Yvgenie (52 page)

And of a sudden he fe
lt very much better.
Very
much
better.

He said, on a long sigh
,
‘
Bring them back, Babi, bring
them here
.
Vodka, Babi.''

He unstopped the ju
g. He poured. Babi was immedi
ately there to catch it,
a very satisfied Babi. One could t
ell.

Then he heard the
mouse cry
‘
Uncle Sasha!
’
and saw the l
ost
l
ings coming out of
the dark, the mouse, hand in hand
with young Yvgenie. Pyetr with Eveshka. He felt everything at once, too confused to defend himself from them until Nady
a rose and stood beside him.

He put his arm about Nadya as she did and wished her well—wished
'Veshka not to be upset, please. Nor the mouse. Yvgenie said,
‘
Nadya?
’
and came and took her hand, but to a wizard's hearing it was very clear where hearts were, and Yvgenie's was most honestly with the mouse.

‘
I
like
her,
’
the mouse said, quite sure herself where Yvgenie's heart was. And Kavi Chernevog's as well, the god help them.

Then Eveshka wished something at Nadya quite strongly, not at him, Sasha thought, but about him—and Nadya said, hugging his arm the tighter,
‘
Yes. I know he is,
’
leaving him the most distinct i
mpression Eveshka judged him ex
travagantly kindly,
far
too kindly, considering his recen
t succession of mistakes
…

Which he did not want to tell Eveshka yet. But he feared he had just let the worst one slip. God, they could
see
it for themselves: Pyetr was changed. Or the same again. Pyetr might always be the same, for all he knew, and it all was his fault, god—he wanted them not to hate him. He wanted them to love him. Nothing worse could happen to him than losing that. And wishing them not to was desperately, terribly wrong of him. So they should love each other. Not minding him and his wishes. Please.

There was a breathless hush then, in a piled-up calamity of possible wishes, wise and foolish, thick as the fallen leaves. But Pyetr said,
‘
Sasha,
’
strolled over, kissed his eldest daughter on the forehead, then set a heavy hand on his shoulder and looked him straight in the eye, thinking, as if he had only chanced upon the thought—You did something, friend. Didn't you? Like the damn teacup? The jug that won't empty? Eveshka thinks so.

‘
Pyetr, forgive me, I'm—
’

‘
—sorry?
’
Pyetr shook him gently. He heard a laughter in Pyetr's voice this morning, a youthfulness that could have
no patience with slow-moving wizards and their deliberations.
‘
—Does the teacup care? It's lasted this long: it might last longer. Who knows?—Who ever knows? Dare we even mention my seeing grandchildren?''