quietly smoked, downing another glass of whiskey, and another. “No,” he finally said. “My wife and I have the opposite problem. She carried weapons and shot at men who came to kill her. She was in hospitals, on battlefields, on frontlines. She was in DP camps and concentration camps. She starved through a frozen, blockaded city. She lost everyone she ever loved.” Alexander took half a glass of sour mash into his throat and still couldn’t keep himself from groaning. “She knows, sees, and understands everything. Perhaps less now, but that’s my fault. I haven’t been much of a—” he broke off. “Much of anything. Our problem isn’t that we don’t understand each other. Our problem is that we do. We can’t look at each other, can’t speak one innocent word, can’t touch each other without touching the cross on our backs. There is simply never any peace.” Another stiff drink went into Alexander’s throat.
Suddenly Tatiana appeared in the dark corner. “Alexander,” she whispered, “it’s eleven o’clock. You have to be up at four.”
He looked up at her bleakly.
She glanced at Nick, who was staring at her with a knowing, full expression. “What have you been telling him?”
“We’ve just been reminiscing,” said the colonel. “About the good old days that brought us here.”
Slightly slurred, Alexander said he would be right back and stood up, knocking over his chair and swaying away. Tatiana was left alone with Nick.
“He tells me you’re a nurse,” Nick said.
“I was.”
He fell silent.
“What do you need?” She placed her hand on him. “What is it?” His moist eyes were pleading. “Do you have morphine?”
Tatiana straightened up. “What’s hurting?”
“Every single fucking thing that’s left of me,” he said. “Got enough morphine for that?”
“Nick …”
“Please. Please. Enough morphine so that I never feel again.”
“Nick, dear God …”
“When it gets unbearable for your husband, he’s got the weapons he cleans, he can just blow his brains out. But what about me?”
Nick couldn’t grab her, but he threw his body forward to her. “Who is going to blow my brains out, Tania?” he whispered.
“Nick, please!” Her hands were propping him up, but he’d had too much to drink and was listing.
Alexander came back, unsteady on his feet. Nick stopped speaking.
Tatiana had to wheel Nick up the steep hill herself because Alexander kept releasing the handlebars and Nick kept rolling back down. It took her a long time to get him to his house. Nick’s wife and daughter were purple with ire. The shrieking would have been sweeter for Tatiana had the colonel not spoken to her, but since he had, and since Alexander himself was too drunk to react to the histrionics of the two women, and since Nick Moore was also in a stupor, the punchline of the joke—a quadruple amputee in a wheelchair vanishing from the front lawn—went unappreciated by all parties, except for Anthony the following day.
The next morning Alexander had three cups of black coffee, staggered to work hung over, could put down only three traps at a time instead of the usual twelve, and came back with barely seventy lobsters, all of them chickens or one-pounders. He refused his pay, fell asleep right after dinner and never woke up until Anthony screamed in the middle of the night.
In the evening after supper, Tatiana went outside with a cup of tea, and Alexander wasn’t there. He and Anthony were with Nick in the next yard. Alexander had even taken his chair. Anthony was looking for bugs, and the two men were talking. Tatiana watched them for a few minutes and then went back inside. She sat down at the empty kitchen table and, surprising herself, burst into tears.
And the next night, and the next. Alexander didn’t even say anything to her. He just went, and he and Nick sat together, while Anthony played nearby. He started leaving his chair on Nick’s front lawn.
After a few days of not being able to stand it, Tatiana made a long distance call to Vikki before breakfast.
Vikki screamed into the phone with joy. “I can’t believe I’m finally hearing from you! What’s wrong with you? How are you? How is Anthony, my big boy? But first, what is wrong with you? You are a terrible friend. You said you’d be calling every week. I haven’t heard from you in over a month!”
“It hasn’t really been a month, has it?”
“Tania! What in heaven’s name have you been doing? No, no, don’t answer that.” Vikki giggled. “How has everything been?” she said in a low, insinuating voice.
“Oh, fine, fine, how’s it with you? How have you been keeping?”
“Never mind me, why haven’t you called me?”
“We’ve been—” Tatiana coughed.
“I know what you’ve been doing, you naughty girl. How is my adored child? How is my beloved boy? You don’t know what you’ve done to me. Tania giveth him and Tania taketh him away. I really miss looking after him. So much so that I’m thinking of having my own baby.”
“Unlike mine, Gelsomina,” said Tatiana, “your own child you’re going to have to keep forever. No giving him away like a puppy. And he’s not going to be as nice as Antman.”
“Who ever could be?”
They talked about Vikki’s nursing, about Deer Isle, about the boats, and the swings, and Edward Ludlow, and about a new man in Vikki’s life (“An officer! You’re not the only one who can take up with an officer”), and about New York (“Can’t walk any street without getting your shoes dirty with construction debris”), about her grandparents (“They’re fine, they’re trying to fatten me up, they say I’m too tall and skinny. Like if they feed me, I’ll get shorter”) and about the new short teased haircuts and new stilettos, and new fandango dresses and suddenly—“Tania? Tania, what’s the matter?”
Tatiana was crying into the phone.
“What’s the matter? What is it?”
“Nothing, nothing. Just … nice to hear your voice. I miss you very much.”
“So when are you coming back? I can’t live without you in our empty apartment,” said Vikki. “Absolutely can’t. Can’t do without your bread, without your boyzie-boy, without seeing your face. Tania, you’ve ruined me for other girls.” She laughed. “Now tell Vikki what’s wrong.”
Tatiana wiped her eyes. “Are you thinking of moving out of the apartment?”
“Moving, are you joking? Where am I going to find a three-bedroom in New York? You can’t imagine what’s happened to apartment prices since the war ended. Now stop changing the subject and tell me what’s the matter.”
“Really. I’m fine. I just …” Anthony was by her feet. She blew her nose and tried to calm down. She couldn’t
