XXII

Russia passed by Miri and Sasha slowly, slowly, as a stretch of forests and farms until the evening they stopped at a coal depot on a ridge overlooking a river. The lead engineer and his men jumped down and started shoveling. Miri huddled behind mailbags, next to Sasha, tried to imagine she was smaller than she was, that she could fold over and into one of the cracks in the floor in case they opened the mail car. It wasn’t likely. But still. Outside, the men grew louder, bawdier. They were drinking. She was hungry, but all they had left was a bit of cheese from Pavel and a few berries they’d scavenged from the edge of the woods a few nights earlier when they’d eluded the guard and snuck out to forage for food and water.

Miri heard a stranger approaching. Whoever was coming had a slow gait and a lame foot. “You’re here for the night?” the stranger called. He sounded young. One of the engineers replied but his words were muffled. “Good, then join us for a dance,” the stranger said. Miri had been terrified the stranger would ask for his mail. “Come, for the price of one bottle of vodka per man, you can dance with us in the village. And trust that you and your train will be safe.”

“We only have half a bottle left,” an engineer called.

“Then you can’t come!” The stranger dragged his foot across the gravel. A retreat.

“Okay, okay.” The engineer laughed. There was a cheer from the other men. Bottles clinked. Footsteps hurried, following the stranger back to his village. They walked past the mail car so close that Miri saw the whites of their eyes through slats in the wooden walls.

Miri and Sasha didn’t dare to move for nearly an hour. Not until wisps of moonlight slid through the cracks around them. Outside, wolves howled. In the distance, they heard an accordion. “Kalinka” was the tune. It was an old Russian folk dance, one of Babushka’s favorites, played mostly at festivals or on special occasions. The music alternated between fast and slow, exhilaration and something else—uncertainty. Sasha jumped up to his feet. He smiled. “Miriam, you love to dance. I see you swaying.” He bent at the waist and held out a hand. “Please, may I have one dance?”

“And if they hear us?”

“They’re gone.”

“One man stayed behind. There’s always one man behind.”

“If he’s here, he’s too drunk to know anything.”

He was right. The man would be drunk. And Miri did love to dance. She’d danced with women at weddings, and with Babushka and Vanya. And she’d sneaked out onto a balcony, at a wedding of one of Baba’s clients, to dance with Yuri once. He was slow and he’d stepped on her feet but still it was thrilling. “It’s just one dance,” Sasha tried. “Please. Yuri wouldn’t mind.”

“How did you know I was thinking of him?”

“Aren’t you?” He grinned. “Just one dance?”

Miri looked at the piles of mail. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of notes filled with dreams and fears. So many of them would never reach their intended recipients. Most would be dead before their mail was even delivered. Was it right to dance now, during war? She was being ridiculous, looking for an excuse when she didn’t need one. It was only one dance. She took Sasha’s hand. She remembered the night in the cellar when her hand was on his skin, at his hip, as she helped him to the hearth. “Okay?” Sasha asked.

“Fine.” It was nothing she couldn’t tell her grandmother about. They stood, facing one another, and then he leapt down to a crouch, shot one heel out and then the other, kicking his legs as he made a circle in their nook between the burlap sacks, in time to the music. Miri laughed.

He took her hand and in one smooth motion twirled her around so she landed with her back against his chest, their arms entwined. They fit together so easily it surprised her. He eased them around in a circle in time with the rhythm. “You dance wonderfully,” he said. Never had she heard such a perfect accordion.

The music gained speed, and they unfurled their arms and linked hands, kicking their toes and heels. Even with the mail around them, there was space for them to dance apart, and yet neither of them let go of the other. Heels up, heels up. Not once did Sasha step on her toes. When the tune came back to its slower section, Sasha dropped his hands to her waist. They should have separated, sashayed side by side, but they stayed still. The accordion launched again into a speedier tempo and Sasha came closer. He brought his cheek up flush with hers. She expected her skin to chafe under his whiskers but he was soft. His breath was on her neck. The salty tang of his sweat mixed with the pine that still clung to him. He moved slowly and quickly at the same time.

She closed her eyes. When their lips touched, he was so gentle Miri almost thought she’d imagined the kiss. She lingered, slid her hand along the length of his jaw, to his neck. He tasted like the cheese they’d eaten for dinner. Sasha pulled her so close she could feel his every curve and yet she couldn’t touch or taste enough of him. And she sensed he felt the same. She forgot where she was, forgot the train, the mail. All she was, was under his touch.

Suddenly, something outside the train crashed, and both Miri and Sasha stopped. They were out of breath. Her lips felt swollen and delicious, still touching Sasha’s. But she was frozen, not moving, only listening, afraid to move in case the shift in weight made a board under them moan. The music outside was gone. A familiar voice, the head engineer, swore and groaned only steps away from the mail car. Miri would have stepped back but Sasha held her too tight to let her move. And he was right. They couldn’t risk a stumble or sound that might give them away. All the men had returned. They were drunk, falling and slipping. In that pause, while she should have been thinking of a way out of the mail car in case they were found, she thought about Yuri.

She shouldn’t have been there with Sasha. Not like that. She unwrapped her fingers from his neck. She shouldn’t have kissed him. Shouldn’t have been feeling anything like what she was feeling. Yuri was risking his life for her, to help Vanya. Kir was likely guarding Baba or at least after her—and her brother. She, Vanya, and their grandmother were spread across the country. How could she be doing this, betraying them all at once?

“I’m sorry.” As she spoke, her lips brushed Sasha’s and he only held her tighter. And if she was being honest, truly honest, she didn’t want to move.

A man outside stumbled. He couldn’t have been more than one car away. Another threw up. It felt as though it took years for all five men to clamber back inside the engine car. Then the train jerked forward. The wheels rolled through one revolution, two. Miri backed into a stack of mail. “We shouldn’t have,” she said. Her voice was so quiet. “I’m marrying Yuri.”

“He could be dead.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Was it the same when he kissed you?” Miri was grateful for the dark, that he couldn’t see her face. After a long silence, Sasha finally said, “I won’t kiss you again. But I won’t stop you if you try.”