Tea with Natalya on Friday went better than Louise had hoped. Natalya agreed to try to arrange a meeting with Abramov, the head of the Soviet legation.
The next day, Louise got a note from Natalya saying the meeting was set for Monday, the thirteenth, just before lunch. Along with the note was a dinner invitation, just the four of them at Natalya and Mikhail’s flat.
It was dark when Louise and Arnie arrived at the Bobrovs’ four-story stone building. She’d wanted to bring flowers or maybe some chocolates as a gift but had found neither. She had, however, gotten a can of Nescafé, which had been common fare for US troops during the war.
Inside the large double doors was a small reception area. Louise was surprised to find a male concierge sitting behind a counter. The buildings she’d been looking at didn’t have one. She’d already been a bit envious of Natalya after she told Louise that she lived there for free, along with other Soviet legation staff and families. Now it seemed the Soviet legation even provided its families with free security. And here she was having to find a place for her and Arnie to live with virtually no help from the American legation.
The concierge, a humorless man in a cheap blue suit, politely but firmly asked her to sign in to a logbook stating who she was visiting and why.
Mikhail greeted them at the door to their flat. The air of the flat smelled of cigarette smoke, acrider and harsher than what Louise was used to. The living room was small, giving the sense of being overheated.
Natalya stood directly behind Mikhail, holding Grisha, while Mikhail helped the Koskis take off their heavy coats. Alina was peeking out shyly from behind Natalya. She had her hair in a long plait and Natalya had placed a purple bow just above her left ear.
Louise’s heart melted.
She presented Natalya with the coffee, which seemed to genuinely thrill her, and knelt down to look Alina in the eye. She was still peeking out from behind Natalya and had followed her as Natalya placed the tin of Nescafé on a coffee table next to two partially smoked cigarettes still burning in an ashtray. Both had small cardboard tubes like little throwaway cigarette holders attached to the part with cigarette paper and tobacco. Both tubes had been crushed flat, probably to make the cigarette easier to hold.
“Do you remember me?” Louise asked the little girl in English. “Are you feeling better?” She was aware of Arnie bending over behind her back, coming down partially to Alina’s level. Alina stared at them, obviously not understanding.
“She is much better,” Natalya said in French. She bent down and said, “Alina,” followed by Russian. Alina, in a long nightgown, made a quick curtsy, then looked up at her mother to make sure she’d done alright. Natalya beamed. “And Grisha. Show the Koskis how you are standing.” She put Grisha on his feet and he stood there, only wobbling slightly.
Louise clapped her hands. “Oh, can I hold him?” she asked in French. Natalya looked with an exaggerated question on her face at Grisha, who looked a bit puzzled. She picked him up and handed him to Louise. Louise had to steady herself because of the little boy’s muscular weight. “Wow, what a sturdy little man,” she said. She turned to show the little boy to Arnie, who had resumed standing next to an obviously proud Mikhail.
Louise felt a little hand touching her knee and looked down at Alina, who was unhappy about her little brother getting all the attention.
Natalya said something sharp to Alina in Russian. Then to Louise, “I apologize. We are too indulgent with our children. They see so little of us during the day,” she went on.
Louise leaned down toward Alina, finding she had to squat slightly to keep her balance with Grisha. “Are you spoiled?” she asked in English. Alina looked at her wide-eyed, obviously not understanding. “I would spoil you. I would spoil you rotten,” Louise said.
She looked up at Natalya. “They are beautiful,” she said. “You must be so proud.” She turned again, bouncing Grisha slightly. Grisha was looking at his father, turning his head as Louise turned. She saw Arnie looking at her, his mouth smiling, his eyes sad. He knew. He knew how she longed.
Natalya gathered Alina in closer to her and Louise stood. It was then that Louise noticed Fanya who was watching the entire scene from the kitchen doorway. Natalya introduced her to Arnie as their “au pair.” Fanya held her hand out, trying to be an adult, saying something in Russian. Then, she and Natalya went with the children to their bedroom while Mikhail served vodka “to warm up,” as he put it. Natalya had put out some pickled herring and beets to go with the vodka and Louise nibbled at them, politely pretending to listen, trying to pick out words as Arnie and Mikhail spoke in Finnish, with Arnie occasionally trying to bring her in. She was relieved when Natalya finally reappeared, leaving Fanya with the children.
She sat down next to Louise and reached for the glass of vodka that had been waiting there for her. She took a good-sized drink and settled back into the couch. “You don’t know how I needed that.”
“Oh, Natalya,” Louise said. “You don’t mean that.”
“Well, not really, but sometimes I could happily feed them to the lions. You have no idea.”
Although she knew Natalya didn’t mean anything by it, Louise felt a sudden cloud pass over her.
Natalya sensed the mood shift. She touched Louise’s hand and very warmly and softly said, “Someday you will have an idea. I’m sure of it.”
Louise could only nod.
For dinner, Natalya had cooked a large lake whitefish, which she served nicely displayed. Mikhail did the honors of carving and serving. It would have been totally enjoyable but for the odd presence of Fanya, who’d joined them at the table and spoke only Russian—or said she did. She just sat solemnly silent through the entire meal. Initially, Arnie tried to include Natalya, who spoke a rudimentary English, but Mikhail’s English was virtually nonexistent, so Arnie kept lapsing into their common and fluent language, Finnish. This tended to leave Natalya and Louise speaking French and the conversation neatly divided by gender. Fanya helped clear the table and excused herself.
After the dishes had been cleared, more vodka was served. It was likely the vodka that led to the heated discussion between Louise and Natalya of the recent war in Europe. It was the first time that Louise heard directly that the Russians weren’t pleased with the American effort.
“We sent you unimaginable amounts of trucks, gasoline, food,” she said to Natalya, somewhat affronted.
“Yes, my new American friend,” Natalya said. She slowly tapped ash from her cigarette into an ashtray that was sitting in the center of the table. “After 1943, when you were sure we would win. As Comrade Stalin said, your money, our blood.”
Trying to remain in diplomatic mode, Louise translated what she said, as calmly as possible, to Arnie, appealing silently for some help with a look.
Arnie explained in simple Finnish that he thought Natalya could understand, occasionally asking Louise to translate something into French. The gist of it was that America was completely unprepared for the war, its army about the size of Bulgaria’s when the war started. The United States simply couldn’t open a second front against Germany until June of 1944, when they did so with the largest and most complex military operation in history, the Normandy invasion. This forced the Germans to fight on two fronts, hastening the Red Army’s entry into Berlin.
After Arnie finished, Natalya put her silverware down and in her quiet but totally commanding way, said, “Too little, too late,” in plain English. The expression was obviously familiar.
Louise had no answer, but her mouth was slightly open. Mikhail inquired in Finnish and Arnie answered him. Then Mikhail said something to Natalya in Russian and Natalya answered him, heatedly emphasizing her points with her fingers, as if counting.
Mikhail smiled at Arnie and Louise, then said something to Arnie in Finnish.
“What did he say?” Louise asked.
He apologized for Natalya’s anger, then added, “We, of course, see things differently.”
Louise replied, “Of course.”
Arnie’s tone changed. “I think we should get out of this conversation.”
Louise smiled broadly at Mikhail, raised her vodka glass to him, and said, “To the Red Army.”
He understood that. Glasses were raised, clinked, and Natalya, also a bit flustered, picked up a tray already set with four coffee cups and shooed the men into the living room.
This proved to start the best part of the whole night. Louise and Natalya stayed in the kitchen and had two coffees, both mixed with vodka. While their husbands talked in a foreign language in the other room, the two women found themselves absorbed in each other, finding out about their childhoods, their time at university, how they met their husbands.
On their way back to the hotel, Louise said, “I really like Natalya.” After a while she asked, “No one at home ever talks about the Russians. It’s like we won the war all by ourselves”—she smiled—“along with a little help from Winston Churchill. How bad was it for them?”
“No one knows for sure, but civilian and military deaths, over twenty million, close to ten million killed in action. We lost about four hundred thousand,” Arnie said grimly. “Pacific and European theaters. That’s twenty-five Russians for every one American.”
“Oh,” Louise said. “I see.”