. “And how long have you been watching me?” she asked.

“Come on, I wasn’t watching you. I was just following you. When I saw you the first time, I fell in love, but you’re not an easy girl to know. Very few boys can get close to you. If I had seen you with another boy, I would have been jealous, but I saw that you were with that lonely woman.”

They stood on the platform, talking, and heard an announcement: “All recruits take your seats on the train.”

“This is it, Rita,” Vanya said. “I hope you find your friend’s daughter.”

“Thank you, Vanya. Thank you for everything. You’re a good friend.”

Ivan tossed his rucksack over his shoulder and stepped up into the railroad car. Rita stayed on the platform until the train left and then slowly walked toward the trolley stop. She felt sorry that the train had carried this boy away. She had no special feelings for him, but he was not a stranger. She spent about an hour with Wanda on her way home, but her mood did not improve.

“I’m going home,” she said to Wanda. “I feel so sad. My prom is coming soon, and I don’t want to go.”

“That’s not right, my child. You need to go. It happens only once in your life.”

Rita said nothing because her reason was not sadness. She had no dress and no money to buy one.

The next day, Rita sat at the desk in her room and studied for the mathematics examination. Someone knocked on her door.

“Come in,” she said. “It’s open.” She did not turn to see who entered.

“Rita, it’s me. Are you busy?” asked Wanda.

“Yes, I’m busy. I have an exam tomorrow. But if you’ve come, it must be because you need something.”

“Look what I brought you. It’s important that it fit you.”

Rita turned around and saw Wanda holding a package.

“What is that?” she asked.

“This is a dress for you, and summer shoes. This is the smallest size dress for a girl your age, size one. The shoes are size five.’

Wanda unwrapped the package and gave Rita a white dress, simple but attractive, trimmed in white lace, and white shoes with half-heels.

“Where did you buy these? How will I pay for them?”

“Don’t worry, child. I bought them a few weeks ago from a woman who works at the school where I worked. Her son-in-law bought this dress for his wife. He’s a sailor on a merchant ship, and he brought it from Bulgaria. It was too small for his wife. The shoes I bought at the flea market. Someone had them made to order and then didn’t buy them. Don’t worry about money. Everything cost only a few rubles. Let’s try them on now.”

Rita forgot how busy she was. She put on the dress and shoes. They fit perfectly.

“You know what?” Wanda said. “White is your color. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you very, very much. You’re just like Cinderella’s godmother. You just touched me with your wand and my rags became a princess’s clothes. The shoes are so comfortable, just like they were made for my feet. Thank you again.”

She walked to Wanda, hugged her, and kissed her. Wanda wiped away her own tears.

Rita attended the prom and felt as though she were no different than anyone else there. Wanda had been right. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

It was the middle of July. Rita was studying for her university entrance exams in August. She received letters from Ivan, but she did not answer them. When she talked to Wanda, she explained why she did not respond.

“If I start to write to him, he’ll write back, and then I’ll have to answer again. I’ll begin to feel obligated. So I won’t answer, he’ll see that I won’t answer, and he’ll stop writing.”

“No, that’s no good. You must answer him and explain that you’ve graduated, and now you’re busy with entrance exams. Explain that you’re very busy, and wish him the best. He’s in love with you, and he misses you. I understand you don’t love him, but he was your friend, and you should act like a friend.”

“Yes, you’re right. I’ll write him a letter. What would I do without you, Aunt Wanda?”

Rita wrote to Ivan. She closed with these words: “Please, Vanya, don’t write to me anymore. I’m very busy. When I find time, I’ll write to you.”

In August, Rita passed her exams and was accepted to the university. She waited for an answer from Rumania, but none came. At work, she received a raise. She had more money and, when she was paid, she went to Wanda.

“Now I can pay you back,” she said. “You’ve been so kind to me. I’ve been given a raise, and I make more money.”

“You don’t owe me anything, just the opposite. I don’t know how to pay you back for your company. Please, keep the money. The dress and shoes were my present to you for your graduation. Don’t forget, child, I don’t have anybody closer than you who will listen to me. Don’t hurt my feelings over such small things.”

Wanda was no longer working. She had retired and was receiving a minimal pension. She managed, however. She had enough even for a bottle of wine a week. She was forced to drink less than before.

Rita asked questions about the notes she had taken. Wanda remembered additional episodes, and Rita wrote them down. It was strange. Rita loved to retell stories she had read, but she had no desire to tell anyone the story of Wanda’s life.

One Sunday, Rita visited Wanda and brought a book by Cronin, The Citadel. She had checked it out from the factory library, and she thought Wanda would like to read it. Lately, on Sundays, they had been eating brunch together. Wanda made pancakes, and Rita brought jam and honey. They drank tea and talked.

Rita knocked on Wanda’s door, but no one answered. She knocked harder and called, “Aunt Wanda. It’s me.” She saw one of Wanda’s neighbors.

“Your aunt has been taken to the hospital,” the woman said. “She collapsed in the bakery on the corner. Someone called an ambulance.”

“Where did they take her? What hospital?”

“Go to the bakery. They can tell you.”

Rita thanked her and hurried away.”

“Has she died?” she thought, “or is she still alive? It can’t happen like this. I haven’t told her about her daughter yet. Oh, God, make a miracle. Let her still be alive. If you exist in this world, and she believes in you, I beg you for her.”

Rita spoke to God for the first time in her life. She asked that someone close to her be helped. She prayed without knowing she had done so.

At the bakery, Rita was told that Wanda had been taken to Jewish Hospital.

“That’s not possible,” she said. “She’s not Jewish. She’s Catholic.”

“No, no, that’s just a name,” a sales clerk told her. “The hospital was built before the revolution. The Jewish community gave the money to build it, but everybody used it.”

She explained to Rita how to get to the hospital. Rita thanked her and left.

When she arrived at the hospital, she put on a white smock, as required in all hospitals. She was directed to the cardiology unit.

Wanda had had a heart attack, but she was alive. She wore an oxygen mask and lay on her back in the bed. The nurse let Rita visit for five minutes, as if she were a close relative.

“Aunt Wanda,” she whispered, “it’s Rita. Do you hear me?”

Wanda opened her eyes and tried to speak. Rita put her finger to her lips, signalling for Wanda to be silent.

“I can talk. You just listen. All right? You’re my aunt. I’m the only niece you have. They only let close relatives into this unit. You’ll feel better soon. Now I’m going to go talk to the doctor on duty. There are only two visiting days, Wednesday and Sunday.”

Wanda looked at Rita, and tears fell from her eyes. Rita wiped them away. “Don’t cry, please, because they won’t let me see you anymore.”

Wanda nodded. The nurse walked in and said, “Your time is up. I have to give the patient a shot.”

Wanda removed her oxygen mask and said to the nurse, “Please, let her stay a little longer, and give her my purse. I have a key to my room.”

The nurse replaced the mask and said, “Don’t do that, please. You’ve had a heart attack. Don’t worry. I’ll tell the people in admitting to give your purse to your niece.” To Rita she said, “When you come during visiting hours, maybe they’ll let you stay longer.”

Rita bent, kissed Wanda on the forehead, and left. Tears choked her. She felt helpless and did not know what to do. She found a doctor, waited until he was free, and asked him about Wanda’s condition.

“She’s had a heart attack,” he said, “but not a severe one. You can talk to her doctor on Monday.” He gave Rita the doctor’s name.

The next morning, Rita did not go to work. She was at the hospital at nine o’clock. She was given Wanda’s purse. In it were the key, Wanda’s pension documents, and some money. The doctor who was caring for Wanda was not free until eleven o’clock.

When Rita spoke to him, he said, “Wanda Stanishevsky has a bad heart. Even if she recovers from this attack, there’s no guarantee she’ll not have another. She must be very quiet; nothing must be allowed to disturb her. She cannot drink alcohol, coffee, or tea. In three weeks, if there are no complications, she can go home. As I said, though, she must be very careful with her health.”

Rita could see that Wanda was very sick. From the hospital, she went to Wanda’s room. When she opened the door, she saw an unfinished bottle of wine. The portrait was wrapped and standing next to the bed. On the nightstand was a note.

“Rita, dear, I’m not feeling well,” Wanda had written. “I feel pressure in my chest, and it’s not easy to breathe. I’m going out for some fresh air. If something happens to me, you know my portrait is my gift to you. Everything I have belongs to you. Thanks for everything. Wanda. P.S. I only wish. …” The note was unfinished.

Rita threw the bottle of wine away, closed the door, and went to work.

“Is it possible she could die?” she thought. “Why is there no answer from Rumania?”

At the desk next to Rita sat Tina. She asked Rita, “Why are you so quiet? What are you thinking about?”

“I have something to think about, Tina.”

“You can share it with me,” Tina said. And she added, “What could you worry about at seventeen years of age? I have a lot on my mind. I’m divorced, and I have a child and an old mother on my hands. And now I’ve broken up with my boyfriend. You see? I have plenty to think about. What do you have?”

Rita looked at her wide-eyed. Tina had never been so open with her before. When Rita had transferred to that job, she had had a feeling she was not welcome because she was the youngest. The others had been very stand-offish, but after a while they had accepted her easy-going, very honest ways.

Tina was about thirty, heavy-set, with short, very curly blond hair. Her face was covered with freckles, and she had blue eyes with no eyelashes. She was not pretty, but very likeable. She had a beautiful, dimpled smile and very large breasts. Everyone joked with her. “Tina,” they said, “You should give something to Rita. You have so much, and she has nothing.” Rita blushed at their remarks, but she said nothing. What could she say? It was true. At seventeen, she still looked fourteen.

“I didn’t know you’d had so much trouble,” Rita said to Tina. “You smile almost all the time.”

“We’re not talking about me. I asked why you look so worried.”

“A friend of mine is in the hospital. She’s very ill. She had a heart attack. Also, she’s alone. All her relatives are dead.”

“How old is she? Is she one of your girlfriends?”

“No. She’s about sixty-four, I believe. She was a janitor in our dormitory, but now she’s retired.”

“You have a kind heart if you feel that way about a stranger,” Tina said, serious now.

“She’s not a stranger. I’ve known her for a year and a half. We see each other often. If you only knew what kind of person she is, what kind of life she’s had. I only hope she feels better soon.”

“Today, when you were gone for a couple of hours, were you visiting her?”

“Yes. I talked to the doctor, and he told me she has a bad heart.”

“If you have to go again, just let me know. I’ll cover for you. I can talk to the supervisor. He’ll let you go.”

“Thank you, Tina. I really appreciate it. I can use the help.”

In the evening, before Rita went to bed, she wrote a letter to her brother. Someone knocked on her door and entered. Rita turned and saw a girl from the apartment above her.

“Good evening, Rita,” the girl said. “The mailman brought you this letter today. It’s special delivery, and I signed for you. I think it’s from outside the country.”

“Thank you. This is the answer to my inquiry.”

“Are you looking for your relatives?”

“No, it’s not for me. I’m trying to help somebody.”

“Oh, I see. You’ve got a lot going on. Good luck to you.” She left Rita alone after handing her the letter.

Rita opened the envelope. The contents surprised her. The letter was not from the Red Cross and not from the consulate. It was from Masha.

Masha asked for Rita’s help in finding her mother and brother. At the end of the letter, she wrote her address and phone number.

Rita could not believe her eyes. She had found Wanda’s daughter. She sat down and wrote an answer immediately, although she wrote nothing about Masha’s brother. She said that Wanda was not feeling well and closed by adding, “If you can come, it might help your mother recover from her illness. It’s such a pity your mother received none of your letters. Now she is ill, please answer me at this address.”

The next morning, Rita went to the post office and sent the letter airmail, special delivery. A few days later, she visited Wanda.

When she entered Wanda’s room, she saw six beds, three on each side of the room. Wanda was in the first bed. Rita sat down in the chair next to the bed and asked, “How do you feel, Aunt Wanda? I brought you some apples.”

“I feel better, my child. I’m so happy to see you. Have you been in my room? Did you find a note?”

“Yes, I saw your note, but it was nonsense. The doctor said you’ll feel better soon.”

“The doctor doesn’t know how long I’ll be alive. God knows, and I feel it will not be long. Believe me, the sooner the better.”

“Don’t talk like that. Try to be optimistic. When you feel better, I have some very good news to tell you.”

“I’d like to feel better and still be alive on your wedding day. What is the good news? Have you met somebody? You can tell me now.”

Rita shook her head. “Not now. You’re still in the hospital, and you should rest and not move. We have time.”

Wanda smiled. “I guess you’re right. I should be in better shape. I must find out what’s on your mind. I think it’s a boyfriend.”

“No, it’s not,” Rita said, laughing. “It’s completely different.”

“Oh, sure. You’re still a little chicken. But your time will come, and you’ll remember what I said.”

Visiting hours ended. Rita had just enough time to peel an apple and cut it in pieces for Wanda.

“I’ll be back in three days,” she said. “What would you like me to bring?”

“I don’t need anything, my dear. It’s only important that you come.”

Rita kissed Wanda’s cheek. “Be healthy. Everything will be just fine.”

Wanda was crying. Rita wiped the tears away and walked out, trying not to weep herself. She had never felt this way before. Wanda was very close to her, and Rita’s affection for her was deep.

Rita had grown up an orphan without human warmth, and now, as she grew closer to Wanda, to Wanda’s kindness and soft voice, she realized she could lose all of it. She hoped that when Masha returned, Wanda would be saved.

At work, Rita asked the woman who replaced her on the second shift, “Claudia, do you know, by chance, how long it takes for somebody to get a visa from Rumania?”

“You know somebody in Rumania?”

“No, it’s for a friend of mine. She’s in the hospital, and I answered a letter for her.”

“Let me see. There has to be a permit from the Soviet embassy in Bucharest, and the Rumanian government has to give her a visa to leave the country. I can’t tell you how long it will take, but there’s some time involved.”

“Oh, no. It will be forever before she can come.”

“Listen, Rita, why are you so worried if it’s somebody else’s problem.”

“It’s a long story. You wouldn’t understand. Thank you anyway. Now I know I’ve got no hope.” Rita walked to the door. Claudia ran to her and took her by the arm.

“You look so upset,” Claudia said. “Maybe I can help you.”

“Thank you. Tina covered for me for a couple of hours when I went to the hospital. You are nice people here. But I don’t think you can help me.”

“I can try. I’m a good listener. I’m twice as old as you are. I have two children, a husband, and an old father who’s been an invalid since World War Two.”

“All right. Let’s go to the locker room. I’ll try to explain to you as briefly as I can.”

Claudia had a dark complexion and a narrow face. She looked like she was from the south. Everyone called her Clava the gypsy because there was another Claudia in the same department. They called her Clava the blondie.

Rita and Claudia sat on a bench in the locker room. Rita was trying to decide how to begin. Finally, she started.

“This lady lost her daughter during World War Two. Later, she found out her daughter had gone to Rumania. The lady worked in another city. Now I’ve found the daughter through the Red Cross, and I’ve asked the daughter to come visit her mother because she’s in the hospital. That’s the story.”

“It’s not a simple situation,” Claudia said. “I don’t understand. If the Germans forced your friend’s daughter to work in Germany, how did she get to Rumania?”

“Nobody forced her to go anywhere. She married a good man and went with him to his home in Rumania.”

“What? She married a Rumanian during the war? Listen, my dear, this isn’t a simple venture you’ve started on. How old was she when she went to Rumania?”

“I think twenty-five. What’s the difference?”

“You don’t understand anything. She was an adult. She’s responsible for her actions. Rumania collaborated with Germany. That means they were the enemy. Now do you understand what can happen?”

“No, I don’t. I read her diary. She loved this man. She married him because they loved each other. I believe it’s more important that people love each other. Don’t you agree?”

“You’re lucky if you marry somebody you love.” Claudia’s face changed suddenly, and Rita noticed.

“What can I do now?” Rita said. “Should I send her a letter telling her not to come? When her mother is feeling better, maybe she can go to Rumania and visit her.”

“I don’t know what to say. How ill is her mother?”

“She had a heart attack, but it wasn’t very severe.”

“It’s still a very serious illness. I don’t think she’ll be able to go visit her daughter even when she feels better. Would you like to visit another country and see how people live there?”

“I’ve never thought about it. I haven’t seen Russia yet. I’d like to go to Moscow and Leningrad. I dream of seeing the Hermitage.”

“I’d like to go to America, to Chicago.”

“You’re kidding. How can you go to America? Nobody will let you go.”

“I know nobody will let me go. But I can wish. Thank God I can still wish. Nobody can stop me from doing that.”

“You have somebody in America? Relatives?”

“No.” Claudia closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. “My first love is there.”

“You’re married. You have children. I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“How could you understand, if I can’t understand myself? I was sixteen when I met him. I was in ballet school. Our group danced in the theatre. He lived with his parents close to the theatre.”

“We met after the concert. He brought me a bouquet of flowers. He chose me out of the whole group.”

“His father was an attache in the American consulate at the Port of Odessa. They had lived in Odessa for seven or eight years.”

“John spoke Russian very fluently. We dated for a year. It was the best year of my life.”

“You’re a child. You can’t know how I loved him—more than anything in the world. He was a tall, skinny boy with light red hair.”

“Why didn’t you get married?”

“Our dates were ended. His father was called back to America. It was nineteen thirty-seven. You don’t know what kind of time that was.”

“He came to the theatre after the concert, like always, with a small bouquet of roses, and he said, ‘Claudia, we’re going home to Chicago. I want to stay, but I can’t. I love you, Claudia, very much. You’re my first love.’

“I don’t remember how I answered him, but I started crying. He put my head on his shoulder and stroked my hair. Then, suddenly, he took hold of my shouldeers, pushed me away, and looked into my eyes. ‘Let’s get married,’ he said. ‘Then I can stay, or they’ll let you come with me.’

“How did he find the courage? He was always so quiet and gentle. I went home and told my mother—she was alive then. ‘John and I love each other, and we want to be married.’ I said to her.

“Did you say you grew up an orphan, Rita? It’s better that way. You’re your own boss.”

“To make the story short, my parents wouldn’t let me go say good-bye to him. He was gone forever. I didn’t see him again. They kept me in the apartment for a week. My mother slapped my face. I still feel it now.”

Rita listened quietly, and Claudia said, “It’s time to go to work, and you should go home, Rita. But I must add, if they let me go see him, I would leave everything, my apartment, my family, and walk the whole way without looking back.”

Claudia walked out of the locker room, brushing her tears away. Rita sat on the bench, perplexed. After a while, she went home. She had encountered something beyond her understanding. The government would not let a daughter see her mother? She knew only that she wanted to help and that she was deeply involved.

“I think everything will be fine,” she thought. “People understand. The government is people, too. And as for Claudia’s story, that’s her parents’ fault. Those were terrible years.”

Before she fell asleep, she thought about Claudia’s story. After she fell asleep, she dreamed of Claudia walking in the desert. Her feet were sticking, as if in quicksand, but she continued walking. Suddenly, Rita felt that it was not Claudia, but she, Rita, who was walking. She sank to her knees in the sand.

Rita awoke. Someone was shaking her.

“Wake up,” her roommate said. “You were moaning in your sleep.”

Rita lay in bed with her eyes open for a long time. Her dream had been so real that she felt the hot sand on her feet.

Two weeks later, Wanda was still in the hospital. Rita waited for the doctor and asked how Wanda was.

“I regret to say that fluid is collecting in her lungs and around her heart. We’ve done everything we can, but we can’t change her heart.”

“Tell me, doctor,” Rita said, crying, “how long will she live?”

“Calm yourself now. She could live for six months. It’s not easy to tell. You must be ready anytime.”

It was a warm autumn. The geese flew south in beautiful wedges in the sky. Rita sat on a bench on the hospital grounds and waited for visiting hours. She watched the geese. They flew to warm places, and in the spring they always came back.

“The don’t have borders,” she thought. “They’re free. They’re born free and stay free. Only people create forbidden territories. People suffer so much grief from borders.”

Not long ago, Rita had said she could not cry. She did not understand many things. All she knew was what she learned from school and from her counselor in the orphanage. Wanda’s life had opened her eyes to another world, a world of injustice and the inhuman attitudes of world politics. It was all new to her.

At one o’clock, visiting hours began. Rita put on her white smock and went to Wanda’s room. Wanda was lying in bed, high on two pillows.

“How do you feel today, Aunt Wanda? I brought you some honey, because yours is almost gone, and your favorite grapes.”

“Thank you, my dear. God save you. I’m having trouble breathing, so they’ve put me up high on these pillows. Tell me, how are you? I count the days before you come.”

“I’m fine. I go to school, and I work. I’m glad I don’t have school on Wednesdays. I can come visit you. The girls have all kinds of news. They’ve started smoking; sometimes they don’t come in at night. I’ve heard two of them are pregnant. It’s frightening. They go dancing and to the movies, and they don’t go to school. I go by myself.”

“You’re smart. At seventeen you’re like an older woman. It’s good you know how to behave yourself. But watch out. Don’t let anybody hurt you. What time do you come back from school?”

“Very late. About midnight. I take two trolleys, but I’m not frightened of walking on the street where I live. The boys on the street joke with me. They call me Professor—the pride of the baggary of Muldovanka. What can I say? I feel a little frightened when there’s nobody around. It’s so quiet, and I walk all by myself.”

“I’m proud of you, and I think you’ll survive. Do you remember you promised to tell me some good news? Is it not time?”

“You have a good memory. You remember everything. We have to wait a little longer.”

“All right. You said wait, but I can tell you, my child, I won’t come home from here. Don’t look sad. Try to understand, my dear girl. I’ve lived a long and difficult life. I was so happy to meet you at the end of my life. Give me your hand. … That’s better. But don’t cry. Do you remember you told me we have to be strong?”

Wanda held Rita’s hand in hers and the girl wept quietly, her head lowered.

“It’s time to go,” Rita said through her tears. “They’ve already asked visitors to leave twice. I’ll be back on Wednesday. Please eat the honey. It’s good for your heart.”

Never before had Rita left Wanda with this feeling, perhaps because Wanda had held her hand and Wanda’s voice was different. When she reached the street, Rita could no longer hold her tears back. It was Sunday. She did not want to go home. She went instead to the seaside boulevard. She took a trolley to Pushkin Street, and, when it stopped, she walked. In her mind, she pictured Wanda’s past life.

Wanda had walked here, young and beautiful and so happy with Tadeush. Over here, she had grieved and had seen death with her own eyes.

Rita walked and reached the shore of the sea. She watched the waves and thought, “Here she sat in a storm and said good-bye to her past.”

“I promise you, Wanda,” she said aloud. “Someday I’ll write the story of your life. I’ll write a book, and people can read it. Maybe they’ll publish it in Polish as you wished. I don’t know when, but I promise you.”

Rita sat down on a bench and looked at the sea. She did not want to go home. She could not comprehend the immensity of the sea. She stared at the waves.

“Is the space next to you free?” someone asked. “May I sit down?”

Rita jumped. A man about forty with an almost bald head stood beside her. He had tried to cover his bald scalp with a few strands of hair. Rita smiled.

“Did I frighten you?” he said. “Please, forgive me. Let me introduce myself. I’m Andre Vlasov. May I sit down?”

“Oh, please, sit down. It’s time for me to go home.”

The man’s name seemed familiar to Rita. Where had she heard it? Then she remembered. It was the name of Wanda’s last husband.

“That’s a coincidence,” she thought. She wondered about it and asked, “Is your father’s name Konstantin?”

“Yes. But how did you know? I’ve never seen you before.”

“And your mother’s name is Irena?” Rita’s heart beat rapidly.

“Her name was Irena. She died three years ago. But I don’t understand. How did you know? If I’m not mistaken, you’re the daughter of Feodor Nikolayevich?”

“No. I’m nobody’s daughter. It’s just a coincidence. May I ask you one more question? Where is your father? Is he alive, or did he die in the prison camp?”

Rita did not know what pushed her on. Something beyond curiosity forced her to ask.

Andre Vlasov looked at her without blinking. His pale face became more pallid. Rita did not know what he was thinking. He stared at her without speaking.

“You father was a doctor. Is that right?”

“You tell me who you are, or I won’t answer any more of your questions.”

“That’s fine. You’ve already answered all my questions. I know you have a sister.” Rita turned to him and said, “Good day.”

“Wait. Where are you going? You haven’t introduced yourself.”

“My name means nothing to you. But if you must know, I’m Rita.”

“Sit down for a minute, please, Rita. You intrigue me.”

Rita thought quickly about how she could disengage herself from the sitaution. She sat down and remained silent, looking at him.

“You’re right,” he said. “My father was a doctor. He divorced my mother many years ago.”

“I know,” Rita interrupted. “He married Wanda.”

“Oh, Lord. How do you know everything?

Rita was quiet. She liked the game.

“My aunt, my mother’s sister, told me Wanda was an extremely beautiful woman, and my father lost his head. Is that true?”

Now he was asking the questions. He realized Rita knew a great deal about his family.

“It’s true that Wanda was extremely beautiful. She was also kind and soft. She liked to paint, like your father. Did you know he was an artist?”

“Yes,” Andre Vlasov said quietly, staring at Rita, confused.

“Is he alive, or is he dead? Can you tell me that?”

“He’s alive. He was freed because he was ill. He’s in a nursing home here in Odessa. I visited him once.”

“How long has he been in the nursing home? Just curious.”

“About a year. I’ve answered all your questions. Can you answer one for me? How do you know the whole history of our family? You’re so young. It’s impossible that you could have known my parents. Perhps your parents knew mine?”

“You can think that. It’s logical. What home is he in?”

“In Slobodka. He’s an invalid. He’s paraplegic. Why do you need to know.”

“I’m sorry he’s sick. His life wasn’t easy. He’s lucky he’s still alive.”

“Listen, how old are you, girl, fifteen, sixteen? You’re reasoning like an adult with a lifetime behind you. It’s strange. I want to add that my father risked his life for this beauty, and she never visited him in prison camp. No woman deserves to have risks taken for her.”

“That’s why you’re not married?”

“You know that too? This is unheard of. You’re like a little witch.”

Rita laughed and stood up. “I have to go. Please don’t keep me anymore. I promise you I’ll be back next Sunday at four o’clock. Is it a deal?”

“All right. I believe you. I’ve never seen anything like this in my life. You are a riddle.”

Rita smiled and walked away. She felt him watching her. She sat down in the trolley and thought, “I’ve played a trick on him. He really believes I’m a witch.”

What a coincidence! If he had not introduced himself, nothing would have happened. Now Rita was very curious. She told no one about it. Instead, she decided to find the nursing home and see Vlasov.

The next day, the lectures at the university were not very important, so she decided not to go. She bought a bag of fruit and went to Slobodka. She found the nursing home and asked at the front desk for Vlasov’s room. On the first floor, she walked down the corridor, found his room, and knocked. There was no answer. She opened the door.

The room was small and dimly lit. She saw two beds. One was empty, and in the other she saw an older, gray-haired man.

“Are you Konstantin Vlasov?” she asked.

“Yes, I am. Come in, girl. Are you from the Young Communist League? Have you volunteered to keep us company?”

“Why do you say that? I came by myself. I just came to visit you, if you don’t mind.”

“No. Why? I don’t mind. Sit down, please. What grade are you in?”

“I graduated from high school. I’m a student in the university.”

“Just like that. What is your major? Can you tell me?”

“I’d like to be an engineer. You were a doctor. Am I right?”

“Oh, they told you at the reception desk?”

Rita did not answer. She watched him. He was slim, and his gray beard formed a crisp V below his chin. His hair was still thick, but entirely white. He wore pince nez glasses, and they made him appear intellectual.”

“I don’t know how to begin,” Rita said. “I feel uncomfortable. I have a question for you. Did you know Wanda Stanishevsky?”

His pince nez glasses fell to the bed. He learned forward and stared at Rita.

“Who are you? What is your name? Why do you ask me this question?”

“I know Wanda Stanishevsky. She doesn’t know you’re still alive. She doesn’t know anything about you since she visited you in jail the last time.”

“Of course. Why should she remember me? She was beautiful then. I understand if she married. I don’t blame her for my misfortune. It wasn’t her fault. What is she doing now? Who is her husband?”

Rita saw his hands shake. “You know nothing, absolutely nothing. If you wish, I can tell you a little about what happened to her after your trial.”

“Please, I beg you. I’d very much appreciate it. She was my dove. I always think of her with veneration. I’m only offended because she forgot me.”

“After your trial, a few months later, Wanda was tried. She was sentenced to ten years in prison camp.”

“That can’t be true!” His voice rose, and Rita was frightened. She stood and walked to the window. She did not know what to do next.

“Oh, God,” he cried. “My poor dove. What happened to her children? Where is she now? Is she still alive?”

“Yes, she’s alive,” Rita said gently. “But she’s in the hospital. She has a heart problem. I don’t know how to tell her about you. She speaks of you very warmly.”

“Please, give me some water.”

Rita handed him a glass and poured water from the pitcher on the table. He drank but nearly dropped the glass. Rita took it from him.

“Oh, my Wanda. She’s alive. She’s alive.” He fell back on the pillows and closed his eyes.

“I’d better go,” Rita said. “Here’s some fruit for you. I’ll come another time, if it’s all right with you.”

“Please, tell her I’ve always loved her. I still do. No. Please turn the light on. I’d like to write her a letter. Promise me you’ll give it to her. Please give me the paper and ink. I have a fountain pen in my nightstand.”

“I’ll go outside while you write. Here’s your paper and a book to use as a table.”

Rita walked out of the room, feeling very agitated. “Why did I come here?” she thought. “What’s happening to me? I’ve got no time for this. Why am I looking for adventures?”

She walked along a path on the nursing home grounds and saw patients, some without legs, others without arms. She saw one in a wheelchair without arms or legs. She felt nauseous and her head started to spin. She walked back to Vlasov’s room, knocked on the door, and opened it.

“I have to go home,” she said to him. “It’s almost dark. Maybe you can finish your letter next time.”

“No, I’m finished. I wrote what I could.”

He handed Rita a paper folded four times.

All right,” she said. “I’ll give your letter to Wanda. Stay well. Good-bye now.”

He did not answer. Rita walked to the door, and he asked, “How did you find me? But it doesn’t matter anymore, at all.”

Rita left, heavy hearted. When she arrived at the dormitory, it was completely dark.

“Where have you been fooling around lately?” one of the girls asked. “Your briefcase is here, so you haven’t been at the university. I believe you’ve found somebody.”

“What are you talking about? I had some business to take care of. I’m not used to reporting to anybody.”

“I just asked. You have a telegram. It came while you were gone.” She handed Rita the telegram.

“Thank you, Leda. When did it come?”

“After work, but you didn’t stop at home. I don’t know who it’s from. I didn’t open it, believe me.”

Leda was a plain girl. Her nickname was Pinnochio because of her very long nose and round, close-set eyes. Her straw-colored, straight hair completed her homely appearance. She was, however, the kindest girl in the group.

Rita opened the telegram: “Will arrive Odessa Oct. 20. Train 36. Car 5. Masha.”

“Oh, God,” Rita cried. “I don’t believe this.” She dropped the telegram and jumped with excitement. “What’s the date tomorrow? October seventeenth. She’ll be here Sunday.”

“Who is it?” Leda asked. “Who’s coming?” She picked up the telegram, read it, and asked, “Who’s Masha?”

“Don’t ask. I’ll let you know later. Now it’s time to wash and go to bed. Everything’s in order now.”

Rita put the telegram in her purse next to Vlasov’s note to Wanda. Although she was very excited by the turn of events, she fell asleep almost immediately.

From early the next morning, Rita thought about how she would surprise Wanda. First, she would give Wanda Vlasov’s note and watch her reaction. If Wanda reacted well, Rita would prepare her for Masha’s visit on Sunday. She felt more excited than she ever had before.

After work, Rita, went immediately to the hospital. She had taken everything she needed to work with her. She stopped only to buy flowers—three white roses.

At the hospital, she put on the white smock and walked quickly down the corridor. When she arrived at Wanda’s room, she stopped, confused. She stopped and looked again at the room number. The bed where Wanda had been was empty. The woman in the bed next to Wanda’s called to her.

“Please, come closer. I can’t speak loudly.”

Rita approached her, and the woman continued. “Last night, your aunt felt very badly, and they took her somewhere. Ask the nurse on duty. She knows.”

“Thank you,” Rita said. “What happened to her?” She left the room, her heart trembling.

She found out Wanda had been taken to intensive care and was being monitored. She was alone in the intensive care unit.

“You can see her for only two minutes,” the nurse told Rita.

“Thank you. That will be enough for me.”

“But you can’t take anything to her. Please leave your packages of fruit and your flowers here.”

Rita walked into the room and saw Wanda lying high on pillows. She wore an oxygen mask and an IV entered her arm.

“Aunt Wanda. This is Rita. Do you hear me?” She took Wanda’s hand. She felt Wanda grasp her hand lightly.

“I have good news for you. I have a letter. But I beg you, please, try to be very, very calm.”

Wanda opened her eyes and nodded her head. Rita decided to take a risk.

“This letter is from Konstantin Vlasov. May I read it to you?” Rita opened her purse, removed the letter, and looked at Wanda. She saw Wanda’s wide-open eyes, and Wanda nodded again. Rita began to read.

“My darling, my dove, forgive me if I. …”

“Are you still here?” the nurse asked. “Please leave immediately. I told you two minutes, and you’re trying to read something.” The nurse took Rita by the arm and escorted her out.

“Please,” Rita pleaded, “let me finish this letter for her. It’s very important.”

“Are you out of your mind? Or don’t you understand what I’m saying?” The nurse pushed Rita out the door and closed it. “Foolish girl. Your aunt is dying, and you’ve come to read something to her?”

“If my aunt is dying, you have to let me read this letter to her. It’s from her husband. Please. You can come with me if you wish.”

Rita was weeping and grasping at the nurse’s hand.

“I could lose my job if I let you go in,” the nurse replied. “That’s all I can say. You can go to the doctor on duty. Maybe he’ll let you go back in.”

The doctor was in the emergency room. He had been called to meet an ambulance. Rita waited for more than an hour. She could not wait any longer and decided to go home. Sitting on the trolley, she was still upset. Tears choked her. She controlled herself only because she was in public. She could not read the letter even though Wanda would soon die. And she felt sorry for herself as well. She would soon be alone again.

As she walked home from the trolley stop, she whispered to herself. “Oh, God, keep her alive until her daughter comes and sees her. Please. I beg you. She was a good Catholic. She prayed to you all the time. Have mercy.”

Before she arrived at the dormitory, some of the girls stopped her. “Rita,” one of the girls said, “are you sick? You’re skin and bones. What happened to you?”

Another girl said, “I believe she’s involved in something. If you’re very smart, it happens sometimes.”

“Leave me alone,” Rita said. “You’re just gossiping. Look after yourselves.”

She walked to her room and lay down on the bed without removing her clothes. She felt shaky. Then she remembered that, in her excitement, she had not eaten all day. Lately, under the circumstances, she had often forgotten to eat.

Suddenly, she remembered Vlasov’s letter and decided to read it herself. She opened her purse but could not find the note. She checked her pockets. No letter.

“What can I do now?” she thought. “I must have dropped it when the nurse pushed me out of the room. What a day.” She began to cry from anger and self-pity.

At work, Rita tried not to show how upset she was, but everyone saw. They watched her and asked questions. Rita told Claudia about her friend’s daughter coming Sunday from Rumania.

“How did you do it?” Claudia asked. “I didn’t think it was possible.”

“I didn’t do anything. I think she did it all in Rumania, and her government helped her.”

“How is your secret friend’s health?”

“Oh, Claudia, it frightens me to think about it. They took her to intensive care. She’s dying. The nurse told me.” Tears fell from Rita’s eyes.

“She must be a good person if you’re so attached to her.”

“It’s not easy to explain, Claudia, but when she dies, I’ll lose the best friend I’ve had in my life.”

“I’ll tell you the truth. I hope when I die, one of my children will be so concerned about me.” Claudia shook her head.

On Saturday, Rita went to the city market and bought enough to prepare for Masha. Her roommate told her she would stay with friends and that Masha could use her bed if she had no hotel reservations.

Rita awoke very early on Sunday. She prepared breakfast and arranged to keep it warm. The train would arrive at nine, but Rita was on the platform at eight-thirty.

Summer was past, and few people were in the station. In the summer, it seemed as though everyone in the country came to Odessa, to the Black Sea, the golden sand. In Odessa, the prices in the city market doubled during the summer.

Now it was fall, the golden time. Rita paced on the platform and repeated Pushkin’s poem: “I love luxuriant nature fading. The forests are crimson and gold.”

Rita did not like fall because she did not like nature fading. She loved spring, when everything around her was waking up, blooming, blossoming.

Time passed quickly. She heard the train whistle and saw the locomotive rounding the last curve. Her heart beat faster, as if she were waiting for someone very close and dear to her.

The train stopped, and Rita walked to car five. She recognized Masha immediately. She had imagined Masha to look very like she did, above medium height, very elegant, wearing a brown suit. Her hair was chestnut colored and fell to her shoulders. She wore a narrow-brimmed, brown hat.

“Are you Masha?” Rita asked her. “I’m Rita.”

Masha removed her gloves and said, “Thank you for meeting me here. Where are Mama and Gregory? I haven’t received letters.”

“I’ll tell you on the way. Do you have hotel reservations?”

“No. I thought I’d stay with Mama.”

Rita said nothing. She took one suitcase, Masha took the other, and they walked out of the station.

“Wait a minute, citizen,” someone commanded. “Stop.”

Masha and Rita turned around and put the luggage down. They saw two men in civilian clothes, one in a gray suit and the other wearing a raincoat.

“Are you Maria Vladimirovna Stanishevsky?”

“Yes, I am. What can I do for you?”

“You will come with us in our car. Who are you?” he asked Rita.

“Who are you to ask us questions?” Rita demanded.

“We’re with the government secret service.” He showed his KGB identification. “Valery Ivanov. This is my assistant.”

“All right. What do you want? We have to go to the hospital. Maria’s mother is very, very ill.”

“Is that true?” Ivanov asked Masha.

“I don’t know. No one told me about it.”

“Yes, it’s true,” Rita said. “She’s in Jewish Hospital, in intensive care. If you take us to your office and ask us all your questions, Maria won’t have time to say good-bye to her mother. Do you understand that?”

“You know everything, but you’re so little. Where did you come from?” Ivanov’s voice was sharp.

Rita did not answer. She closed her mouth tightly.

“What do I do now?” Masha asked, confused.

“Get in the car,” Ivanov said. “We’ll go to the hospital and see if this girl is telling the truth.”

“I’m coming too,” Rita said.

“Of course,” said Ivanov, smiling, “because if you’re lying, you have to pay for it.”

What a face Ivanov had! Worse than the way a fascist looked in the movies. Rita had been upset with people in the past, but she wanted to spit in this man’s ugly face.

He had very thin lips, a straight, sharp nose, and eyes like daggers. His chin was blunt and jutting, his forehead low, and his hair was short-cut and bristly.

The other man, who had said nothing, was difficult to see. His full, dark hair tumbled over his forehead, and his eyebrows almost hid his eyes. Both men were built like heavyweight boxers.

Rita did not speak. They walked to the car. Inside the vehicle, Masha asked her, “What happened to Mama, Rita? You haven’t told me anything. Where is Gregory? Can you tell me?”

“All right. I’ll try to tell you, but I thought I’d be able to explain under different conditions. I’ve even prepared breakfast, and I have everything for dinner. Now is not the time to talk about it.

“How can I start? Your mother went into the hospital over a month ago. She had a heart attack. She’s now having difficulty breathing, and she has to have oxygen. They’ve transferred her to intensive care. They only let me see her for two minutes.

“Your brother was killed in the war in nineteen forty-three. He was very young. Your mama has gone through so much. She lost you, and she lost her son. She became ill. After years, her sickness grew worse. This is the result. That’s all.”

Rita finished her simple explanation and looked at the man with the ugly face. He smiled.

“You tell good stories,” Ivanov said. “Do you get good grades as a storyteller in school?”

Masha was crying. She covered her face with a handkerchief. She believed everything Rita had said and hoped only to see her mother alive.

“You know, Ivanov?” Rita asked, “even your face tells everybody you work for the KGB. I imagined KGB would look like you. Don’t trust anybody. Don’t love anybody.”

“You talk too much. I’ll be asking you a few questions later. Right now, you can shut your mouth.”

“You don’t frighten me. I’m from an orphanage. My parents were killed. My father gave his life for his country. And you’re trying to frighten me? We’ll see.”

Rita had lost control. By the time she stopped, it was already too late. The car was quiet. The only sound was Masha’s crying until they reached the hospital. The car stopped, and they got out.

“All right,” Ivanov said to Rita, “tell us. Who is sick in this hospital?” He spoke as if Rita were a child.

“Don’t talk like that. Try to be serious. She’s in the cardiology area. Intensive care. Wanda Stanishevsky. You can ask the doctor on duty. Visiting hours start at one today. That’s why I wanted to bring Masha here. First, I wanted her to have breakfast and a little rest, but you’re the boss. You’ve screwed everything up.”

“What a tongue. Like a razor.” Ivanov walked into the hospital lobby. They sat on the benches to wait.

Masha asked Rita, “Is there any hope Mama will get better? My poor mama. I remember her when she was young. You know how beautiful she was. I even remember her portrait.”

“The portrait is not lost,” Rita said. “It’s in Wanda’s room. I have a key. Your mama found your diary, Masha. That’s how she knows about you. What has happened to you since you left Odessa?”

“My life is fine. Irzhy is a very good husband. We didn’t have children, but we’re raising his nephew. His sister died when the child was four years old. How did you meet my mother, Rita?”

“It’s a long story. When we’re alone, I’ll tell you.”

“Thank you. If not for you I would never have found my mother. I sent letters many times, but there was no answer.”

“A friend of mine helped me get a letter to the Rumanian Red Cross. He’s from Muldavia and knows Rumanian. I need to send him a thank-you letter.”

Ivanov walked over to them and spoke to his assistant. “She told the truth.” He turned to Masha. “You can come with me. They’ll let you see your mother now.”

Masha stood and walked away with Ivanov. Rita started to follow.

“Nobody told you to go,” said Ivanov’s assistant.

“Nobody told me to sit and wait here. I’m not a defendant. Don’t try to be bossy. And tell me, why are you guarding Masha? She can speak Russian. She’s not lost. Do you guard all foreigners?”

He smiled and said nothing. Rita ran to follow Masha. When she caught up with them, she spoke to Ivanov. “Let me go first. I need to prepare Aunt Wanda. She didn’t know Masha was coming. May I?”

Ivanov nodded. Rita walked through the open door.

Wanda lay on the high-piled pillows. Her eyes were closed. She was not wearing a mask, and no IV was attached to her. Rita heard her heavy breathing in the quiet, empty room.

“Aunt Wanda. It’s me. Please, wake up.”

She took Wanda’s hand, but Wanda did not return the pressure. Rita saw the nurse at the door and asked, “Is she asleep?”

“No, girl. She’s in a coma.”

The nurse was older, not the same one as before.

“She has a short time to live,” the nurse continued. “You can say good-bye. Maybe she can hear you?”

“Aunt Wanda, dear,” Rita said, “I promised you I had good news for you. And I kept my promise. I found your daughter, Masha. She came with me, and she’s waiting in the hall. She’s beautiful, just like you described her. Please, wake up.” Rita wept quietly.

Rita stepped into the corridor and called Masha. “Please come in. The nurse says she can hear. I told her you’re here.”

Masha walked into the room, leaving her hat and gloves behind in the corridor. She moved to Wanda’s bed, looked at her, and sobbed.

“My dear mother. Is this you? I don’t recognize you at all. If only you knew how long I’ve looked for you, how I’ve missed you. Look at me, my dear. This is your Masha.”

Rita stood at the foot of the bed, weeping. The nurse left them alone, Wanda, her daughter, and the poor orphan Wanda had embraced with her warmth.

Masha kissed her mother’s hand and touched her face. “Did you hear me? Please hear me.”

Rita stopped crying, only sobbing gently. Wanda was not easy to recognize. She had lost a great deal of weight. She looked like an old woman. This did not look like the woman Rita had met two years before.

Suddenly, Wanda opened her eyes and looked at Rita. Her lips moved soundlessly.

“Masha! She’s awake!” Rita cried.

Wanda moved her eyes to Masha and reached toward her. Just as their hands were about to touch, Wanda’s fell to the bed.

“Mama, can you see me?” Masha asked. “I’ve come to see you. Say something.”

“I see you,” Wanda whispered weakly. “God sent you to me, my child. This is not a dream? Mashenka, is it you?”

“Yes, yes, it’s me. Do you feel my hand, Mama?”

“Yes, I feel it. Gregory came with you, too?”

Masha and Rita looked at each other.

“Kostya promised to come see me,” Wanda continued. “I saw Tadeush yesterday. He brought me flowers. Your father cannot come because they killed him. You know, Mashenka, they shot him down.”

Wanda’s voice was clear; the whisper could be heard because the room was very quiet. Rita felt her flesh prickle.

“Mama,” Masha said, “my dearest mama. Calm yourself. My father died during the revolution, a long time ago.”

“No,” Wanda answered, breathing laboriously, “they shot him. He was an officer.” Her eyes moved to Rita. “Please tell Kostya to prepare an order for me for the next painting. I won’t give anyone Marina’s portrait. I’ll put them on the wall in my living room.”

Wanda was hallucinating. She spoke of her father and Sophie, asking Masha to bring them the next day. For a short time, her memory returned.

“Mashenka, I don’t believe it is really you. I lived long enough to see you, my beautiful child.”

Again, she began to call for Tadeush.

“Please, leave us alone,” she said. “I need to tell him how I’ve waited for him all my life.”

Then she spoke to Tadeush, raising her arms. “Come to me, my darling. Give me your hands.”

Her hands fell to the blanket and her head fell to her chest. She had fallen asleep forever.

Masha tried to rouse her, but she did not respond. The nurse escorted Masha to the corridor where she collapsed in grief.

Later, Rita asked a doctor how it had happened that Wanda had been in a coma, but before she died, she had revived, talked, heard, responded, and hallucinated. The doctor explained that it happened often, that people in a coma revived before they died. It was a common phenomenon. For Rita, however, what she had seen was a mystery.

When Masha recovered, Ivanov explained that the funeral would be the next day. He did not let her stay with Rita or speak to her anymore. It did not matter that Rita objected. The two KGB agents took Masha to their car.

“Where are you taking her?” Rita demanded. “I have a key to Wanda’s room.”

Ivanov opened the car door and said, “Tomorrow, after the funeral, we’ll go to her mother’s place. Now go home.” He slammed the door and drove away.

Rita sat on the trolley and closed her eyes. A hammer seemed to be beating inside her head. She was so tired, physically and emotionally. She was trembling.

“Tomorrow is the funeral,” she thought. “They’ll bury Wanda in the Second Cemetery. No one will allos her to be buried in the Polish cemetery, as she wanted. Why are these people from the government secret service guarding Masha all the time? Maybe that’s how all people from foreign countries are treated. I was so naive to prepare food and a place for her. There’s so much I don’t know yet.” She fell asleep, sitting in the trolley.

When she awoke, she discovered she had passed her stop. She left the trolley at the next stop and walked across the street to catch a car going in the opposite direction. As she stood at the trolley stop, she remembered that she was supposed to meet Andre Vlasov at four o’clock.

“Please forgive me,” she thought. “Today, I have more important things to think about than meeting.” Briefly, she thought of going to Wanda’s room to take the portrait, but she felt uncomfortable going to the room when no one was there.

The coffin was closed. Rita preferred it that way. She did not want to see Wanda’s face in death. At the cemetery were Masha, Rita, and a few of the women from the school where Wanda had worked. The two KGB men were also there. Masha cried quietly as Rita held her arm. Rita did not cry. The coffin was lowered into the grave, and the women dropped handfulls of dirt onto the casket.

Rita had ordered two flower wreaths. When the grave had been covered, she placed the wreaths on top of the mound of soil.

“I have to remember where this place is,” Rita said. “I will be visiting.” She wrote the path number in her notebook. “What are your plans?” she asked Masha.

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”

Rita looked at Masha questioningly. Ivanov and his assistant walked over to them.

“Do you have the key to her mother’s room?” Ivanov asked Rita.

“Yes, I have the key, but what do you want?”

“You come with us. You’ll be a witness.”

“Witness for what?”

There was no answer. They signaled Rita to follow Masha. The car door opened and Masha and Rita took their seats in the back.

Rita opened the door to Wanda’s room. “Let some fresh air into this room,” she said to the people following her. “It’s been closed for a long time.”

Five minutes later, they all entered.

“She lived here,” Rita said. “Most people’s closets are better than this room, but she didn’t complain. I remember she said once, ‘Life, Rita, is like a zebra. It has black and white stripes.’ But I think she had more black stripes in her life.”

“Tell me,” Ivanov said, “where did you learn to talk?”

“The Soviet authorities taught me from my childhood to speak and fight for myself because no one will do it for me. You don’t like it?”

“I’m just not used to little girls talking like that.”

“I can be quiet if I want.” She turned to Masha. “You can take this portrait, Masha. Wanda gave it to me, but I know it belongs to you.” Rita unwrapped the portrait.

“Oh, Mama,” Masha cried, “I remember this portrait. I wrapped it in this blanket before I left. Maybe someday they’ll let me take it, but I don’t know. …”

“You can take this icon, too,” Rita said. “Your mama prayed to this icon. It’s a good memory.” To Ivanov, she said, “tell me, will you let her take the icon, too?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. All of this belongs to the government.”

“What? The portrait, too? Look at this note Wanda wrote.” She showed him the part that gave everything to her.

“That is not an official document. It’s not even notarized. A picture like that is museum property.”

“This is Wanda Stanishevsky when she was young. This is Masha’s mother. Can you see that?”

“Where did you get that idea? This is a picture of a young, rich, aristocratic woman. Why should I discuss it with you? You can go home now. We don’t need your help anymore.”

“I’d like to go to the train station and say good-bye to Masha. When will she go home?”

“You can say good-bye here. That’s all the answer you’ll get.”

“Of course. You’re right because you have more rights. This is how it was, is, and will be.” To Masha she said, “Good-bye. I’m so sorry we don’t have more time to talk. I’d like to ask you many things about what Wanda told me. You know my address. You must write to me; I’ll answer.”

Masha nodded and walked to the bookshelves. “Mama had Polish and French books. My poor mama. She died and didn’t know her sister was killed when a bomb destroyed her building. Sophie’s husband Kazimir died before the war. I’ve been to Poland. That’s all I could find out. I didn’t find out anything about my cousins.”

Masha walked to Rita and hugged her. “Thank you very much for everything. If I can, I’ll write to you.”

They held each other, and then Rita left.