November, 1944
Tashkent
“Now I can tell you,” Mitya said.
“What?”
They had walked back to the highway. Mitya’s plan was to return to Tashkent and go to work in the morning so as to avoid any connection with Zip Uk’s disappearance.
“Stephen’s alive.”
Rachel saw the disappointment in his eyes. She looked away. “How did you find out?” she asked in a quiet voice.
“He’s here. With Lily.”
“Oh God, Mitya. I’m so happy.”
“I know.”
“Thank you.” She went to him. He embraced her.
“You were right. Now you still have to get out.”
“We will. We will . . . if you help us.”
“I’ll bring him to you when the time comes. And when the war’s over I’ll come here to help you.”
“How about if I pay you a visit?”
“Are you mad!”
She smiled at his outburst. He still couldn’t tell when he was being teased. “Don’t worry. I’m resigned to never seeing my favorite city in the world again, except in travelogues.”
They went to the car and Mitya stopped at the door, turned and swept her into a bear-hug. “Thank God,” he said. After a time he released her. “Enough. You have a difficult ride ahead of you.” He hesitated. “I love you, Rachel.”
She didn’t know what to say. He got into the car. She waved as he turned and headed back toward Tashkent. She and the Armenian then mounted horses and rode into the desert night.
* * *
The cluster of tents was silhouetted against the pale rose sky, the mountains, and the purple ripples of clouds.
Two figures waved to her as she cantered down the slope, weary from long hours in the saddle. Lily stood, tall and strong, her long black hair flowing loosely down her back to her hips. Beside her was a man she barely recognized as she rode up to them, dismounted, and ran toward them. It can’t be him. It can’t be Stephen, she thought. But it was him. The same blue eyes, the same smile, yet the look in his eyes reminded her of Grandfather Hummel when he was in his eighties. But his arms had the strength of youth as he wrapped them around her, squeezing so hard she gasped. Lily joined them and they were linked together at last.
* * *
Rachel awoke the next morning to find Stephen sitting beside her. She had fallen asleep to the sounds of his and Lily’s lovemaking. She glanced over at Lily, still asleep in the shadows.
“Let’s go outside,” Stephen said. “I have to talk to you.”
They walked a short distance from the camp. The air was cool, a patina of light like a gloss upon the desert, creating the illusion that it was liquid.
He’s going to tell me that he’s going back with Lily, Rachel thought. Leaving me on my own. I’ll have to let them go. I can’t ask him to stay. Not again.
“I’m here because of Avilov.”
She listened in amazement as he told her how he had written to Avilov, met with him and received a small fortune from him. To come and make the offer to her.
“So, he’ll protect me if I join his commission; otherwise—”
“He’ll say he doesn’t know you.”
“Well, Father was right about him at least.”
“It might be worth doing for a few years. If you try to get out now, and fail, you’ll rot for the rest of your life in the Gulag.”
“I know that, Stephen.”
“There’s something else.”
She looked at him. Once she could read his expressions but no longer.
“According to Avilov, Michael’s dead.”
“So I was told. By Zip Uk.”
“Did you believe him?”
“No.”
Suddenly she hated the vast emptiness of the desert, the silence. It offered no escape.
“I’m sorry, Rachel.”
She let him comfort her, but it made no difference. Hearing this from him, through Avilov, was a thousand times worse than hearing it from Zip Uk. Unless Avilov was lying just to get her to come and work for him. No. He’s a con man, but he’s not that vicious. He wouldn’t lie about something like that.
“I believe him,” she said.
“So do I,” Stephen said.
She broke away. On the horizon, the rim of the sun had become visible. The light would wake Lily. You can’t ask him to stay behind and help you escape, not after all they’ve been through.
“I’m not going to work with Avilov. I have to get out. No matter what the risk.”
“What if you’re arrested? Working a few years for Avilov is a lot better than twenty years in the Gulag.”
“A few years could easily turn into ten or fifteen years, Stephen. I’d rather take my chances.”
“Take them alone?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t let you do that. I promised Mother—”
“I release you from that promise.”
“You can’t, Rachel.”
* * *
He didn’t have to tell Lily his decision—she guessed it.
“I should have expected this,” Lily said. “First your father, now her. Like father, like daughter. You’ll be the last one sacrificed on the altar of Art.”
“She didn’t ask me to go with her.”
“She didn’t forbid you, did she?”
“She can’t. It’s my decision to make, not hers. I won’t leave her here.”
Her expression was so embittered that he couldn’t look at her. He went to the entrance to the tent and glanced outside. He had put off talking to her about it all day and the sun was just beginning its descent. Rachel was off with the Armenian children. She had never shown much interest in children before, but now she couldn’t get enough of them.
“What if you’re caught, Stephen? My father can get us back to Sweden the day the war ends. We’ll have diplomatic status!”
“If you had a brother or sister, you’d understand. I couldn’t live with myself knowing I’d left her behind.”
“Your sister’s no child, believe me.”
“None of us is. That’s beside the point.”
“So, you want me to get on that plane alone knowing that we may never see each other again?”
Of course I don’t, Stephen thought. But sometimes what we want is irrelevant.
But he couldn’t think of a way of saying that without sounding moralistic. He crossed over to her and lowered himself to her side.
“Rachel didn’t ask me to help her and she won’t. She wants me to go with you. She released me from my promise to Mother that I would make sure she survives. I’m free, Lily. I’m absolutely free.”
“Then why can’t you come with me?”
“Because that’s not who I am.”
Lily looked at him. “No, it’s not, is it?” She turned away from him.