“I’ll take the latter, if it’s all the same to you.” His answer never varied. It was his favorite dinner.
“Sometime you’re going to surprise me and ask for the beef… and I won’t know what to do with it.” Her voice almost cracked again. Their conversation never failed to follow the same track whenever the time came for him to leave. But somehow this time seemed so different. She was scared. Too much was left unsaid, both by the papers and the government — and her husband could be trusted never to leak a word about what he was involved with at any time.
“I’ll call when I’m ready to leave, hon. Don’t forget the jug of red.”
“Never have yet.” Lucy hung up before she heard his last words. “Bye for now,” she whispered to herself. He would call just before he left the office; he always did. That was the signal to slip the meat loaf in the oven. Andy never had a drink before leaving for sea — just the bottle of wine they would share.
Andy Reed smiled across the table and raised his wineglass in a toast to the woman he was sure looked no different than the day they were married. He could sense from the way Lucy had been talking that she knew he was going off for much more than an exercise. But she’d never cried or complained before. He knew she wouldn’t start now. “I think it should be noted that the finest meat loaf chef in the entire fifty states still holds her title. Since I can’t tell the whole world about it right now, would this simple compliment do?”
She raised her glass, touching his gently, and they drank, looking into each other’s eyes. Another tradition. He emptied the last of the bottle in their glasses. “I’ll accept the compliment. Want me to send the recipe along so you can have it at sea?”
“It wouldn’t be the same. No candlelight, no wine, different atmosphere somehow. And I don’t think we’ll be too excited about the menus.” He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “You know, you’ve been a good trooper for so long, I’m going to have to take you on a vacation soon.” He paused, then added, “Maybe we’re both getting a little old for these things. Think I ought to get out of this racket… maybe run a charter boat, or something like that?”
“Who do you think you’re kidding? I may be on the other side of the fence, but I’ve been in this submarine business longer than you and I think I can put up with it a few more years. I still don’t ask questions and I learned to keep my mouth shut when I was a little girl. We navy broads are a tough group.” She stopped what she was saying and looked at him through the candles. “Now I don’t know why I was starting off like that. That’s the speech I give to the new wives every year.” She put a finger to her lips and stared back at him curiously.
“You said that because it’s a normal reaction.” He reached over and took her hand. “Since you’ve been a little girl, you also have never asked where we’re going in our submarines. Your father couldn’t tell you, and I’ve never been able to either. And it seems to me that at a certain point in your life you ought to be able to either ask and get an answer… or go along, too. It’s getting a little tougher each time to tell you what a good trooper — I don’t even like that word — but you are. Believe me, I know what’s going through your head right now, and I wish I could say what I want to.”
“What you’re going to do instead is make me cry. And I’ve never done that before.”
“Let’s do the dishes then. No one ever cries doing the dishes.”
“I do — sometimes after you’re gone, I do.”
“We should have had another bottle of wine,” he concluded uncertainly.
“That really would have done it. Women always cry at times like this if they’ve had too much wine.” She blew out the candles. “I have no intention of crying now if I’ve been able to hold off for so many years. Let’s go to bed.”
“I’ll help you with the dishes.”
“The hell with the dishes. They’ve waited till morning before. Let’s go to bed. Do you need me to spell it out?” She laughed huskily. “You’ll be out of the house before anyone’s awake so we only have a couple of hours… and I plan to have you for some of that time myself. Remember that we have some other very pleasant traditions around this house that I don’t plan to let slip.” She reached her hand out to him. “Bedtime, my dear. Come on. I’ve never had to coax you before.”
He took her hand. “Not tonight, either.”
When Anna Chuikov married the young naval officer, Abram Danilov, in Sebastopol, she had been considered much too good for him. Her father had been a hero during the Great Patriotic War, and it was assumed that the general’s daughter would marry a rising army officer at least, if not a wealthy party official. She was everything that Abe Danilov wasn’t — tall, graceful, well educated, schooled in the arts, said to be the most beautiful girl in the new society struggling out of the ruins of Moscow after the war.
No one, not even her parents, understood that Anna also had a mind of her own. When she chose to run away to Sebastopol and marry a young naval officer who served in the unknown world of submarines, her own family threatened to disown her. The general even had the dread KGB detain Danilov for hours, but that only set Anna’s mind more firmly.
In the ensuing years, the general and his wife learned to accept their daughter’s husband. Chuikov even attempted to assert some influence to ensure timely promotions for the naval officer but, to his surprise, that wasn’t necessary. Abe Danilov was making it on his own. His mentor was Sergei Gorshkov, soon to be appointed commander in chief of the Soviet Fleet.
While Abe Danilov was rising through the ranks, Anna was unknowingly cultivating the cultural and social strata that would ensure his rise to power. As the years passed, Anna Danilov grew from a lovely, young girl to a radiant woman.
While the other senior officers took advantage of the privileges that came with power — the dachas, the cars, the mistresses — Abe Danilov remained faithful to his wife. He never forgot that he really didn’t deserve her when they first met, nor did he fool himself into believing that it was he alone who secured their position in the upper levels of party society. She was the source that kept him in touch with the real world beyond the power structure of the Kremlin. Her love nourished a spirit hidden deep under his military facade until there were two Abe Danilovs. The visible one had spent the past three days in the Kremlin devising a plan to destroy the American mystery submarine before it passed the North Pole. The invisible Abe Danilov had been driven to their city apartment where Anna was spending her final days. On the way, he ordered the driver to stop at one of the private stores reserved for the wealthy and powerful in Moscow. When he came out, the man behind the wheel was sure he had never seen so many beautiful flowers in wintertime Moscow, and certainly never roses like that.
‘They’re beautiful… so beautiful.”
Her husband could not be sure whether the tears in her eyes reflected joy or pain.
“But they cost so much, Abe,” she added reproachfully. The dark eyes that had danced into his heart more than thirty years ago still sparkled, though now they were red-rimmed and deep, and dark circles lay under them. Then, grimacing, she sat up in bed and smiled broadly, tilting her head to one side just as she had the first day he met her. “I should also say thank you. I can’t think of anything nicer, other than your being here. How… how long will you be able to stay?” she added hesitantly.
“I’m here. I’m finished with my work. Tomorrow, very early, I have to fly to Murmansk, but I have nowhere else to go before then.”
“That’s wonderful… so wonderful,” she concluded wistfully. “I’ve been looking forward to having you to myself for an evening.” Then she remembered, “Oh, but there’s so little in the kitchen to eat, Abe. You know, I have no appetite now. So, when Natalya comes in to help me, I tell her not to bring anything. It just goes to waste.” He knew she wasn’t eating. Though the drugs for cancer had bloated her body, her nose and cheekbones stood out in sharp contrast to the once elegant face. Her arms and hands were skinny, the flesh hanging in folds. She said that when she ate, the food didn’t taste good. And more often now, she couldn’t hold it down.