The Four Winds of Heaven (34 page)

Demurely, Nina Tobias laid her hand upon his sleeve. When the piano struck up a frenzied mazurka, Ossip noticed her high color, and her beautiful eyes. She is most agreeable, he thought. At once he felt a sharp pang of loss.
Agreeable,
whereas Natasha was lovely, spirited, magnificent—and his own. How could one possibly compare a healthy apple to an exotic passion fruit? He looked into Nina Tobias's eyes, and he saw kindness, gentleness, meekness. He smiled, inclining his head. But it was merely the smile of politeness.

When the guests were preparing to leave, Sonia took her friend aside and asked, “Do you like my brother? I so wanted him to truly make your acquaintance!”

Nina bowed her head, and nodded. “I like him very much,” she replied.

“Really? You are not saying it to please me, Ninotchka?”

“Oh, no!” her friend cried. Then, whispering, “He is heavenly. But do not humiliate me by telling him I think so. Perhaps someday he will notice me, on his own. I hope he shall.”

Sonia pressed her friend's arm, and her gray eyes shone. “Of course he shall!” she declared. “He has excellent taste!”

On the way home Sonia chattered, but her brother was mostly quiet. He kissed her lightly on the cheek, and listened to her with an amused expression. But his thoughts were not of the ball, or of Nina Tobias. They were not even of his sister's debut.

A
nna's letter
was postmarked “Lausanne, Switzerland.”

Sonia thought: This isn't Anna! Calm, happy, busy with a baby—where are the sour grapes? She was bewildered, and then, pleased. Her sister was leading a life that she, Sonia, would find simplistic. A life devoid of waltzes, of plays at the Mariinsky Theater, of elegant furnishings. Sonia thought: Am I becoming as vapid and frivolous as Tania? She was angry with herself. A good life with intelligent, artistic friends: that was Anna's existence, and it was a worthy one, befitting her sister's straightforward, independent nature. Anna was truly made for the small, clean, uncomplicated charms of Switzerland. Russia, her mother country, had threatened to destroy her. But still…

“We are Russian,” Sonia said to Ossip, “and now I know what bothered me about Anna's new life. It is totally un-Russian—and Anna, with her angers and her passions and her idealism, was the most Russian of us all!”

“Something of the old intensity has been burned out of her,” Ossip commented. “Yes, it is a shame. But she is happy this way, and that is more than she was here… Maybe her Russia was like a bad passion, the kind that can warp.”

Sonia regarded him with a bemused expression. A bad passion! That's Natasha, who is so wrong for you. Kind, gentle Nina will be a balm to you, my brother, as Lausanne is to Anna. Stubbornly, she refused to face her brother's joy, which had sprung from the vibrancy of Natalia Tagantseva, and which had set him free from passivity for the first time in his life. She closed her heart to Natasha's appreciation of her brother, an appreciation composed of true and total understanding. For she, Sonia, did not possess Natalia's fine perception of Ossip's needs and potentialities.

Her own life was divided into two aspects, and revolved simultaneously around both. There was her overriding concern for Ossip, whom she watched constantly. And then there were the evenings toward which she found her whole self turning, like a sunflower seeking the light. Volodia had made it a practice to come twice a week after supper, to visit Ossip and play the piano with Sonia. The three would sit and chat, and then Sonia would bring the sheafs of music to Volodia, and together, animatedly, they would select their pieces for the evening. Ossip would sit behind them in the piano room for a while, and then, somewhat listlessly, would move into the sitting room to speak with his mother or to read a book while awaiting the reappearance of his friend and sister. Volodia and Sonia would be alone, their fingers dancing minuets on the black and ivory keys.

If Sonia had certain blind spots where her brother was concerned, he, usually so astute, was so immersed in his newfound world, in himself as a man, and in Natasha, that he did not think twice about his sister's feelings. He thought only that it was good that Sonia and Volodia had become friends. It would make it easier when he told her. But he did not find it strange that Volodia came so regularly, and that so little of those evenings were actually spent with him. He also heard Sonia's voice, calm, composed, courteous, but caught no emotion struggling beneath the controlled phrases. Their words were commonplace, almost like those which Ossip exchanged with Nina when he encountered her taking tea with Sonia. They spoke of Chekhov, of the ballet, of an amusing story that someone had related. Volodia's compliments were gallant, but impersonal, as indeed were Ossip's toward Nina. Ossip never thought to question his friend, nor his sister, and in that he was not alone, for even Mathilde saw nothing more than vague friendship between the two young people. No, Ossip was in love, and he knew what a young man did when he was prey to his emotions. Volodia was surely not in love.

He was grateful for the frequency of his encounters with Nina Tobias, for he had grave matters on his mind, and found her refreshing to talk to, and a good excuse for eluding the questions of his elders. He was seen at balls escorting Sonia and her friend, and when in passing he heard someone's mother say, in an undertone, “That little Nina has found herself an admirer of distinction,” he merely smiled with amusement. Nina did not seem to mind this supposed courtship, which was lifeless, and which he never imagined could be taken seriously. Nina, he had discovered, was intelligent, though not quick like Natasha. She was too intelligent, he reassured himself, to believe that his few gallantries were something more.

But Sonia watched them. Once, that winter, at a tea, she saw Nina's quick, not unbecoming blush when Ossip entered the room, and saw the pulse beat in her throat as he bowed to all the ladies and slowly made his way to her. “Ossip Davidovitch,” she said softly, making room for him on the love seat, “may I tempt you with a cream puff?” She passed him a platter of cakes, smiling when he took two, an indulgent smile.

“Cream puffs… You are not at all a cream puff, are you, Nina Mikhailovna?” Ossip bantered lightly. “They say that women are like sweets. What kind of sweet are you?”

She blushed, and her eyelids fluttered. “I'm not sure,” she demurred. “What do you think?” And her eyes, flecked with fine gold specks, fastened upon his blue ones.

He laughed. “An apple tart. With a good rich crust.”

“Do you like them?” she asked, almost whispering.

He cocked his head to one side and examined her with easy affection. “Indeed I do. Our people make the best at Mohilna, where the fruit is hardy and flavorful. I much prefer a robust dessert to a cream puff. My cousin, Tatiana, is a cream puff, and she has spoiled my appreciation of the real thing!”

“Oh, Ossip Davidovitch, how unkind! Tatiana Alexandrovna is gay and golden. She is only fifteen! Do not be irritated by her, give her a chance…” Nina's gentle hand fell upon his arm. How different those fingers felt from Natasha's electric touch. He gazed at this young girl, who was only a few months younger than Natasha, and found her sweetness suddenly cloying.

“You are a kind little thing,” he said to her, and rose quickly. He wanted to pat the top of her pompadour, and smiled to himself. “Do not worry, I shall be a good boy, and not detest my cousin. For I am sure that my aunt would find out, and make life impossible for Mama!” And bowing, he departed, seeking Sonia.

He found his sister in a corner, discussing Chopin. “Will you come with me out on the balcony?” he asked her. She stood up, small and delicate in a soft silk gown. Her eyes sought Nina and her pulse quickened when she saw the flush on her brother's cheeks. “Excuse me,” she said to her friends, and took her brother's arm.

They walked sedately out of the French doors and onto a large balcony, overlooking some neatly trimmed gardens. Sonia said, “You have left Nina! You didn't quarrel with her, did you?”

“No, of course not. How could anyone quarrel with little Nina? I merely needed a breath of fresh air.”

Sonia passed her tongue quickly over her lips. “I am sorry,” she began, “but I am about to question you on a matter that does not concern me. At least not entirely. But I cannot help myself. I have watched you with her, and cannot help wondering—have you spoken to her about your feelings?”

The color drained from Ossip's face. He dropped his sister's hand. “Spoken? To whom?” he cried.

“Why, to Nina, naturally. She cares deeply about you, my love. You are only twenty, and about to enter the University, and she is seventeen. That is too soon to speak for her to her father. But she deserves to know, don't you think? To know that you would like her to save herself for you, to wait until you have your degree—”

“Sonia, you must be mad!” he exclaimed, his eyes flashing. “I am not in love with Nina Tobias! Whatever gave you such a preposterous idea?”

Her cheeks sunken, Sonia stammered, “But I'm not the only one! Other people have remarked upon your interest in her! Why, Ossip—at every ball you dance with her more than with the other girls, and you are always most attentive, and, and—”

“And I did these things for you, you little goose! As you sit with my best friend, Volodia, and play four-handed sonatas on the piano! What has possessed you?” He stood, outraged, regarding his sister with glaring eyes.

She took a step back. “Ossip. You do not have to pay court to my friend for my sake. I should be asking you, ‘What on earth has possessed
you?'
Nina cares for you, and mostly because you have led everyone around us to believe that you are not indifferent toward her! Now you tell me that she means nothing to you. I do not understand.”

“That is because you have never wished to understand, to understand
me!”
he cried, a curl falling into his eyes, his nostrils distending. He appeared wild, maddened, and she brought one hand protectively to her throat. “You do not love me at all, Sonia! If you did, you would stop being so selfish and care about what I want,
I
, Ossip—not you, not Papa, not Grandfather! Nina is very nice. I like her. She is a good friend. But I am going to marry Natalia Tagantseva, and nothing that you say or do is going to stop me! Do you, finally, after all these months, understand the truth?”

Sonia's body began to tremble, and she felt numb. Her lips parted, and her teeth began to chatter. Her hair fell to one side, over one ear, and hung lopsided. She dropped her bag. The trembling increased, and now she breathed in small, hysterical gasps. Her gray eyes were wide with horror, but no tears came, only little moans, sharp and dreadful. Ossip stood transfixed before her, the savagery gone from his expression now. He reached for her hand, but she withdrew it with a scream. “Sonia,” he pleaded, “this is my life! Not anybody else's!”

But she was already running back into the salon. He followed helplessly, calling for their wraps and their footman. Nina Tobias, her brown eyes perplexed, caught his attention. Quickly he looked away from those flecks of gold, so gentle and warm. Great shivers were creeping up his spine, and he thought wildly: It was the wrong timing. I should never have told her now. Now I am going to have to face Mama... He made hurried attempts at a courteous farewell to his hostess, mumbling incoherently that Sonia was ill, and darted out the door behind his frenzied young sister. His temples were pounding painfully, and he felt nauseous.