The Four Winds of Heaven Page 26

  “No, thank you, Marfa,” she told the young servant who had come to the door. “I am truly not hungry for tea today.”

  “You do not seem to realize the danger into which you are placing yourself,” Volodia said to his sister. “If Papa—or Mama, for that matter—so much as suspected that there was the slightest courtship between you and Ossip, he would send you away. Every time he comes to supper, I am afraid for you. You are both so reckless, Natasha!”

  She tossed her head and shrugged impatiently. “But you are so solid, my love! Ossip is like quicksilver, and so am I. I shall not do without him. We belong together. We laugh at the same silly things, we like the same plays and are bored by the same people. You must convince Papa to invite him for the summer to the Tambov. I could not bear to be away from him for two and a half months! Papa likes him—he really does! He does not think of Ossip as a Jew, but as your friend!”

  “As my friend, perhaps. But never, never as your lover! And life is not merely a matter of plays and people, and silly jokes, Natasha—you are not a child! You are nearly eighteen! Puppy love is fun, but don’t play at Romeo and Juliet with someone who would give his lifeblood for you at the least encouragement—and Ossip would, I know. He would defy his family if you would let him!”

  “Then I shall let him! You belittle me, Volodia. I love Ossip. I would leave all of you, even you, even Mama, to spend my days with him forever! And you would begrudge me two and a half months? Papa would not refuse you your friend. And I promise you to behave, and not give away my feelings for him. I swear it to you, Volodia.”

  “Even if Papa allowed me to invite Ossip, do you think his father would allow him to accept? It was not amusing in the Senate, Natasha.”

  His sister was sprawled elegantly on her chaise longue, regarding him with her deep blue eyes. Suddenly she sat up, her face quickening. “Volodia!” she cried. “I have the most wonderful idea—an idea to foil the suspicions of a veritable spy! What if Mama were to make this a family invitation? You don’t dislike Sofia Davidovna, do you? I like her very much, although I don’t think she approves of my love for her brother. But if she were invited along—she is to have her debut soon, isn’t she?—then no one would think to watch me and Ossip! The group would be larger, and you and Sonia would both be our chaperones. Don’t you see?”

  Volodia had gone chalk white. His hand, on the side of her chaise, gripped the soft silk more tightly. He said, “I suppose that is a possibility. But Sofia Davidovna is a willful girl. She won’t want to go.”

  “Ossip will convince her,” Natasha said. “They are close, aren’t they? I am convincing you, am I not?”

  Volodia smiled grimly. “You have your ways, Natasha. I shall broach the subject to Mama, then. She liked the Baroness very much. Perhaps she will succeed in persuading Papa. After all, Ossip has come to supper several times, and he does know him now.”

  Natasha clapped her hands, and then, impulsively, threw her arms around her brother’s neck. He began to laugh sheepishly. “No wonder Ossip is a besotted fool!” he declared. Then he stood still, remembering the feel of Sonia’s young, frail body in his arms. Now he did not laugh. Perhaps it was dishonorable to try to trap her this way, through Natasha and Ossip… He thought for a moment of her grieving face, turned to him in fury—and then he made up his mind.

  “I am tired of being used,” Sonia said to her brother. “First there is Anna, who does not want to see me, but who wishes instead that I find ways of persuading Mama not to go to her this summer. And now you, Ossip! I shall not tell Mama that I would like to go with you to the Tagantsevs. The fact is that your behavior over Natasha is shameful! The daughter of that dreadful man—”

  “It is always Papa, isn’t it, Sonia?” Ossip shot back, his eyes flashing angrily. “What about me? Don’t I have feelings? I have a heart, and Papa has a cause. How can you place his damned cause above my feelings?”

  “You are selfish in your indulgence. Papa thinks of the Jews,” Sonia replied. “You were not at the Senate. You didn’t even care! You would much rather not be a Jew at all, wouldn’t you?”

  Clenching his fists, Ossip nodded, his face flooded with color. “That’s right!” he cried. “I don’t believe in God, or why would he have allowed me to be crippled as a baby, or Anna to be deformed? If I believed, then I might choose the faith that suited me. But I am stuck in a religion that excludes me from what I want in this world. If Papa accepts the Jewish way, it is because he is strengthened by a firm belief. I am not. It’s as simple as that. I’m as good as the next man, but because of a religion in which I do not believe, I am barred from certain privileges, and, what’s more important, from openly courting the woman I love, and who loves me! Is that fair? Tell me, is it?”

  Sonia’s small face constricted with pain. “I wish that you believed,” she whispered.

  “So do I. It is far easier to live when one’s faith is intact. But you are perfect, Sonia, untouched by hurt. You have reason to cling to a God. I stopped listening to Papa’s litanies when I was still tied to my special crib. Mama does not believe, either. She was not happy as a child, and so she, too, had reason to doubt the existence of a fair-minded God. Only those who are unscathed can still believe.”

  “I am not so unscathed,” his sister murmured. “You don’t know me so well.”

  “I would like to,” Ossip said. “You are a secretive person, Sonia. I share myself with you, but you only take, you do not return confidences. Sometimes I am ready to give up with you. And sometimes you make me furious, for you are rigid as an oak tree, when you should be a willow.” He looked at her closely. “What is wrong with Natasha?”

  “Natasha has everything, and I believe she would share it all with you. I see no harm in her intentions. But it’s impossible! Don’t you see? You are not realistic, Ossip. Is any woman worth hurting so many people? If Natasha were Jewish—or even if she weren’t, but was the daughter of another man—then I would be happy for you, and would do anything to help you. Don’t you see?”

  Ossip passed his tongue over his dry lips. “All right, Sonia,” he said. “Why don’t you give me the chance to see? Come with me to the Tambov, then she and I will see if we truly do love each other, seeing each other in the same house day after day. Perhaps you’re right, and we are merely being children, playing at love. There is attraction in forbidden fruit. There is also attraction in memory, from visit to visit. We have never been together sufficiently long, or sufficiently frequently, to see whether our feelings would survive the test of a life together. Won’t you help me make up my mind? Then, if I reject her, you will feel that you helped set me free of this obsession; and if I don’t— you will feel that I gave myself every chance, that I was not an impulsive adolescent!” His blue eyes pleaded with her. “Won’t you do this for me, Sonitchka?”

  She stood before him, her hands together as in prayer. She nodded slowly. “All right,” she replied. But her voice was almost inaudible. She cleared her throat. “You are a weakling, Ossip. I love you more than anyone on earth, but you are weak. I will do this for you, but in your place I would not have to ask. It is good that Natasha has spirit, for you lack it.”

  His mouth opened, then closed without making a sound. The color had drained from his face.

  It was the Countess Tagantseva who convinced Mathilde before anyone else. She made her invitation by telephone, telling Mathilde that her children had grown much attached to Ossip, and were becoming quite fond of Sonia. “During our visit, the four of them enjoyed one another, did they not?” she asked, in her gentle, cultured voice. “We always fill our summer residence in the Tambov with young people. If you would permit Sonia and Ossip to come, my children would be delighted. The twins will soon be grown. I shall not be able to give them these pleasures when they are married and away from me… Friendships are wonderful, don’t you agree, Mathilde Yureyevna?”

  “Yes,” Mathilde replied. “Volodia was Ossip’s first friend, and Sonia is very shy. Our summer pl
ans have changed. We had first thought to visit my older daughter in Darmstadt.” Her voice faltered, then regained its strength. “And now that Ossip and Sonia are older, Mohilna, our estate in Podolia, has become somewhat boring to them. There are so few young people around them…”

  But when she entered David’s study that evening, Mathilde hesitated. She remembered the few times during their marriage when David had been intractable, and she flinched at the memories. He had been reserved, almost removed from family concerns since that day in the Senate, and now she was suddenly afraid of the gaunt pale face that turned to greet her. But she stood before him and calmly explained that Countess Tagantseva had invited the children to spend the summer at their family estate in the Tambov. “Think how much the Senator must love his children, to bend so to their desires,” she concluded.

  David’s blue eyes narrowed. Then, slowly, grimly, he nodded. She saw that he had not even looked at her. “They shall go,” he declared. “Nicolai Tagantsev will assume that the Gunzburgs won’t dare face him. He shall be proven wrong. My children will go, and will be good guests. He will be compelled to see them for two and a half months, day in and day out. Sonia will charm him. Yes, Mathilde. They will go to the Tambov.”

  Ossip had never been able to participate in too many sports, and when Count Tagantsev and his older son, Nicolai, took their male guests hunting through their magnificent forest, he remained behind, rowing across the lake to the small island where the young people spread out white linen cloths to eat their lunch. He took special care not to look at Natasha too much when her parents were present, was cautious when guests arrived from neighboring estates for a game of croquet on the green lawns, or to play the newfangled sport, tennis, from which he was excluded because a hard ball might hit him on the back. But during the picnics on the island, he would sit with her beneath a large tree, and while they distractedly nibbled finger sandwiches, their eyes, of a twin blue that was like a darkened summer sky, would devour each other’s faces with unabashed hunger and the wonder of discovery. Then, in hushed tones, they would talk, and everyone else would melt into the lush background.

  Ossip had never spent such marvelous days. His entire body suddenly felt tense and virile, and he noticed the wind on his skin, the sunlight on his face, the rain on his shoulders. He had always observed the world, detached and aloof and somewhat cynical, but now he participated, with a child’s delight. Before, he had questioned everything; now he accepted all, most of all Natasha, whose voice, throaty and somewhat husky, haunted him at night as he tossed in his bed. He imagined her nude, and was unashamed and happy at his own reaction. Sometimes he would burst into wild laughter, and nobody knew why, except Natasha, who would join in. They laughed at their togetherness, at their great beauty, at the novelty of being in love.

  While Ossip and Natalia danced on the grass in their bare feet, Sonia and Volodia watched them intently. Volodia, who loved them both, was immensely sad, and Sonia, who loved her father and her brother and who did not quite understand the impulsive, winsome abandon of a Natalia Tagantseva, was disquieted. There was something offensive to her in Ossip’s capacity for laughter and fun and love, when the reason was this girl, so unlike herself in appearance and temperament. Yet she could not dislike Natasha; she was a fountain of goodness as well as of mirth, and she showed her vulnerability in her eyes, which stated, openly, her love for Ossip.

  Sonia was so watchful of her brother that she did not notice a pattern developing. While Ossip and Natasha paired off, she would walk slowly behind them, Volodia at her side, having conversations that never quite began and never quite left off from the previous one. She knew that the young man was near her, and she accepted his reassuring words, his staunchness. It was as though she sought his support in an unspoken way, and was rewarded by his invariable presence, quietly strong. She admired his lack of drama, so different from both Natasha’s and Ossip’s. Yet she was aware of his body, of his solidity, of his good smell of cologne and health. She was aware of his thighs beneath their broadcloth, of his brown hands. And most of all, she discovered how comfortable she felt when they spoke together. Yet, under all this comfort, there was a tautness inside her that frightened her, a kind of expectancy.

  He was very careful with her. Although he was not quite eighteen, he seemed older, for he possessed the maturity of the strong, an inward calm. “My little brother, Gino, will grow up like you,” she said to him one day. “He is simple, uncomplicated, and perfectly at ease within himself.”

  “You make us both sound like cuts of roast beef,” he replied, smiling.

  She blushed. “I did not intend it that way, Vladimir Nicolaievitch. It is just that I detest histrionics. They make me uncomfortable.”

  “You mean that Natasha and Ossip make you uncomfortable,” he said.

  She started. Then, looking at him, she nodded. “I suppose so. My mother is very calm, very serene. Our governess is just the opposite. Juanita is hysterical and grandiose and strident, and when I am near her every nerve in my body is on edge. I could not sleep in the same room with her.”

  “Mademoiselle de Mey? But she seems very different from my sister, or Ossip. High strung, nervous, like a jack-rabbit by the side of the road. Natasha and Ossip, on the other hand, are alive, and able to release their nervous energies. I envy them. I am so calm, so ‘wise,’ my mother says—” and an ironic smile lit his tanned face— “so uniform, that I do wonder why more lively people do not shy away from me.”

  “I find you peaceful,” Sonia stated simply. Her large gray eyes sought his, and he was deeply moved by the innocent trust that glowed there.

  “Another man might be dismayed if a lovely lady called him ‘peaceful,’” he said. “We men wish to excite, don’t we? But I cannot be what I’m not. And so... I am flattered.”

  She smiled at him, and he saw the perfect teeth, the tilted chin, the small fine nose. He wished all at once to crush her against him. He was a boulder, and she was a tiny edelweiss, rare and dainty. He knew that he was already a man, but what was she? His sister was unquestionably a woman; Sonia was still part child. And it was this strange mixture that sent his blood coursing hotly through his veins. He gazed at the tiny hand, milk white, and wanted to hold it. But he did not. Instead, he resumed his steps, and she went along beside him.

  One afternoon, on the island, they saw Ossip and Natasha near the edge of the water. Sonia had remained by the baskets of food, and Volodia sat beside her, folding the linen. At the water’s edge, Natasha raised her arms as though to hug the skies, and twirled on her toes. Ossip, facing her, threw back his head, and they heard his laughter. Natalia was like a daffodil, extending her fingers upward and out, and suddenly she fell back, and was caught by the laughing boy. Then she turned her face to him, and their lips met. Sonia’s mouth parted, the glass fell from her hand. Ossip’s dark curls had bent toward Natasha, and now their kiss was fierce. Sonia could not see Natasha’s face, only her shining hair. Her own eyes grew wide, and she turned around and looked at Volodia.

  His face had not changed. He met her gaze, and reassured her with the steadiness of his own. She bit her lower lip. He looked away, and saw the tiny hand motionless upon the white linen cloth. Her face was ashen. Without a word, he reached for her hand, and before she could remove it, he pressed it quickly, once. Then he let it go. She sat speechless by his side, confused and shocked and yet relieved.

  It was Volodia who rowed back under a copper sun. Sonia sat still, numbed by the hypnotic motion of his muscular arms. A strange thrill ran through her. She felt warm, moist. Beside her, Ossip was saying, “No, I do not agree. The Knights of the Round Table are not dead. They dwell somewhere in the woods, with Robin Hood’s merry men, and they continue to inspire gallant youths pursuing fair maidens. Why should they have died?”

  “I would like to agree with you, but really, our own times are far less romantic than you say,” Natasha replied.

  “What do you think, Volodia?” Ossip asked.


  “Oh, I don’t know… We Russians do have a romantic spirit, Natasha. Ossip here is a perfect example. He is Sir Galahad incarnate. I am more reasonable—but for a fair maiden, even I might be moved.” He smiled at them, continuing to row.

  His sister laughed. “What is your opinion, Sofia Davidovna?”

  “It depends,” Sonia declared. “I think that Vladimir Nicolaievitch can dance admirably. But I do not imagine him in an atmosphere such as that of the Round Table. You are probably right, Natalia Nicolaievna. Our time does not lend itself to grand gestures, such as fighting a war over a woman.”

  “Helen of Troy, or Guenevere? What did they possess, dear heart, that you do not?” Ossip cried, striking a dramatic pose and gazing at Natasha. Everyone laughed. “Come now,” he continued, “put me to the test. I would fight a war for you!”

  Sonia was suddenly silent, but Natasha cocked her head to one side and examined him impishly. “A war. That’s nice. But hardly likely. How easy it is for you to promise me the moon! What if, instead, I were to ask you to jump overboard as a pledge of devotion?”

  The sun was gleaming upon the lake, casting copper lights upon its smooth surface. Volodia rowed, smiling. Even Sonia sat smiling. Natasha’s head, dark and curled, tilted up toward Ossip. All at once, he bowed deeply from the waist, and tossed his legs over the side of the boat.

  “Ossip!” Sonia cried. “You can’t swim!” But he had jumped into the water, and his arms flailed wildly about him. Natasha stood up, breathless, her smile gone, and Volodia pushed the oars back and bent over the rim of the boat. He stretched his hand out and grabbed Ossip’s arm. Straining, he pulled his friend to him, until Ossip could grab the side and be hoisted up, dripping wet.

  “Oh, Ossip, you fool!” his sister cried. But Natasha was throwing a tablecloth from the baskets over his shoulders. Ossip shivered and laughed.