‘I talked to our boy today.’
Maria was sitting in front of the fire reading a book. She looked at him, and he saw that all the resentment, all the anger had vanished.
‘I was walking home, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move, and he talked to me.’
She made the sign of the cross.
‘He blamed me for not protecting him. Not saving him.’ He sank to his knees and the tears flowed from his eyes again. ‘I couldn’t protect him.’
She knelt down beside him. The soft scent of her perfume wafted across his face. ‘You have to grieve. You have to mourn him. You can’t hold it all inside.’ She touched him on the chest. ‘One day, in here will explode and your heart will break. The holy father says he is in a better place, a happy place. I know you don’t believe any more… ’
He tried to explain, but she quietened him with a soft hush.
‘I’m not sure I do either. But I do know the holy father helps me understand why he was taken from us. Why he isn’t here any more. Pretending it didn’t happen is worse. You can never move on, you can never forget your guilt.’
He began weeping quietly.
‘You have to forgive yourself, Pyotr. Nobody can do it for you.’ She stood up and walked to the cabinet, reaching in for a photograph. She knelt down beside him again. ‘This is Ivan. This is your son. He is no longer with us, but every day I give thanks for the joy he brought me when he was here.’
Danilov nodded. She put her arms around him, comforting him with the warmth of her body.
They sat like that for a long time, holding each other, protecting each other against the cold night of Shanghai, as the embers in the fire slowly turned grey.