The Bronze Horseman by Paullina Simons

and we haven’t talked about the war.” She put on her purposeful serious face. “Alexander, what do
you
think of Hitler’s actions?”
    Why did he look infinitely amused by her? What had she said that was so amusing? “Do you really want to talk about the war?”
    “Of course,” she maintained. “It’s a grave matter.”
    The look of wonder did not leave his eyes. “It’s just war,” he said. “It was so inevitable. We’ve been waiting for it. Let’s go this way.”
    They walked past Mikhailovsky Palace or Engineer’s Castle, as it was sometimes called, over the short Fontanka Canal bridge at the aqueous intersection of the Fontanka and Moika canals. Tatiana loved the slightly arched granite bridge, and sometimes she would climb on top of the low parapets and walk the ledge. Not today, of course. She wasn’t going to be a child today.
    They walked past the western end of
Letniy Sad
, the Summer Garden, and came out onto the grassy parade grounds of
Marsovo Póle
, the Field of Mars. “We need to leave this country to Hitler,” said Alexander, “or we need to stay and fight for Mother Russia. But if we stay, it’s a fight to the death.” He pointed. “The barracks are just across the field.”
    “To the death? Really?” Tatiana looked up excitedly and slowed down on the grass. She wanted to take off her shoes. “Are
you
going to go to the front?”
    “I go where they send me.” Alexander slowed down, too, then stopped. “Tania, why don’t you take off your shoes? You’ll be more comfortable.”
    “I’m fine,” she said. How did he know her feet were killing her? Was it that obvious?
    “Go on,” he prodded gently. “It will be easier for you to walk on the grass.”
    He was right. Breathing a sigh of relief, she bent, unstrapped the sandals, and slipped them off. Straightening up and raising her eyes to him, she said, “That is a little better.”
    Alexander was silent. “Now you’re really tiny,” he said at last.
    “I’m not tiny,” she returned. “You’re just outsized.” Blushing, she lowered her gaze.
    “How old are you, Tania?”
    “Older than you think,” Tatiana said, wanting to sound old and mature. The warm Leningrad breeze blew her blonde hair over her face. Holding her shoes with one hand, she attempted to sort out her hair with the other. She wished she had a rubber band for her ponytail. Standing in front of her, Alexander reached out and brushed the hair away. His eyes traveled from her hair to her eyes to her mouth where they stopped.
    Did she have ice cream all around her lips? Yes, that must be it. How awkward. She licked her lips, trying to clean the corners. “What?” she said. “Do I have ice cream—”
    “How do you know how old I think you are?” he asked. “Tell me, how old are you?”
    “I’m going to be seventeen soon,” she said.
    “When?”
    “Tomorrow.”
    “You’re not even
seventeen,
” Alexander echoed.
    “Seventeen
tomorrow
!” she repeated indignantly.
    “Seventeen, right. Very grown up.” His eyes were dancing.
    “How old are
you
?”
    “Twenty-two,” he said. “Twenty-two,
just
.”
    “Oh,” she said, and couldn’t hide the disappointment in her voice.
    “What? Is that very old?” Alexander asked, failing to keep the smile off his face.
    “Ancient,” Tatiana replied, failing to keep the smile off her face.
    Slowly they walked across the Field of Mars, Tatiana barefoot and carrying the red sandals in her slightly swinging hands.
    Once they got to the pavement, she put her sandals back on and they crossed the street, stopping at a nondescript brown stucco four-story building, distinguished by its lack of a front door. A deep, darkened passageway ran inside. “These are the Pavlov Barracks,” Alexander said, “where I’m stationed.”
    “These are the famous Pavlov Barracks?” Tatiana looked up at the grubby building. “Surely this can’t be it.”
    “What were you expecting? Maybe a snowcapped