19
Alexander was in the darkening woods collecting kindling. Tatiana called for him, but he did not answer. She wanted to see him before she ran quickly to Naira’s. On the bench she set out for him a plate of warm fried potatoes, two tomatoes, and a cucumber. When he came back from the woods, he was always hungry. Near his plate she left a cup of sweet black tea, and next to it a cigarette and a lighter.
Tatiana’s funny husband had lost interest in funny things. He had interest in smoking and in chopping wood. That’s all he did now. Smoked for himself, chopped wood for her. They continued to occasionally wake before dawn and go fishing when the Kama was still as glass, the air dewy and blue, go silently and sleepily to their rock in the secluded river pool, just to the side of their clearing. Alexander was right, of course. It was the best time to go fishing. They would catch half a dozen trout in four or five minutes. He would leave them alive in the net basket lowered from a poplar branch into the river. Then he would smoke, and Tatiana would brush her teeth and go back to bed.
After he smoked and swam, Alexander would come back to bed, and Tatiana, as always, would receive him, having waited for him, listened for him, prayed for him. She was immoderately excited by him. He owned her. However Alexander wished to offer her his remarkable crown, Tatiana would take, even if it was with ice at dawn.
But whereas before, Alexander had been delighted in his perceived mistreatment of freezing her with his limbs, recently he had begun to touch her as if she were scalding hot, as if he were burning himself on her. He was drawn to the fire, he could not help but touch her, yet he touched her now as if he knew that the burns he was inflicting on himself would scar him for life, if they didn’t kill him first.
What happened to the Shura who used to chase her and grab her and knock her down to the ground and lick her and tickle her? What happened to the Shura who needed to make love to her in broad daylight so he could look at her? Where was he, the laughing man, the joking man, the brash man, the careless man? Gradually he seemed to have been drowned and resurrected as the Alexander who did little but smoke and chop wood and watch her.
Sometimes when Tatiana was abundantly asleep, all tucked in to him, comforted and at peace, she would suddenly be woken up in the darkest night by Alexander. She wouldn’t move or acknowledge him. She felt him lying awake, unable to breathe, suffocating her, embracing the breath out of her body. She would hear his broken gasps, feel his lips rubbing against her hair, and wish she could stop breathing permanently.
Tatiana was slicing his tomatoes as the tears were silently flowing down her cheeks.
Behind her she heard him say, “Going somewhere?”
Alexander was too stealthy a soldier. Quickly she wiped her eyes, cleared her throat, and said, “Hang on, I’m almost done.” The light was waning; maybe he wouldn’t see her wet face.
Turning her head to him and smiling, she saw he was perspiring and covered with wood chips. “Collecting more kindling?” Tatiana asked, her heart beginning to pound. “How much wood am I going to need?” She stood and stepped up to Alexander. “Mmm . . . you’re so delicious-smelling,” she murmured, short of breath at the scent of him, at the sight of him.
“Why is your face all red?”
“I was cutting onions for the potatoes. You know onions.”
“I see only one plate. Are you going somewhere, I asked?” He was not smiling.
“Of course, not,” said Tatiana, clearing her throat.
“Let me go and wash.”
“Don’t bother,” she said, coming up barefoot to Alexander, feeling vulnerable and aroused. “I always feel so tiny when you’re in your boots,” she whispered, gazing up at him.
Alexander’s whole body clamped her motionless. His left hand held her head, his right hand gripped her bottom, his body was on her and in her, around her and over her. She could not twitch without him letting her. Submitting to him completely, Tatiana could feel Alexander with every thrust struggling through his love for her, struggling through his need for her. By now she understood: Alexander knew his own strength very well.
Underneath him Tatiana pressed her lips to his collarbone. “Oh, Shura . . . I need you so much.” Trying hard not to cry.
His voice cracked. “I’m here. Feel me.”
“I’m feeling, soldier,” she whispered. “I’m feeling.”
Too soon Tatiana felt the burning wave start to flood her, and she bit her mouth shut, suppressing her crying moans. But she knew that Alexander felt it, too, holding her as taut as he did, for he stopped moving and pulled himself away. There it starts, Tatiana thought, opening her hands and pleading for him. There it starts and lasts all night until he finally, gentle and bruising, rhythmic and broken, releases his hunger and longing onto me, until he exhausts himself and me, until we both can’t crawl away from his aching regret.
It was evening. Tatiana was looking unblinking at Alexander lying on his stomach, his face to her, his eyes closed. She was quietly by him, listening to his breath, trying to determine if he was asleep. She didn’t think so. Every fourth breath or so, Alexander would shudder, as if he were thinking. Tatiana didn’t want him to be thinking. Slowly she drew small circles on his back with her fingers. Alexander murmured and turned his face away from her.
What does he need? she thought. What can I give him?
“Want a massage?” she asked, kissing his upper arm, running her palm over his hard shoulders. She squeezed him. “Can you hear me?”
He turned to her, opening one eye. “You know how to give a massage?”
“Yes.” She smiled. He was wearing only his skivvies. She hopped on top of him.
“Tatia, what do you know about massages?”
“What do you mean?” she said teasingly, pinching his behind. “I’ve given lots of massages.”
“Have you?”
She knew that would get his attention. “Yes. Ready? Rail tracks, rail tracks,” Tatiana began, with her fingertips tracing two long parallel lines down his spine, moving from his neck to the top of the elastic on his shorts.
“Rail ties, rail ties.” She drew short perpendicular lines across.
“Here comes the late train . . .” A zigzagging line down.
“And it spills all the grain.” Her hands tickled his back.
Alexander laughed, his head on his hands.
Tatiana had an urge to kiss him. But that wasn’t part of the game.
“The chickens come, and they peck at it.” She poked him with her fingers.
“The geese come, and they pinch it.” She pinched him all over.
“What kind of a massage is this?”
“The children come, and they step on it!” She pounded his back with the palms of her hands.
“Hey,” he said. “Why are you pounding me?”
“The robbers come, and they salt it, and they pepper it, and they eat it,” she squealed, tickling him. He wriggled. I love that he is ticklish, Tatiana thought with pleasure. She couldn’t resist, she bit his back. He was just too gorgeous lying under her, twitching from being tickled. As she bit him, he purred.
“Here comes Dedushka, he collects some grain,” Tatiana said, pecking at Alexander with her fingers. “Here comes the zookeeper . . .”
“Oh, no, not the zookeeper,” said Alexander.
“He sits down, and he begins to write.” Tatiana drew a table and a chair. She made squiggly writing lines on Alexander’s back.
“Please admit my daughter to the zoo, and please collect all the grain. He puts down a period . . . he places a stamp . . .” She slapped Alexander lightly.
“Trrrrr.” She poked him in the ribs. He jumped. She laughed.
“Time to mail it!” Tatiana popped the elastic on his shorts. It snapped against his lower back. She pulled down his shorts a little and caressed his behind.
Alexander lay there not moving. “Is it over?” he asked in a muffled voice.
Laughing, Tatiana lay down flat on top of him. “Yes,” she said, kissing him between his shoulders. “How did you like it?” She loved how his bare back felt under her body, like a firm bed. He carried me on his back, she thought. Carried me nine kilometers, me and his rifle. Tatiana rubbed her cheek against his very tanned shoulder blade. All month out in the hot sun. She blinked.
“Hmm. Interesting. Was that some kind of a Russian massage?”
Tatiana told him she and the kids at Luga used to do that to each other twenty times a day, each time harder and more ticklish than the last. She didn’t mention that she and Dasha, too, used to do it endlessly to each other.
Alexander moved out from under Tatiana. “My turn,” he said.
“Oh, no,” she squealed. “You better be nice.”
“Turn over.”
Tatiana turned over, still in her sundress.
“Wait. Up, up. Take the dress off.” He helped her.
Tatiana lay down on her stomach in front of Alexander, her hair tied with white ribbons by the sides of her head, her neck exposed, her back exposed, smooth, cream-colored, satin. She had freckles on her shoulders from the sun, but the rest of her was ivory. Bending to her, Alexander traced a line from her shoulder blade to her neck with his tongue. He pulled the ribbons from her hair. His breath shallow, he said, “Wait, let’s remove these, too,” tugging at her blue silk panties.
Tatiana lifted her hips. “Shura,” she said, “how are you going to do the elastic pop at the end if you remove my underwear?”
Lost as always at the sight of her hips moving up, Alexander took the skin near her shoulder into his mouth. “Since we don’t have a train with grain or bears stomping on your back, maybe we can imagine the elastic on your underwear, too?” He saw she was smiling, her eyes already closed. He removed his own shorts with one hand.
As he continued to kiss her between her shoulder blades, she moaned softly and said, “You’re not playing by the rules of the game.”
Supporting himself on his knees, he sat astride her and began. “All right, how does it go?”
“Rail tracks, rail tracks,” Tatiana said helpfully.
Alexander drew two lines from her neck all the way to her bottom.
“That’s good,” Tatiana said. “But you don’t have to go so far down.”
“No?” he said, his fingers, his hands remaining on her bottom.
“No,” she repeated, but her voice quickened.
“The chickens,” said Alexander. “What did they do?”
“They pecked,” she said. Alexander lightly pecked her with his fingers. He pressed his palms into her back, fanning her from her spine to her ribs. His hands slipped around to her breasts. “What about the geese?” he asked, fondling her.
“They pinched.” Gently he squeezed her nipples. “Shura, you’re going to have to do better than that,” Tatiana said, lifting her chest slightly off the bed. He squeezed her nipples less gently. “Mmm,” she murmured.
“The robbers came . . .” Alexander said, moving off her, spreading her legs and kneeling between them. “They salted,” he said, lifting her hips up to him, “they peppered,” he continued, sliding himself fully inside her. Tatiana cried out, grasping the sheet with both hands. “And they ate it . . . once . . . and again . . . and again . . .”
Not stopping, Alexander bent over her, pressing his palm into her back, edging up to touch her glowing golden hair. He closed his eyes and straightened up, his hands like a vise clamping her hips.
Afterward, Tatiana muttered, “Was that some sort of an American massage? Because that was definitely not in the rules.”
He laughed, but his eyes were still closed.
“You know, don’t you, that I’m never going to feel the same way about that game now?” she said.
“Good,” said Alexander. “Like you don’t feel the same way about war-hide-and-seek?”
“Yes, you’ve ruined that also,” she murmured.
Alexander leaned forward and hugged her from behind, still inside her, feeling himself unable to hold her close enough.