“Well, nu, not today—maybe—but… soon.” She bowed her head and blushed.
“So. Couldn’t wait for the wedding day? Too much sorrow in your young lives?” He raised an ironic eyebrow, pushed his glasses down his nose with one finger, and appraised the young couple. “Well, what’s it to me. And what have you got—”
“Oh. Here.” Galina unpinned the brooch from her blouse. “It’s ivory, hand carved. You can get a good price for it.”
The man took the brooch, flipped it nonchalantly from hand to hand, squinting at the intricately wrought details, passing his thumb over the smooth surface of the back, still warm from contact with Galina’s body. “I don’t know. This is no small matter. It’s a nice pin, but…”
“Filip,” Galina said firmly, “give him your watch.”
Stunned, Filip obeyed, handing over his father’s birthday present as if in a trance, amazed at this audacious display of Galina’s ingenuity. When had she become such an accomplished liar? “It’s new,” he offered weakly. “Austrian.”
“Well, then.” The man pocketed the items with a smirk. “And who am I, exactly?”
“My uncle, twice removed, from my mother’s second marriage,” Galina replied, with no hint of hesitation.
“Tak. We are all related now, da? Twice removed,” their conspirator remarked, following them through the oak doors into the government building.
And so it was done.
7
ALL THAT WAS LEFT now was to tell the parents. Simple enough, Galina thought, ignoring the momentary dread that flashed through her like summer lightning. What could parents do to them now? She and Filip had taken charge of their own lives. She had the document to prove it.
They decided to see Ilya and Ksenia first. “My father should be home. He just came back from Sevastopol last night,” Galina said.
“What was he doing in Sevastopol?” Filip asked, trying to match her rapid pace. “Slow down a little. Why do you walk so fast?”
“Listen to you! Not married ten minutes and finding fault already. I always walk fast. It’s just a habit. It never bothered you before.” She glanced at him, but he was looking the other way, where a convoy of open trucks had come into view, approaching at full speed. Filip took her arm and pulled her away from the curb, keeping a firm grip on her elbow while the trucks, each carrying four armed soldiers, a pile of axes and saws, and a stack of empty burlap sacks, rumbled past.
“I wonder what they do all day, the Germans,” Galina mused when the trucks had disappeared around the corner. “There’s no fighting here, no battles.”
“They drill, I guess. Clean their rifles and pistols. Polish their boots. Go out and intimidate people,” Filip speculated, guiding her now safely across the street.
“And spend money. My father was delivering orders, brooches and the little carved wooden boxes they like so much.” Her hand went involuntarily to the bare neck of her blouse. Had Ilya seen her wearing the pin this morning? Would he notice it was gone? Even if he did not, she felt its loss in a moment of regret so keen, so physical, that she abruptly stopped walking. Like each of her father’s creations, the pin was unique; there was no other in the world like it. Like innocence, once gone there was no way to replace it.
She leaned against Filip, one hand to her head as if to arrest the feelings spinning within. “What is it? Are you not well?” he inquired when he noticed her agitation.
“No. I mean, it’s nothing. The sun… Will your father mind terribly about the watch?”
“Yes. He is not so very influential; he can’t get things as easily as you might think. And I know he will not buy me another, even if he could.” And I mind about the watch, Filip thought petulantly. It was my birthday present.
“When this war is over and you are a famous architect, you will have many watches, one for every day and two for Sundays,” Galina said brightly, as though reading his mind. He, too, had lost something he valued. “Let’s have ice cream, to celebrate.”
They pooled their pocket change to buy one treat from the vender’s cart, passing the little paper cup back and forth between them, Galina licking the last sweet drops off the rim with undisguised childish pleasure. “I will know that hard times are behind us,” she pronounced, “when you always know what time it is, and there is ice cream every day.”
Walking slowly, side by side but not touching, they talked easily, laughing at nothing in particular, zigzagging through the midmorning downtown crowd in the general direction of Galina’s home.
“Look out!” someone shouted, and they turned to see the convoy return, slow down, then stop in the middle of the road. Several of the trucks now held, along with the guards, half a dozen or so civilians.
As soon as the trucks stopped, Galina felt Filip pull at her, moving deeper along the sidewalk, away from the curb. They stopped with their backs up against the buildings, with nowhere else to go. “Let go of me,” she protested. Annoyed at his new bossiness, she yanked her arm free of his grasp, then stared at him in amazement.
Filip had somehow managed to shrink, as if he had reversed several years’ growth and retreated into a younger version of himself. Shoulders hunched, face pale, he looked small, frail, childlike. Weak. This is my husband, she thought. My man. And he is afraid.
“Achtung!” she heard, her attention snapping back to the scene on the street. “Halt!”
She watched a young officer spring down from the passenger side of the first truck, barking orders at the soldiers, who blocked the street quickly and efficiently at both ends. Franz? she almost said out loud, clapping a hand to her mouth just in time to keep the word from slipping out. No need to reveal to everyone around her that she knew the enemy by name.
But this was a new Franz. This was not the homesick youth who liked carved toys and hummed romantic love songs. Gone was the gentle manner, the aesthetic sensitivity. This was a man in command—a little man, she saw—a martinet, strutting, issuing orders. “I need men for one or two days’ work,” he announced. “You will receive extra rations. You and you and you over there.” He scanned the silent throng, pointing, while the soldiers rounded up the chosen ones and pushed them onto the waiting trucks.
When his eyes found her, she stopped breathing but did not lower her gaze. She felt Filip shrink even more at her side, as if deflated by Franz’s piercing glance. “I will take women, also. Strong ones,” he said, lifting his chin and smiling a little. “They can help the men.”
This is it. We are finished. He will take his revenge. To her surprise, she felt not fear but a numbing, hopeless acceptance. She steeled herself for the inevitable mocking finger, resigned to the rough shove that would change her life, now, forever.
It did not come.
“We are finished,” Franz echoed, climbing into his seat while the soldiers hustled the last workers, including several women, into the trucks. “Schnell, schnell,” he shouted. “Move faster. We are wasting time.”
It was Galina’s turn to feel deflated, while Filip slowly regained his full stature and touched her hand. “That was close,” he said softly. “I thought he had me picked out for sure. Let’s go, Galya.” She walked with him, not trusting herself to speak. She felt—what did she feel? Relief, of course; they had both escaped who knew what unpleasant, perhaps dangerous outcome.