“Sick?” Axinya cried. “Alexander, that child got to us in January and was at death’s door until March. What didn’t she have? She had scurvy—”

“She was bleeding from the inside out!” mouthed Dusia. “Just like our former Tsarevich Alexis. Just like him. Bled and bled.”

“That’s scurvy for you,” said Alexander gently.

“The Tsarevich did not have scurvy,” said Tatiana. “He had hemophilia.”

“Have you forgotten about her double pneumonia?” cried Axinya. “Both her lungs collapsed!”

“Axinya, please,” said Tatiana. “It was only one lung.”

“It was the pneumonia that almost killed her. She couldn’t breathe,” Naira stated, sticking her hand across the table for Tatiana to pat.

“It wasn’t pneumonia that nearly killed her!” Axinya exclaimed. “It was TB. Naira, you’re so forgetful. Don’t you remember her coughing up blood for weeks?”

“Oh, my God, Tania,” whispered Alexander.

“Alexander, I’m fine. Really,” said Tatiana. “I had a mild case of TB. They cured it even before I got out of the hospital. The doctor said soon I should be as good as before. The doctor said by next year the TB would be all gone.”

“And you were going to let me smoke inside.”

“So what?” she said. “You always smoke inside. I’m used to it.”

“So what?” cried Axinya. “Tania, you were in an isolation tent for a month. We sat by her, Alexander, as she lay, coughing, spitting blood—”

“Why don’t you tell him how you got TB?” said Naira loudly.

Alexander felt Tatiana shudder next to him. “That I’ll tell him later.”

“When later?” whispered Alexander out of the corner of his mouth. She did not whisper back.

“Tania!” exclaimed Axinya. “Tell Alexander about what you had to go through to get here. Tell him.”

“Tell me, Tania,” he said, looking at her with feeling. The food she made was so good; otherwise he would have lost his appetite.

As if it was a great effort to her, Tatiana said, “Look, me and hundreds of others were piled on into trucks and then driven to the train, near Volkhov…”

“Tell him about the train!”

“It wasn’t the best of trains. There were a lot of us…”

“Tell him how many!”

“I don’t know how many,” said Tatiana. “We were…”

“What happened when the people died on the trains?” said Dusia, crossing herself.

“Oh, they just threw them out. To make more room.”

Naira said, sniffling, “There was more room when they got to the Volga River.”

Axinya exclaimed, “Alexander, the railroad bridge across the Volga had been blown up, and the train couldn’t get across. All the evacuees, including our Tanechka, were told they had to cross the ice on foot in their frightful condition. What about that?”

Alexander blinked and blinked again. He didn’t take his eyes off Tatiana’s bemused and slightly wearied face.

“How many people crossed that, Tania? How many people died on the ice? Tell him.”

“I don’t know, Axinya. I wasn’t counting…”

“Nobody,” said Dusia. “I’m sure nobody survived it.”

“Well, Tania survived it,” said Alexander, his elbow pressing into Tatiana’s arm, his leg pressing into hers.

“And other people survived it,” said Tatiana. Lowering her voice, she added, “Not many.”

“Tania, tell him,” Axinya exclaimed, “how many kilometers you had to walk, tubercular, pneumatic, in the snow, in the blizzard, to the next rail station because there weren’t enough trucks to carry all of you sick and starving to the train. Tell him how many.” She widened her eyes. “It was, like, fifteen!”

“No, dear,” Tatiana corrected. “It was maybe three. And there was no blizzard. It was just cold.”

“Did they give you anything to eat?” Axinya demanded. “No!”

“Yes,” said Tatiana. “I had a little food.”

“Tania!” cried Axinya. “Tell him about the train, tell him how there was no place for you to lie down, how you stood for three days from Volkhov to the Volga!”

“I stood for three days,” said Tatiana, stabbing her food with a fork. “From Volkhov to the Volga.”

Wiping her eyes, Dusia said, “After the Volga crossing, so many people died that Tatiana had a shelf on the train to lie down on, right, Tania? She lay down—”

“And never got up again!” stated Axinya.

“Dear,” said Tatiana, “I did eventually get up.” She shook her head.

“No,” said Axinya. “There I’m not exaggerating. You didn’t. The conductor asked where you were going, and he couldn’t wake you to ask you…”

“But finally he woke me.”

“Finally, yes!” cried Axinya. “But he thought you were dead.”

Raisa added, “She got off the train at Molotov and asked how far Lazarevo was, and when she heard it was ten kilometers, she…”

Loud crying from all four ladies.

Tatiana said to Alexander, “Sorry you have to hear all this.”

Alexander stopped eating. He placed his hand on her back, patting her gently. When he saw she didn’t move away and didn’t flinch and didn’t blush, he left his hand on her for another long moment. Then he picked up his fork again.

“Alexander, do you know what she did when she heard Lazarevo was ten kilometers from Molotov?”

“Let me guess,” said Alexander, smiling. “She fainted.”

“Yes! How did you know?” asked Axinya, studying him.

“I faint all the time,” said Tatiana. “I’m a big wimp.”

Naira said, “After she came out of isolation, we sat next to her hospital bed, holding her oxygen mask to her face to help her breathe.” Wiping her face, she said, “When her grandmother died—”

The fork dropped from Alexander’s hand. Involuntarily. Mutely he sat and looked into his plate, unable to turn his head even to Tatiana. It was she who turned her head to him, gazing at him with softness and sorrow. “Where is that vodka, Tania?” Alexander said. “Clearly I haven’t had enough.”

She poured it for him and poured a small glass for herself, and then they lifted their glasses, clinking lightly, and stared at each other, faces full of Leningrad, and Fifth Soviet, and her family and his family, and Lake Ladoga, and night. Tatiana whispered, “Courage, Shura.”

He couldn’t reply. He swallowed the vodka instead.

The rest of the people at the table fell quiet until Alexander asked, “How did she die?”

Naira wiped her nose. “Dysentery. Last December.” She leaned forward. “Personally, I think that after she lost Tania’s grandfather, she just didn’t want to go on.” Naira glanced at Tatiana. “I know Tania agrees with me.”

Tatiana nodded. “She wanted to,” she said. “She just couldn’t.”

Naira poured Alexander another drink. “When Anna was dying, she said to me, ‘Naira, I wish you could see all my granddaughters, but you’re probably never going to see our baby Tania. She’ll never make it here. She is so frail.’ ”

“Anna,” said Alexander, downing the vodka, “was not such a good judge of her granddaughters.”

“She said to us,” Naira continued, “ ‘If my granddaughters come, please make sure they’re all right. Keep my house for them—‘ “

“House?” asked Alexander, instantly perking up. “What house?”

“Oh, they had an izba—”

“Where is this izba?”

“Just in the woods a bit. By the river. Tania can show you. When Tania got better and came to Lazarevo with us, she wanted to live in that house,” Naira said, widening her eyes meaningfully, “all by herself.”

“What was she thinking?” questioned Alexander.

Beaming, the ladies all loudly agreed, scoffing and snorting in unison. Naira said, “No granddaughter of our Anna is going to live by herself. What kind of nonsense is that? Who lives by themselves? We said, you are our family. Your beloved Deda was my first husband’s cousin by marriage. You come and live with us. It’s so much better for you here. And it is, isn’t it, Tanechka?”

“Yes, Naira Mikhailovna.” Tatiana served Alexander some more potatoes. “Are you still hungry?”

“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure what I am anymore,” said Alexander. “I will certainly continue to eat.”