The Bronze Horseman by Paullina Simons Read Free Book Online Page A

her.
    Looking at him in this proximity was truly impossible. There was just no hiding from his eyes. But it was his eyes that Tatiana wanted most to see.
    “I don’t normally faint,” she said, looking out the window. That was a lie. She fainted all the time. All someone had to do was bump a chair against her knee and she was on the floor unconscious. The teachers at school used to send home two or three notes a month about her fainting.
    She glanced at him.
    Smiling irrepressibly, the soldier said, “What’s your name anyway?”
    “Tatiana,” she said, noticing the slight stubble on his face, the sharp line of his nose, his black brows, and the small gray scar on his forehead. He was tanned under the stubble. His white teeth were outstanding.
    “Tatiana,” he repeated in his deep voice. “Tatiana,” he said, slower, gentler. “Tania? Tanechka?”
    “Tania,” she replied and gave him her hand. Before he told her his name, he took it. Her small, slender, white hand disappeared in his enormous, warm, dark one. She thought he must have heard her heart through her fingers, through her wrist, through all the veins under her skin.
    “I am Alexander,” he said.
    Her hand remained outstretched in his.
    “Tatiana. Such a good
Russian
name.”
    “Alexander, too,” she said and lowered her eyes.
    Finally, reluctantly, she pulled her hand away. His large hands were clean, his fingers long and thick, and his nails trimmed. Neat nails on a man were another anomaly in Tatiana’s Soviet life.
    She looked away onto the street. The window of the bus was dirty. She wondered who washed it and when and how frequently. Anything not to think. What she
felt
though, was almost as if he were asking her not to turn away from him, almost as if his hand were about to come up and turn her face to him. She turned to him, lifted her eyes, and smiled. “Want to hear a joke?”
    “Dying to.”
    “A soldier is being led to his execution,” Tatiana began. “ ‘Some bad weather we’re having,’ he says to his convoy. ‘Look who’s complaining,’ they say. ‘
We
have to go back.’ ”
    Alexander laughed so instantly and loudly, his merry eyes never leaving her face, that Tatiana felt herself—just a little bit—melting within.
    “That’s funny, Tania,” he said.
    “Thank you.” She smiled and said quickly, “I have another joke: ‘General, what do you think about the upcoming battle?’ ”
    Alexander said, “I know this one. The general says, ‘God knows it will be lost.’ ”
    Tatiana continued, “ ‘Then why should we try?’ ”
    And Alexander finished, “ ‘To find out who is the loser.’ ”
    They both smiled and looked away from each other.
    “Your straps are untied,” she heard him say.
    “My what?”
    “Your straps. At the back of the dress. They’ve come undone. Here, turn your back to me a little more. I’ll tie them for you.”
    She turned her back to him and felt his fingers pulling on the satin ribbons. “How tight do you want them?”
    “That’s good,” she said hoarsely, not breathing. It occurred to her that he must be seeing down to the small of her bare back underneath the straps, and she became suddenly and keenly self-conscious.
    When she turned to him, Alexander cleared his throat and asked, “Are you going to get off at Polustrovsky? To see your cousin Marina? Because it’s coming up. Or do you want me to take you home?”
    “Polustrovsky?” Tatiana repeated, as if hearing the word for the first time. It took her a moment. “Oh, my.” Placing her hand on her forehead, she said, “Oh, no, you won’t believe—I can’t go home. I’m going to get in so much trouble.”
    “Why?” Alexander said. “What can I do to help?”
    Why did she think he meant it? And moreover, why did she suddenly find herself relieved and strengthened and not afraid of going home?
    After she told him about the rubles in her pocket and the failed quest for food, Tatiana finished with, “I