And I stubbornly repeat

Your name again and yet again

Softly and with angry lips,

Trying to wake my love again.

SOPHIA PARNOK

Kostya had been home less than a week when Nana stood listening at the door of his study, where her husband and some of his uniformed colleagues had gathered, and heard, again and again, the words ‘nuclear, dead, sanatorium’ and ‘medal for bravery’.

Elene wasn’t home from school yet. Nana went into the kitchen and swallowed her cold fury with a very large glass of water. Nana, whose daughter had celebrated her father’s return with such squealing and cries of joy that she woke the entire household — Nana, who was dying of homesickness for Tbilisi, her university, her friends, even Stasia and Christine, quietly admitted defeat.

Unlike the reunion of father and daughter, their greeting had been almost formal. A tentative kiss on the lips, a quick hug; no direct questions, of course. But naturally she had suspected — no, she knew — that this had had nothing to do with the Baltic Sea, that he had not handed over his beloved child to her all this time just because of a training manoeuvre.

Nana heard Elene open the front door, drop her satchel on the floor, put on her slippers, and enter the kitchen. Usually the first thing she did was burst into her father’s study; she must have heard the unfamiliar voices, which had discouraged her from going in.

She was tall for her age; her cocoa-coloured eyes were very like her aunt’s, the aunt who’d been branded a traitor to her country. About whom they were all forbidden to ask. Elene’s legs in their white socks were long and strong, her posture erect, her gaze reflective, mistrustful. Her hair was cut in a pageboy bob that sat against her round head like a perfectly knitted cap. She washed her hands and peered into the saucepans to see what Lyuda had prepared for her today. Satisfied, she turned on the gas oven without asking her mother if she would like to eat with her.

Observing her independent daughter, Nana couldn’t help finding her behaviour almost repellent. However hard she had tried with Elene these last few months, she could not penetrate the iron wall Elene had put up around herself, this personification of her father’s perfect daughter.

Now that Kostya was back, Nana had become superfluous. It was the deciding factor in Nana’s final capitulation: the thorny truth that the long months she had spent on her own with Elene had all been wasted. Elene had not forgiven her. Had not taken her back into her heart. Would not leave the country with her mother and travel south now that her stay in Moscow was drawing to a close.

She looked at her daughter and understood that this had not been an easy decision for Elene; that she had had to choose a side, choose one of her parents, and unfortunately she had chosen Kostya. But wasn’t it the case — though it was immeasurably hard for Nana to admit this — that the girl was more like her husband than her? Perhaps that was why Elene found it more desirable to emulate her father than the eccentric women in her family.

And despite the tentative suspicions Nana had had during the years of her marriage, in the bitter battle for their daughter’s love and favour; despite her intuitions about Kostya’s secrets; despite her hurtful realisations in the time she spent alone with her daughter in her powerful husband’s realm — despite all this, the fact that she would have to return home alone again was surprisingly painful for her.

Had Kostya come back two weeks earlier, perhaps she would have been spared the insight into the miserable state of her marriage. Now, though, as Nana sat passively, helplessly, in the kitchen, fighting back tears, she was still trying to persuade herself that it wasn’t Elene’s fault, that she hadn’t been taking revenge; that it was because of her childishness, her naivety, her innocence that she had inflicted such pain on her mother.

Two weeks earlier, Elene had been talking incessantly about Kostya again. Nana had felt the anger welling up inside her; she had felt she was being treated unjustly, being manipulated by her own child. She had wanted to scream in her face that she should stop punishing her for something that wasn’t her fault; that Elene should show her mother more of the respect and love she deserved. That she should show her true face — candid, obstinate, quick-tempered, but so much more alive. Should go back to being unruly and loud, stubborn and emotionally needy. Should, should, should. Nana had held her tongue. One after another she stuffed chocolates into her mouth and stared at the bluish light of the television, which was showing the bedtime programme Elene loved to watch every evening.

‘Don’t eat so many sweets,’ Elene had said suddenly, without taking her eyes off the screen.

Nana had just popped another sweet into her mouth; she froze, not daring to chew it. She felt ashamed, humiliated by her own daughter. As if that weren’t enough, Elene added, ‘Papa prefers women who are slimmer and wear lipstick, and perfume, too.’

A cartoon dog with unusually long ears was racing across the screen singing a cheerful song.

‘And how do you know that?’ Nana asked icily.

‘I just know.’

‘How?’ Nana’s voice grew louder. She finally swallowed the chocolate.

‘He sometimes has visitors,’ Elene said calmly, as if telling her about her day at school. Her eyes were still fixed on the dog, which was waving its ears and emitting a contentedly melodious woof, woof.

‘Here? He has visitors here?’

‘Yes, where else? This is where he lives.’

Elene reached for the bowl of sweets on the narrow coffee table.

‘And who are these slim women with red lipstick?’ Nana tried to control her tone. She felt like howling.

‘Well, like I said: slim women with red lips in fluffy coats. They smell so nice. And sometimes they bring me presents.’

‘Aha. They bring you presents, do they?’

‘Yes.’

Elene unwrapped a chocolate and stuffed it greedily into her mouth. The long-eared dog had now been joined by a waddling duck who also joined in the singing, adding its quack, quack to the woof, woof.

‘What sort of presents?’

‘Mama, I’m watching television.’

‘What sort of presents?’ Nana was struggling to control her voice.

‘Toys. Or a scarf. I’ve had gloves, as well.’

‘And how long do they stay here?’

‘No idea. Not long. Some of them come again, some don’t. Look, that’s Gaston, the duck. He’s my favourite.’

Elene squeaked with delight, her mouth full of chocolate.

*

The dignitaries finally left. Kostya shook them all by the hand as he said goodbye. The gentlemen looked very serious and important. Just the way Kostya liked to see himself. Nana put Elene to bed as usual. It was Lyuda’s day off. Kostya holed himself up in his study.

He had changed. He seemed thinner, weaker. She could hardly look at him; since his return all she could think of was what Elene had said: Papa prefers women who are slimmer and wear lipstick, and perfume, too.

Nana went into the bathroom. Took a long look at herself in the mirror. Her face betrayed none of her worries. The many pounds she’d put on in recent years hadn’t touched that open, friendly countenance. Her cheekbones were still sharp and high, her forehead smooth, her eyes clear. She didn’t look like a deeply unhappy woman. Over the course of her marriage her face had learned to lie.

She took her washbag from the cupboard, took out a red lipstick she hardly ever used, and dabbed the colour onto her mouth. She combed her thick, dark-blonde hair and pinned it up in an artful knot. Then she went into the bedroom and selected her best dress: it had a daring neckline, and was navy blue, which brought out the colour of her eyes. It was a little tight around the hips now, but it would do for tonight. She put on the only high heels she possessed; they were languishing untouched in a shoebox in the cupboard. She had bought them with Kostya beside the ‘Cold Sea’, all those years ago, when she had first realised that her husband did not desire her.

Then she bundled up her clothes and stuffed them into a suitcase.

She knocked on his door and entered without waiting for an answer. He was sitting poring over files by the weak light of a lamp. On his desk stood a bust of the Generalissimus; beside it, a few framed photographs of Elene.

When he saw her like that, it gave him a start. She had stopped dressing up for him long ago. Normally he would have told her that he still had things to do, thereby indirectly sending her out again, but something in her manner must have made it clear that he couldn’t show her the door so easily this time. He offered her a chair. Some glasses and a half-empty vodka bottle were still sitting on the little sideboard by his desk. Apparently he and his colleagues had drunk a toast to something.

She reached for the bottle without asking and filled one of the used glasses to the brim. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again as she brought the glass to her lips and knocked back the contents in a single gulp.

‘It seems I’m not the woman you need. What a pity I was so deceived in you, Kostya. It’s not even your fault. You were right, I didn’t want to wake up. But now I have, as you can see. I’m so awake, so terrifyingly awake, that sometimes I fear I’ll never be able to fall asleep again. If you want to, we can get divorced. It’s all the same to me. But if you want to stay married to me, we have to settle a few things. And you will have to take my wishes into account.’

Nana had refilled her glass, and, as her husband didn’t speak, she continued.

‘First of all, from now on I don’t want you to question my authority ever again in front of Elene. I want you to stop belittling me and sneering at my “university nonsense”, to stop criticising my parenting methods. Stop trying to make her believe that I’m not good enough for the two of you. Yes — the two of you, because you’re a proper little team now, and all I’m allowed to do is sit on the reserve bench and watch you. This has to stop! Right now.

‘Secondly, I insist that you never again bring any of your tarts — pardon my coarseness — to the apartment where my daughter is living. You can do whatever you like, but you will make sure Elene knows nothing about it. I’m going to tell you a little secret, Kostya, as a friend, not as your wife. All these women who seem so desirable to you, all these blonde and brunette angels for whom you get to play the Don Juan: they’re nothing more than actresses who are very good at playing their part. Because that’s all they’ve learned: the only thing they know how to do is provide you with exactly the feeling you think you need. They’ve learned to let you believe that they’re magical, that their only purpose is to enchant you, and when they moan in bed — pardon my directness, but I don’t have to please you any more — they do it because they think that’s what you want to hear. And they’re right: that is what you want to hear and see. Precisely that. And the more I think about it, the less I understand you, Kostya, the less I’m able to grasp how someone who grew up surrounded by so many women can understand so little about them. And it’s sad that no matter how many heroic deeds you perform for your country, or how many medals they give you for it, you will always be weak — weak around women, because it seems you haven’t learned to make them your friends.

‘You know, you should have understood that you weren’t doing yourself any favours by excluding me from your relationship with Elene, because I could have protected you. You know why? Because I saw you as a friend. And because I loved you. Yes, I did, even if for a long time I didn’t know or understand what exactly this wretched thing called love actually is. And I hoped we could be friends to each other, that at least, even if we couldn’t be partners. But you lied to me; for you, it was always about breaking my will, making me small and docile, because you didn’t know anything else, because you didn’t want anything else; because it seems your pretty, empty little dolls are just like that, aren’t they? Submissive, docile, and uncomplicated, their only purpose to lift your spirits. And when I began to resist you, when I didn’t submit, you started to take the most precious thing of all away from me; you declared a silent war on me. Over her, over our own child! You didn’t understand that in doing so you’ve set yourself the biggest trap of your life. And it’s partly because I’ve failed so dismally with her during my time here, because even in your absence I was always in your shadow, that I know she’ll turn against us one day, and do you want to know why? Because she’ll be a woman, a real woman of flesh and blood, not an empty doll, the way she’s learned to be from you, in all those years of living by your side. One day she won’t be able to stand it any more; she’ll smash open this shell and start punishing you for the burden you placed on her when she was so very young. And it makes me want to throw up to hear her speak her mother tongue with that bloody Russian accent —’

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ stuttered Kostya, who throughout her monologue had been staring at his wife in utter disbelief.

‘Thirdly: don’t interrupt me! Just don’t do it any more! And fourthly: when she finishes this school year, I’m taking Elene back with me to Tbilisi. And no, I don’t want to discuss it. I’m just saying it so you’ll have plenty of time to prepare yourself.’

All at once Kostya sat up. He too reached for the vodka bottle.

‘I will not agree to a divorce.’

‘Fine — as I thought. If you agree to my demands, I promise you in return that I will continue to be a faithful wife to you, and won’t do anything that might endanger your reputation or your position. And you needn’t worry about your daughter’s admiration for you, either: I won’t come between you. And yes, I’m flying home tomorrow. I don’t think my presence is required here any longer.’