Tatiana and Alexander. Paullina Simons

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      Harold tried again. Alexander pushed him away again, but this time he didn’t let go of his father’s hands. He did not want his mother to see him lose his temper, his poor mother, who stood shaking and crying, clasping her hands at her two men, pleading, “Darlings, Harold, Alexander, I beg you, stop it, stop it.”

      “Tell him to stop it!” Harold said. “You’ve raised him like this. No respect for anybody.”

      His mother came over to Alexander and grabbed hold of his arms. “Please, son,” she said. “Calm down. It’ll be all right.”

      “You think so, Mom? We’re moving cities, we’re changing our name just like this hotel. You call that all right?”

      “Yes,” she said. “We still have each other. We still have our lives.”

      “How the definition of being all right changes,” said Alexander, extricating himself from his mother and taking his coat.

      “Alexander, don’t walk out that door,” said Harold. “I forbid you to walk out that door.”

      Alexander turned to his father, looked him in the eye, and said, “Go ahead and stop me.”

      He left and did not come back home for two days. And then they packed up and left the Kirov Hotel.

      His mother was drunk and unable to help carry the suitcases to the train.

      When did Alexander first begin to feel, to know, to sense that something was desperately wrong with his mother? That was the point: something wasn’t desperately wrong with her all at once. At first she had been slightly not herself, and it wasn’t for Alexander to say what was the matter with his adult parent. His father could have seen, but his father had no eyes. Alexander knew his father was the kind of man who simply could not keep the personal and the global in his head at the same time. But whether Harold was aware and plainly ignored it, or whether he was actually oblivious, didn’t matter, and it didn’t change the simple fact that Jane Barrington gradually, without fanfare, without much to-do, much introduction and much warning permanently ceased to be the person she once was and became the person she wasn’t.

CHAPTER EIGHT

      Ellis Island, 1943

      EDWARD CAME IN TO check on Tatiana in the middle of August. She’d been in America seven weeks. She was sitting in her usual place by the window, with a naked and diapered Anthony on her lap, tickling him between his toes. She had been feeling much better, her breathing was deep, she was almost not coughing. She had not seen blood in her cough for a month. The New York air was doing her good.

      Edward took the stethoscope from her chest. “Listen, you are doing much better. I think I’m going to have to discharge you.”

      Tatiana said nothing.

      “Do you have anywhere to go?” Edward paused. “You will need to get a job.”

      “Edward,” said Tatiana, “I like it here.”

      “Well, I know. But you’re all better.”

      “I was thinking, maybe I work here? You need more nurse.”

      “You want to work at Ellis?”

      “Very much.”

      Edward talked to the chief surgeon at the Public Health Department, who came in to talk to Tatiana, informing her that she would have to be put on something called a three-month probation to see if she could keep up with the work, if she had the necessary skills. He told her that she would not be employed by Ellis Island but by the PHD and as such would sometimes have to pull duty at the New York University hospital downtown if they had a shortage of nurses there. Tatiana agreed, but asked if she could live at Ellis, “maybe work as night nurse?” The surgeon was not keen. “Why would you want to? You could get yourself an apartment right across the bay. Our citizens don’t live here.”

      Tatiana explained as best she could that she hoped some of the detained refugees at Ellis could look after her son while he was still small, and though she wanted to work, she had no one to leave him with and to make matters easier for everyone she could stay in her current convalescent room.

      “But it’s so small!”

      “One room just right for me.”

      Tatiana asked Vikki to buy her a uniform and shoes. “You know you only get two pairs of shoes?” said Vikki. “War rationing. You want one of them to be nurse’s shoes?”

      “I want my only pair to be nurse’s shoes,” said Tatiana. “What I need more shoes for?”

      “What if you wanted to go dancing?” asked Vikki.

      “Go where?”

      “Dancing! You know, do a little lindy hop, a little jitterbug? What if you wanted to look nice? Your husband isn’t coming back, is he?”

      “No,” said Tatiana, “my husband isn’t coming back.”

      “Well, you definitely need nice new shoes if you’re going to be a widow.”

      Tatiana shook her head. “I need nurse’s shoes and white uniform, and I need to stay at Ellis, and I not need nothing else.”

      Vikki shook her head, her eyes flickering. “It’s anything else. When can you come have dinner with us? How about this Sunday? Dr. Ludlow says you’re being discharged.”

      Vikki bought Tatiana a uniform that was slightly big, and shoes that were the right size, and after Edward discharged her, she continued to do what she had been doing in her white hospital gown and gray hospital robe—look after the foreign soldiers who were shipped to New York, treated, and then sent elsewhere on the continent to do POW labor duty. Many of them were German soldiers, some were Italian, some Ethiopian, one or two French. There were no Soviet soldiers.

      “Oh, Tania, what am I going to do?” Vikki was in her room, sitting on the bed, while Tatiana lay in bed, breastfeeding Anthony. “Are you on a break?”

      “Yes, a lunch break.” Tatiana smiled, but the irony went past Vikki’s unlistening ears.

      “Who takes care of your boy while you do rounds?”

      “I take him with me. I put him on empty bed while I take care of soldiers.” Brenda palpitated every time she saw it, but Tatiana didn’t like to leave him sleeping alone in the room, so she didn’t care how much Brenda palpitated. If only there had been more immigrants, someone could take care of her baby while she worked. But there were very few people coming through Ellis. Twelve in the month of July, eight in the month of August. And they all had their own children, their own problems.

      “Tania! Can we talk about my situation? You know, don’t you, that my husband is home with me now.”

      “I know. Wait little while,” Tatiana said. “Maybe war will take him again.”

      “That’s the problem! СКАЧАТЬ