The steward opened the door of the chart room, mumbled something, and backed out.
She buried her face in his chest. “My God, Sam, I’m so tired…. Can we make love this morning…? My parents buried their daughter…. They’ll be delirious to see me…. Come home with me…. I want to meet your odd family…. Sam, can I cry for Seth? Is that all right?”
“Of course. You’re shaking. Let me take you to your room.”
“No, hold me.” She said softly, “Can we pretend that after our lunch in the Arbat we flew to New York and nothing happened in between?”
“No, we can’t do that. But we can try to make some sense of it. Try to understand this whole mess between us and them. Maybe I’ll teach you about Soviet air power, and you explain Gogol to me. We’ll both learn something that no one else cares about.”
She laughed. “I’d like that.” She hugged him tighter. “Later I’ll tell you a Russian bedtime story.”
They stood silently for a long time, listening to the sounds of the ship and the sea, feeling the roll and forward momentum of the freighter as it moved westward, away from Russia.