The Four Winds of Heaven (32 page)

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

I
t 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 plans 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.”

O
ssip 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.

“Sir Galahad always was a fool,” he admitted. “But it was all for a worthy cause!” His eyes sought Natasha's, which gleamed with unspilled tears. He sat, huddled under the white linen cloth, his hair matted, but there was a radiance in his face that made his ludicrous appearance seem almost noble. He held out his wet palm, and silently Natasha placed her slender fingers upon it. Sonia stared at them, her heart beating erratically. She opened her mouth but could not speak, and her embarrassment was so great that she turned her face aside.

Volodia was rowing once more. “Don't worry,” he told her gently, “he will not have time to catch cold. We shall tell my mother that the boat tipped and Ossip was caught off balance and fell out. All this is quite harmless, I assure you!”

But her gray eyes met his and he fell silent. A strong pain gripped his heart, forcing him to look away. The oars dipped into the calm waters, dipped again. In the boat, the four young people sat wordlessly. Natasha's hand remained inside Ossip's, motionless. A soft breeze began to blow in the amber sunlight.