“All that would have been horrendous, to Anna, were as beautiful as ever. He had said exactly what she wanted, but her mind was frightened. She did not respond, and he seemed to have read the inner battle going on in her.”

She sits on the old worn sofa, with my coat wrapped around her dress and the book on her knees, trying to stretch her eyes to see the words in the dim light. The sofa was wide enough for three people to sit on, but for some reason, she kept curling in a corner. Her eyes downcast, and she mulls over every word, but with a melodious and inspiring voice. I don’t see any problems in the delivery of the sentences.

I sit across from her, leaning against the bookcase, hands clasped together. This time, there were no cigarettes in my hands, so I have to knit them together to keep them from mischief.

She continues reading from the book, “I will never forget and never forget any words you said, or any gestures you made.”

Lovers, I thought. No person in their right mind would ever say that. Or maybe people used to, but the notion of love and anything related to it no longer exists. I try to imagine Alexei and Anna hanging on to each other on the railroad car, falling into each other’s arms, their lips coated with sugar and honey and their limbs drained of all life essence, then imagining how the scenery at the window of the car rapidly changed between their conversations. But they’re too foreign to materialize inside my head.

Alice glances up at me for the longest time and mouths, “They are falling in love.”

“What?”

“They are falling in love, Alexei! You can read it from their tone of voice. Their love is like a bursting flame trying to extinguish itself.”

“Lovers are strange.” I click my tongue. “Why do they have to beat around the bush?”

“Tomorrow morning, Anna will wake up and meet her husband, Alexei. I do not know how she will face him after all that had happened.”

“I don’t understand. You yourself said that marriage is a love contract. Why is Anna going to love someone else?”

“Yes, Alexei. But this marriage is . . . an unhappy one.”

Her eyes show a hint of sadness, but I can’t understand why. Those fathomless azure eyes have never been joyous to begin with, but they never looked that way. I can’t feel that story to the extent that Alice is feeling, so I can’t understand the way her eyes are blurring themselves under the faintest layer of water.

But I know one thing. I don’t like that look.

“You can stop reading,” I say. “Continue . . . tomorrow.”

Alice hesitates for a moment, but finally nods. After folding the book, she turns to ask me.

“Alexei. Why do you suddenly want to hear me reading the story today?”

“Well, uh . . . so I can look at you.”

“Look at me?”

“Right. I want to see the feelings you have when you have a story about love. I . . . have no such thing. Besides, I want to hear your storytelling voice too. It’s, uh, cute.”

Her pale cheeks turn pink ever so slightly. Her hands move in all sorts of directions, and her lips falter in search of words to speak. “A—are you being honest?” She says.

“Sure of it. There’s no reason I would lie. Why are you so surprised?”

“Nothing. I did not think you would see me that way. I am but an intruder, after all. Not your friend.”

“You can be an acquaintance and still be adorable.”

Alice fixes her gaze on the floor and nestles inside my jacket. “Okay.”

“Are you not happy with the compliment or something?”

“No.” She plays with her hair. “It is just that I wonder if I deserve the praise. I should think not. I do not . . . particularly have a personality, you see.”

“Who told you that?”

“People. Well, they did not say exactly that, but I just feel that way. They said that I was quiet when they first met me.”

Did the same people force her to use old Russian as well? The only time I noticed her using contractions and non-formal language was the first time we talked. I’ve never even heard some words she uttered used by anyone, including the well-educated General Kuznetsov—my main contractor. It’s almost like now she’s collected her nerves, she realizes she has to act a certain way.

“Quiet isn’t a negative trait. If you spend years mastering the art of quiet, you can upgrade it to stealth.”

“Maybe that was the way to tell me that I am just not interesting enough to hold a conversation.”

“Well, they stopped saying that after they’ve got to know you, didn’t they?”

“Maybe that was out of courtesy.”

I scratch my chin. “See, the problem with you isn’t that you’re uninteresting, nor that you are quiet, because you’re neither of those. You just need to feel comfortable around others. I say quit it with the ‘maybes’. And you can’t be the best version of yourself if you keep on second-guessing what other people may or may not mean.”

“That is an over-simplification, Alexei. If I act in accordance with the assumption that everything means well, I will be put in an even more daunting position when it turns out to not be the case.”

I nod. It’s not like she doesn’t have a point. And it’s not as if I can tell her to just stop over-analyzing.

“At least take things at face value first.” I shrug. “Worked for me. When I tell you you’re charming, just believe it first. Start believing in yourself. Then the confidence will come to you more naturally.”

She mimics me putting my hand on my chin, blankly looking at nothing in particular. Eventually, she says, “Then say it again.”

“Say what again?”

“That I am charming. This time, I shall believe it.”

“You’re charming.”

“Thank you.” Her cheeks flush red, her hands squeeze together as she gives a small, satisfied smile.

At that moment, I see light shining through the very small ventilation door above our heads. It isn’t dazzling sunshine, not even close, but it is enough to tell me that morning has come.

I can’t buy time any longer.

No.

No, no, no, no, no. Not now. Not. Now.

I jump up from my seat like a compressed spring and snatch a rifle erected on the table shelf, one I haven’t touched since my arrival. My trusted Zashchitnik 87.

Alice lets out a trembling cry. “A—Alexei . . . what’s wrong?”

“Silence.”

I walk to the iron door and put my ear on it. I hear the cackles of footsteps, the shuffling of rifle stocks on the ground, the heavy sighs, the sleepy whispers. There are just as many people outside as I expect. And that’s a bad sign.

This is my last chance. Turn her in, and I’ll not die here.

But I can’t. If Roman was alive, he’d have called me a proper asshole.

I eye Alice, whose face is turning purple. “Get up, Alice. Pick up your jacket.”

“What—”

I pace to her and pull her on her feet. “Now means now. I gave you three seconds. I’ll take you out of here. Get up, take a piece of bread and put it in your dress pocket.”

“W—what . . .”

“Are you a soldier, soldier?”

“I—I am.” Her fingers shake as her shoulders shiver. I think she’s finally sensed danger.

I load my rifle with ammunition, undo the safety, grab my unfinished pack of smokes and my pipe, and slam them into my pocket. I rub my hands together as my body heats up.

Time to get into the mode.

I whisper to Alice. “Buckle up, soldier. Prepare for your first battle.”