Perched on the rooftop of Leo and Raisa’s apartment block, Zoya shivered as the snow fell around her. Every day since her return she climbed up here, scrambling up, staring out over the city. No rooftops were collapsing, no gunfire sounded out, and the tiles didn’t shake as tanks passed by. She felt as if she was neither in Moscow, nor anywhere else, but in limbo. The sense of belonging she’d experienced in Budapest had nothing to do with that particular city, or the revolution, and everything to do with Malysh. She missed him, or was it that part of her was now missing? He’d taken the weight of loneliness off her shoulders, and now that weight felt heavier than ever.
They’d buried Malysh outside of Budapest. She hadn’t wanted his body left in the hospital, lost among the dead, one of many, with no family or friends to grieve over him. Leo had carried him through the Russian encirclement. Digging in the frozen soil, they’d buried him by a tree, back from the road, tanks and trucks passing by. She used his knife to carve his name into the trunk of the tree. Remembering that he couldn’t read, she’d scratched a heart around the letters.
At first, when Zoya had climbed onto the roof, Raisa had hurried after her-no doubt fearful she was going to jump off. Understanding that it was nothing more than a place to sit, Raisa no longer interfered, nor did Leo, allowing Zoya hours here without interruption. She scooped up a clump of snow and watched it melt in her hands.
TIDYING UP AFTER DINNER, Raisa turned. Zoya was standing in the doorway, shivering, snow in her hair. Raisa took hold of Zoya’s hands:
– You’re cold. Do you want to eat? I put some aside for you.
– Is Elena in bed?
– Yes.
– Leo?
– He’s not back yet.
Elena had returned from the hospital, rejuvenated by the miracle of Zoya being alive. Zoya had wept with guilt at the sight of her sister. Elena was dangerously thin. Even without being told, Zoya understood that her little sister would not have survived much longer. Elena hadn’t questioned events, overwhelmed with happiness, indifferent to the details of what had happened or why. Her family was alive.
Raisa knelt down before Zoya:
– Talk to me.
There was the sound of a key in the front door. Leo entered, red-faced and rushed:
– I’m sorry…
Raisa replied:
– You’re in time to read to the girls.
Zoya shook her head:
– Can I talk to you first? To both of you?
– Of course.
Leo entered the kitchen, pulling up two chairs, sitting beside Zoya:
– What’s wrong?
– I’ve always told Elena everything. Since I got back she’s been so happy, I don’t want to spoil that. I don’t want to tell her what happened. I don’t want to tell her the truth. I don’t want to tell her that I left her alone.
Zoya began to cry:
– If I tell her the truth, will she forgive me?
Though he wanted to, Leo did not yet feel he could put an arm around her. He said:
– She loves you very much.
Zoya looked up at Leo, then at Raisa:
– But will she forgive me?
The three of them turned to the doorway. Elena was standing in her nightgown. She’d only been home for a week and already she’d transformed, gaining weight, the color returning to her skin.
– What’s going on?
Zoya moved toward her:
– Elena, I have something to tell you.
Leo stood up:
– Before you do, why don’t I tell you a bedtime story?
Elena smiled:
– One that you made up?
Leo nodded:
– One that I made up.
Zoya wiped away her tears and took hold of Leo’s hand.