"Not at all," she said. "You were fascinating. As you know, I like to hear everything."

"Maybe next time, we can talk about you."

"I'm so boring," she said. "Nothing to talk about."

"Now that you've been here a couple of years, what do you like about America?"

"The people," she said without thinking.

Edward laughed. "But Tania, all the people you know are immigrants!"

She nodded. "True Americans. They are here in New York for all right reasons. New York is great city."

"What else do you like? What do you like the most?"

"Delicious bacon," she said. "I guess I like the comfort. Everything Americans do, produce, create is to make life little bit easier. I like that. Music is pleasant, clothes are comfortable. Blankets don't itch. Milk is right around corner. So is bread. Shoes fit. Chairs are soft. It's good here." She looked out the window as they passed through 14th Street. "So much to take for granted," she added quietly.

The cab pulled up in front of her building. "Well..." she said.

"Tania," he said in an emotional voice, reaching for her.

She leaned over to Edward, pecked him on the cheek, said, "Thank you so much for lovely evening," and got hastily out of the car.

"I'll see you on Monday," he called out, but she was already running inside the doors, opened instantly and reverentially by Diego from Romania.

Tania Tania.

I hear him shouting for me.

I turn and there he is, still alive and calling my name.

Tania Tania.

I turn, I must turn and there he is, wearing his fatigues, rifle slung on his shoulder, running towards me, out of breath.

Still so young.

Why do I hear him so clearly?

Why is his voice an echo in my head?

In my chest.

In my arms and fingers, in my barely beating heart, in the vapor of my cold breath?

Why is he loud, why is he deafening?

At night all is quiet.

But during the day, amid the crowds...

I walk, always slowly, I sit, always motionlessly, and I hear him calling my name.

Tania, Tania...

Why do I hear it?

Didn't he tell me to listen for the stellar wind at night?

It will be me, he whispered, calling you back.

To Lazarevo.

Then why is he SHOUTING now?

Here I am, Shura! Stop calling for me. I'm not going anywhere.

Tania Tania...

One cold and sunny Saturday afternoon, a bundled-up Tatiana, Vikki, and Anthony were walking as usual through the outdoor market on Second Avenue. Vikki was idly chatting, Tatiana was idly listening and holding Anthony by the shoulders. He wanted to push his own carriage today-into the ankles of the pedestrians. Vikki carried all their shopping, never missing an opportunity to complain about how unfair it was.

"And explain to me why you refuse to go out with Edward again?"

"I don't refuse," Tatiana said gently. "I told him I need little time, little more adjustment. We still have lunch."

"Lunch shmunch. It's not dinner, is it? He knows a brush-off when he sees one."

"No brush-off. Just...slow-off."

Vikki was already onto something else. "Tania, I know you want bacon for dinner today, bacon and bread, but I was thinking maybe you could make something other than bread and meat. What about spaghetti and meatballs?"

"What is spaghetti made of?"

"How do I know? It grows in Portugal, like olives, and my grandmother buys it in special shops."

"No. Spaghetti made of flour."

"So?"

"Meatballs made of meat."

"So?"

Tatiana didn't answer. Half a block ahead of her, she saw a tall male shape. She held Anthony's hand tighter as she stared through the crowds, trying to see. Second Avenue was busy and she tilted her head, then moved three steps to the right, and then tried to speed up.

"So?"

"Come on, little faster. Excuse me," she said to the people in front of them. "Excuse me, please."

"Hey, what's the hurry? Tania! You didn't answer my question."

"Question?"

"So? That was my question. So?"

"Spaghetti and meatballs are also bread and meat. Excuse me," Tatiana said again to the people in front of her, pulling Anthony faster than his short legs could carry him. "Come on, son, let's not dawdle." But she wasn't looking at Anthony, or at Vikki, or at the people she was pushing out of her way with the carriage. No one liked to have their ankles rammed by an aggressive Russian woman, even in a Russian neighborhood-especially in a Russian neighborhood. Tatiana heard some very unkind words in her native tongue. "Hurry, Vikki, hurry."

She picked up Anthony, thrust the carriage into Vikki's already full hands and said, "I've got to-" Then, breaking off, she started to run. She couldn't restrain herself. She ran out into the street and alongside the curb, trying to catch two men about a block ahead of her. Short of shouting at their backs, she didn't know what to do; panting, her heart pounding, she caught up with them at the light and before speaking-because she couldn't speak-she placed her free hand, the one that wasn't holding Anthony, on the man's arm, and tried to say, Alexander? But no words would come out.

The man was very tall and very broad. She kept her hand on him long enough for him to turn around, and see her staring. He smiled. Turning red, Tatiana took away her hand and averted her gaze, but it was too late.

"Yes, sweetheart?" he said. "What can I do you for?"

She backed away. Temporarily forgetting her English, she started yammering in Russian. Then went back to a broken language even she didn't recognize. "I sorry, I think you was someplace, someone else..."

"For you, I'll be anyone you want me to be. Who do you want me to be, sweetheart?"

Vikki had caught up by now, with the carriage and shopping bags, flushed and put upon. "Tania! What do you think you're-" She broke off when she saw the two men, and smiled.

The tall man introduced himself as Jeb and his friend as Vincent.

Jeb was dark-haired, but his face was all wrong. It was Jeb's face. It wasn't Tatiana's husband's. Nonetheless, on a Saturday afternoon, in standing close to him, in looking up into his friendly smiling eyes, Tatiana felt a twinge of want. A breath of desire.

A few minutes later, as they were walking away, Vikki said, "Tania, why is it feast or famine with you? You completely ignore all men for years, then you knock down old ladies to chase one down the street. What is wrong with you?"

The next day Jeb called.

"Are you crazy?" Vikki said. "You gave him our number? You don't know where he's been."

"I know where he been," said Tatiana. "Japan. He was sailor."

"I don't understand. You don't know him at all. I've been trying to get you to go out with Edward for two years-"

"Vikki, I don't want Edward to be my rebound. He too good for that."

"Edward doesn't think so. You want Jeb to be your rebound?"

"I don't know."

"Well, I don't like him for you," Vikki stated flatly. "I didn't like the way he was looking at you. I can't believe of all the men out there, you had to pick the one I don't like."

"He will grow on you."

But he didn't grow on Vikki. Tatiana was too ashamed of being attracted to Jeb to go out alone with him, but she did invite him for dinner.

"What are you going to make him? Eggs and bacon? Bacon, lettuce and tomato on bread? Or stuffed cabbage-with bacon?"

"Stuffed cabbage sounds good. Stuffed cabbage and bread."

Jeb came and had dinner with them. Vikki would not disappear into her room for a moment, and Anthony was underfoot all evening. Finally, Jeb left.

"I didn't like the way he looked at you the first time he saw you and I like him even less now," Vikki declared. "Don't you find him condescending?"

"What?"

"He cut you off every time you spoke, didn't you notice? Always with a smile, the fraud. And don't tell me you didn't notice how he ignored your boy?"

"How could he ignore him? Thanks to you, Anthony was under table entire night!"

"Don't you think Anthony is worth a better man than Jeb?"

"I do," said Tatiana. "But better man is not here. What am I supposed to do?"

"Edward is a better man than Jeb," Vikki said.

"So why don't you go for Edward then? He is available."

"Don't think I haven't tried!" rejoined Vikki. "He is not interested in me."

Vikki was right about Jeb. He was possessive and he was condescending. But Tatiana couldn't help it-she wanted the agony of his big arms around her.

Tatiana thought of Alexander; she imagined Alexander whole and in the imagining created the kind of hell for herself that only the true masochist can create, the thinking male praying mantis who creeps to the female fully knowing that as soon as she is finished with him, she is going to snap off his head and devour him. And still he creeps, with his eyes closed, with his heart shut tight, creeps to the gates of life and death, and thanks God for being alive.

A couple of weeks before Christmas, when Tatiana came to pick up Anthony from Isabella's, Isabella sat her down and, giving her a hot cup of tea, said, "What's wrong, Tania?"

"Nothing."

Isabella studied her.

Tatiana looked at her hands. "I wish having faith was easier."

"Faith in what?"

"Faith in this life. In me. Faith in doing what I am supposed to." I don't want to forget him, she wanted to say.

"Darling, of course you're doing what you're supposed to," Isabella said. "Go on the way all women do when their husbands have died."

"But what if he is not dead?" Tatiana whispered. "I need some proof to have faith."

Isabella replied, "But, darling, then it wouldn't be called faith, would it, if you had proof?"

Tatiana didn't say anything.

"You grit your teeth and go on," Isabella said, "just as you have been doing."

"Dear Isabella," said Tatiana, "as you know, I'm queen of grit teeth. But every day that moves me farther from him, I hate that day."

"But that's when you need faith the most-when it's darkest around you." Isabella watched Tatiana thoughtfully. "Honey, it must be better now than it was? You were so sad when you first came to New York. It's better now?"