are wrong,” Lily said. “There are many robbers and bandits who kidnap children and take them far away so they never see their families again.” Tatiana was pretty sure this was not true. It sounded like something Lily's overprotective amah would tell her to keep her from venturing beyond the compound on her own, should she ever have such a notion.
After Tatiana's initial visit to Lily's home, Lily's parents had allowed her to visit Tatiana, but only on the weekends in the afternoon for no more than two hours, and never for a meal. The girls accepted these restrictions on Lily's movements, because Tatiana was allowed to visit Lily whenever she wanted. Sometimes Olga would go with her, but she had begun to form her own friendships, especially with a French girl from her class at school.
“Will you ever be allowed to go out on your own?” Tatiana asked Lily on one of her rare visits to the Relnikov residence. They were in one of the upstairs sitting rooms, the one with the yellow silk sofa that Katarina called the sunroom because it faced south and was bright and sunny most of the day. She had hung there the heavy, hand-crocheted lace curtains she had brought from their home in Russia, and the sun streamed through the hundreds of tiny openings between the lacy stitches to send shimmering spears of light across the room.
“Perhaps if I go to Switzerland to school, like my mother. Then no one can stop me.” Lily smiled at the thought of one day being able to do whatever she wanted. “Once I am married,” she continued, “I will have to serve my husband's mother, because I will have to live in her house. But someday I will be mother-in-law to my son's wife, and she will have to obey me. It is tradition.”
“That sounds awful,” Tatiana said. “Besides, what if you don't have a son?”
“Of course, I will have a son,” Lily chided. “My husband will insist.”
Tatiana was so far away from thinking about husbands and children that she only half-believed what Lily said. It seemed preposterous that a husband could insist on a wife having sons. Later Tatiana would learn how precious sons were to a Chinese family and how undesirable daughters were thought to be. An ancient Chinese saying compared having daughters to finding maggots in the rice. Some unwanted baby girls in China were literally thrown out with the garbage, either strangled, smothered or simply left to die. Too many families could not afford to feed another hungry baby, especially if it were female. As well, in order to marry, a daughter needed a substantial dowry. She was considered a temporary guest in her family, because she would one day belong to her husband's family and be required to worship his ancestors. It was considered a waste to invest too much in a daughter. Baby boys, on the other hand, were highly prized and necessary to continue the family line. Boys and men had rights and privileges girls and women could never have. A rich man could have several wives, as well as concubines, but they did not have the right to make decisions for themselves. Households were complicated little fiefdoms filled with intrigue and conflict, hierarchies and political manoeuvring. Rarely were they happy and harmonious arrangements. There were many things about China that Tatiana would never understand.
Her father lived in a household of women and knew that to insist on certain things was pointless. Katarina argued with him if she disagreed and frequently got her way, especially when she cried or persuaded one or both of her daughters to agree with her. He would usually just walk away, muttering something from Tolstoy, until everybody cooled down. Although he was the nominal head of the family and made all the important decisions, he depended on his wife's approval and support. There was never talk of obedience between her parents. Tatiana knew they loved each other and that love was the foundation of their family, but sometimes she worried that love might have its limits. Once, when her parents had been arguing for days over plans to expand the summer kitchen at the back of the house (Katarina wanted it but Sergei knew he would be the one who would have the headache of supervising the workmen) Tatiana had gone to her father and asked him if this meant they would be getting a divorce.
“A divorce, Tatushka? Your mother and I? No, no, never, my child. You mustn't concern yourself about such things.” Sergei knew his clever second daughter was prone to fret about some things. She was already developing fine worry lines on her forehead from trying to fathom the ways of adults. He would often catch her squinting into space, as some troubling thought absorbed her.
“Who would Olga and I live with if there was a divorce?” she asked. She still was not convinced. This had been a louder argument than most, and her mother hadn't cried, as she usually did to get her way. A bad sign.
“Tatushka, Tatushka, there will never be a divorce. I promise you.” Why was she so insecure? Sergei wondered. He could see she wasn't reassured by his words. This child, he feared, would want to seek certainty through experience, a route that could lead down many roads, some of them dangerous.
“Go and tell your mother I agree to the summer kitchen,” he said. It was a small price to pay for his family's happiness.
Lily's family, Tatiana knew, was very modern. Her father had only one wife and, as far as Tatiana knew, no concubines. Luckily, Lily's mother had borne him three sons, so the ancestors would be well taken care of. Lily was their only daughter.
Tatiana's friendship with Lily grew and transcended culture, race and language. They were able to talk using their two common languages, French and English, but they also communicated through laughter and gesture. They liked the same things and found humour in similar places. When they were younger, they would laugh until the tears came to their eyes. Anything could set them off. They would look at pictures and make up crazy stories about what was happening in them. If it was a picture of a warrior on horseback and the horse was rearing on its hind legs, one of them would say, “The stable master fed the horse hot chilli peppers so that he would run faster, but now the horse is running all over the battlefield looking for water, and the soldier can't control him.” They thought this was hysterically funny and laughed until their sides hurt. Olga thought them infantile, but Olga didn't have a friend like Lily to laugh and be a fool with, so perhaps she was jealous. As the girls got older, they made up love stories about a beautiful Chinese girl forced to marry an older man, even though she was in love with a handsome young man whose heart was breaking with love for her.
Despite their different natures, Tatiana bold and adventurous, Lily sweet and passive, neither of them would be able to control the events that shaped their lives. Both of them would live to regret the choices they made.
Chapter Four
Olga came to visit me today. It has stopped snowing, so she had my niece Anastasia drive her over in the car. Once a week, weather permitting, Anastasia takes her mother out shopping in the car so she can buy her meat from the butcher, her fruit and vegetables from the greengrocer, and her bread from the baker. Olga says she will never shop in those grocery stores where they sell everything “from canned soup to canned nuts.” She always buys the best and brings me some because I don't have a car. Anastasia, who has two children of her own now, is the perfect daughter and niece. She seems genuinely pleased to see me whenever she comes, and she takes the time to have a real conversation with me. Unlike her mother. Olga spends our time together grilling me about my bad habits. How many cigarettes have I smoked today? How much have I had to drink? Am I eating properly? She's still the older, wiser, and in her mind, more experienced sister.
“I had a letter from Lily today,” I tell her.
“Lily Tang?”
“Yes. Lily Tang. From Shanghai.”
“You're kidding,” Olga said. “I thought she was dead.”
“I didn't know she was still alive either. I haven't heard from her in years,” I said. “But she is alive, and she's been living in a village, working in an orphanage. When the Communists
