Because it was Fanya’s normal evening off, Natalya had asked if Louise could come to her flat on Friday night to continue planning the joint venture.
When Louise got to Natalya’s apartment, she was surprised to find Fanya still there.
As Natalya took her coat, Louise said, “I thought it was Fanya’s evening off?”
“It is,” Natalya said. She glanced into the living room where Fanya was sitting in an armchair, reading. “She knew you were coming.”
“Well, that’s flattering.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said softly. She led Louise into the living room. Fanya stood politely, nodded, and sat back down without smiling or saying anything beyond hello. She returned to her reading.
Louise gave Natalya a look, but Natalya shrugged as if nothing were unusual.
Alina and Grisha were both on the floor at Fanya’s feet, playing with pots and pans. There was a little stuffed giraffe on wheels and a ragdoll abandoned on the floor next to the couch.
Louise squatted, pulling her skirt tight across her thighs. “Hello Grisha. Hello Alina,” she said, smiling warmly. She quickly modified her American hello to privet.
Grisha looked at his beaming mother. Natalya encouraged him with a nod and a smile. She turned to Louise. “He doesn’t talk much, yet.” Alina had been silently looking at Louise, as if still trying to figure out if Louise were safe or not. She had her mother’s incredible eyes.
“Oh my,” Louise said to her in French. “You are going to be a heartbreaker.” Alina, not understanding, looked over at her mother.
Natalya laughed. “Very likely, including her own in the process.”
Louise looked up at Natalya. She wondered if perhaps Natalya had a heartbreak of her own when she was younger. She wanted to ask but thought it might be too personal. Instead, she asked where Mikhail was.
“Working. Always working.”
“What’s he working on?”
The look Natalya gave her made her wish she hadn’t asked that.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to pry. I’m just … Oh, hell. I goofed.” She used the English word, as she didn’t have one in French.
Natalya smiled. “Goofed?”
“Made a stupid mistake.” She then quickly added, “Unintentional.”
“Aren’t all mistakes unintentional?”
“I suppose they are,” Louise said. It sounded so dumb.
Was Natalya sparring with her? Why? She just wanted to be friends. She knew that Natalya wanted the same. She suddenly envied her friends whose husbands had been given regular military assignments in Germany or Japan, where they didn’t have to walk on these eggshells of diplomacy.
Natalya was looking at her it seemed a little sadly, with those luminous café au lait eyes of hers.
To do something to fill the uncomfortable silence, Louise arranged herself to sit on her bottom a little closer to the children, her legs crossed. She held her arms out to both. Grisha looked at his mother, and seeing that she was smiling and nodding encouragement, crawled over to Louise, who quickly scooped him up and settled him on her lap. Alina, not to be outdone, quickly crawled onto her lap next to him. She had them both, now, hugged together. She took in a deep breath, smelling their hair.
Alina broke Louise’s hug and crawled over to where Fanya was sitting on the couch. She started banging a pot with a spoon. Fanya ignored her. Natalya moved to sit on the sofa next to Fanya and leaned down to engage with Alina. Fanya just kept reading.
Wondering what kind of nanny this Fanya girl was, Louise began playing a finger-pulling game with Grisha.
After a few minutes, Natalya rose to her feet. “I think it’s time to put them to bed.”
“Can I help? Please say yes.”
Natalya chuckled.
“What?” Louise asked.
“I’d forgotten that washing my children is a joy not a chore. It’s all too easy to do.” She paused. “Forget. Not the chore.”
Natalya got the two children bathed and ready for bed while Louise tagged along, enjoying watching Natalya, occasionally pitching in where she could. At one point Louise asked, “Doesn’t Fanya help you put them to bed?”
“I told you. It’s her evening off.”
“Oh.” Louise took this in. “But why—”
Louise was cut off by Natalya flicking her hand up, where Fanya couldn’t see it, in the universal sign for stop. This young, somewhat awkward and plump nanny frightened Natalya, in her own home.
They finished settling the children and sat at the kitchen table to plan. Natalya had brought out a bottle of vodka and English Orange Squash. Louise was at first horrified, but wanting to be polite, accepted the drink. Natalya seemed to be very proud of being able to offer the cocktail.
“Do you have a name for this?” Louise asked.
Expecting something in Russian, she was surprised when Natalya, expressing her own surprise, said, “It’s a screwdriver. You don’t know it? I understand your pilots invented it during the war.”
Louise shrugged, a no. “Well, my husband always said that the Army Air Corps is wonderfully inventive when it comes to, uh, creature comforts.”
Several screwdrivers later, the plan, mostly about finding money, was done, despite the two women increasingly giggling like schoolgirls. Natalya, who’d been in Helsinki a few months longer than Louise, added considerably to the plan. Because a sizable number of older Finns spoke Russian, a remnant of Russification before Finland gained independence thirty years earlier, Natalya would take on most of the Finnish fundraising possibilities, while Louise would focus on the Western European expat community, most of whom spoke English.
When it was clear that the planning was over, her inhibitions gone with the last screwdriver, Louise said, “So. You had a heartbreak, didn’t you. Come on. Tell me.”
Natalya, pressing her lips together and repressing a smile, shook her head.
“Come on,” Louise wheedled.
“OK,” Natalya said.
Louise sat back down.
“When I was sixteen, I spent a summer, like many students, working on a collective farm. Potatoes! I still can’t eat them.”
Louise encouraged her nonverbally.
“He was funny. Intelligent.”
“And?”
“Yes. He was good-looking.” Natalya seemed to be looking at the memory. “Thick blond hair. Those kind of arms and shoulders that make you feel safe.”
“So! You kissed him.”
“I did. My first.”
“And …”
“And what?”
“What happened to him?”
She hesitated. “They came and got him,” she said softly.
Louise blinked. “Who came?”
Natalya looked at Louise with incredulity, which she quickly covered. She nodded toward the living room where Fanya was sitting.
“But what for? I mean, there must have been some charge.”
“Only if there is a trial. There was none.”
“You never heard from him?”
Natalya shook her head, her lips pursed.
“You must have been heartbroken.”
“I don’t think you have any idea,” Natalya said.
Louise could only stay silent, overwhelmed by the sudden understanding of what it must be like to live in a world where “they” could come any time and take away your first love.
“Yes. I was heartbroken,” Natalya said, breaking the silence. “But whether in love or life in general, any Russian over the age of three has been heartbroken.”
As Natalya was escorting Louise down to the front door, they were alone for a moment on the stairs. Still a bit inebriated, Louise plunged in with the question that had been on her mind the whole evening. “Fanya doesn’t speak French, does she? Why were you shushing me?” Natalya, too, had a bit too much to drink. In a low, patient voice she explained, “No. I don’t think she speaks French. But we can’t be sure, so we have to be careful.” She shrugged. “She doesn’t need to. Not her job.”
“So, what is her job exactly? Her other job,” Louise clarified.
With a wistful smile Natalya said, “She keeps track of our conversations with visitors. It is usual.”
“Usual?”
“Yes. The revolution is still new. It is important that opposition to the revolution be uncovered.”
“You can’t believe that.”
“Louise,” Natalya said slowly and carefully, “we believe what we must.”