"But where was I?" he cries.

"I don't know," she chirps, jumping up and down. "I never saw anyone."

Ashen, he stares into her face. Not a flicker of affection moves across it. "Why didn't I help your sister during the blockade?" he barely gets out.

Lowering her voice in an excited whisper, she says, "I don't know if this is true about you, Alexander, but Dimitri told us that you escaped! Escaped and ran to America-all by yourself. Can that be true? Did you leave us all behind and run?" She laughs. "That's so delicious. America! Wow. Dasha, come here." She turns to Alexander. "Dasha and I talked and talked about it through the winter months. Even as we lay in bed our last morning, we said, can you believe, Alexander must be warm now and full. Was there heat in America during the war? White bread?"

Alexander has long ceased to stand. He has dropped to his knees on the snow. "Tania..." he says desperately, looking up at her. "Tatia..."

"What did you call me?"

"Tatiasha, my wife, Tania, mother of my only child, don't you remember our Lazarevo?"

"Where?" she says frowning. "Alexander, you're acting so odd. What are you talking about? I'm not your wife. I was not anybody's wife." She laughs briefly and shrugs. "Child? You perfectly well know I never even had a boyfriend." Her eyes twinkle. "I had to live through my angel sister. Dasha, come here, look who I found. Tell me more about this Alexander of yours. What was he like?" She skips away without a backward glance. And soon her laughter fades away.

Alexander dropped his axe, got up and started walking.

They caught him in the woods and brought him back, and after two weeks in the camp jail, Alexander picked the lock on the leg chains with a pin he carried in his boots. They rechained him and took away the boots. He picked the lock on the leg chains with a small straight piece of straw he found on the cement floor of the isolation cell. They beat him and strung him up by his legs upside down for twenty-four hours. The effort of pulling his body up dislocated both his ankles.

After that he was left on the straw in the jail, his arms chained above his head, and three times a day someone came in and shoved bread down his throat.

One day, Alexander turned his head away and refused the bread. He took the water.

The next day, he refused the bread again.

They stopped bringing it.

One night he opened his eyes; he was cold and thirsty. He was filthy and his body hurt. He could not move it. He tried to sweep up some straw to cover himself with. It was no use. He turned his head to the left and stared at the dark wall. He turned his head to the right and blinked.

Harold Barrington was sitting on his haunches against the wall. He was wearing slacks and a white shirt, his hair was brushed. He looked young, younger than Alexander. He was quiet for a long time. Alexander didn't blink; he was afraid his father would be gone if he did.

"Dad?" he whispered.

"Alexander, what's happening to you?"

"I don't know. It's all over for me."

"Our adopted country has turned its back on you."

"Yes."

"Have you married?"

"I married."

"Where is your wife?"

"I don't know." Alexander paused. "I haven't seen my wife in many years."

"Is she waiting for you?"

"I think she is long past that. She is living her own life."

"Are you? Are you living your own life?"

"Yes," Alexander said. "I'm living my own life, too. I'm living the life I made for myself."

Harold was silent in the dark. "No, son," he said. "You're living the life I made for you."

Alexander was so afraid to blink.

"I had thought you would go far, Alexander. Your mother and I both thought so."

"I know, Dad. I was all right there for a little while."

"I imagined a different life for you."

"Me, too."

Harold stood over Alexander. "Where is my son?" he whispered. "Where is my boy? I want my son back. I want to carry him to sleep in my arms, just like I did when he was born."

"Here I am," said Alexander.

His voice cracking, Harold said, "Ask for some bread, Alexander. Please. Don't be so proud."

Alexander did not respond.

Harold leaned over him and whispered: "If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew, to serve your turn long after they are gone, and so hold on when there is nothing in you, except the will which says to them, 'Hold on!'"

Now Alexander blinked. And Harold was gone.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX.

New York, December 1945 TATIANA WAS PUTTING ANTHONY to bed when he suddenly said, "Mama, can Jeb be my daddy?"

"Probably not, honey."

"Can Edward?"

"Yes, maybe him. You like him?"

"I like him. He is nice."

"Yes, honey, Edward is a good man."

"Mama, tell me a story."

She kneeled by the side of Anthony's bed, and clasped her hands together as if in prayer. "Want to hear about how Pooh Bear and Piglet found an endless pot of honey and Pooh Bear got so big he had to be put on a diet-"

"No, don't want that one. Tell me a cary one."

"I don't know scary ones."

"Cary one," he said, in a declaration that invited no argument.

Tatiana thought about it. "All right, I'll tell you about Danae, the woman in the chest."

"The woman in the chest?"

"Yes. A painting of her, by great painter named Rembrandt, used to be in big museum of city I was born, Leningrad. But when war started, paintings were all shipped out from museum, and I don't know if Danae and all others are safe."

"Tell me about woman in chest, Mama."

Tatiana took a deep breath. "Once upon a time, there was cowardly man named Acrisius. He had a daughter named Danae."

"Was she young?"

"Yes."

"Was she a bootiful princess?" Anthony giggled.

"Yes." Tatiana paused. "But Acrisius had the oracle-"

"What is oracle?"

"Person who tell you future. He had oracle warn him that his daughter's son was going to kill him. So he got very scared-"

"He didn't want to die?"

"That's right. So he locked Danae away in bronze chamber so no one could get to her and give her a baby."

Anthony smiled. "Someone got to her?"

"That's right. Zeus." Tatiana's hands were clasped. She was on her knees. "Zeus found way into Danae's bronze chamber by making himself into golden rain, and Danae was loved by a god...and he gave her a baby, a son. Do you know what they called him? They called him Perseus."

"Perseus," Anthony repeated.

Tatiana nodded. "When Acrisius found out that his daughter had son, he became so scared that he didn't know what to do. He did not dare kill boy, but he couldn't let him live, either. So he had mother and child put into chest and set adrift in stormy sea."

Anthony was listening raptly.

"They were set adrift with no food and all alone. Danae was scared, but Perseus wasn't scared." Tatiana smiled. "Perseus knew in his baby heart that his father wouldn't let anything happen to him. Nor to Danae." She paused. "And his father didn't. Zeus asked god of sea-Poseidon-to still the waters and calm the waves to let them pass safely in their frail ark to wash ashore on island in Greece."

Anthony smiled. "I knew they be safe." He breathed in deeply. "Did they live happily ever after?"

"...Yes."

"What happened to Perseus?"

"Someday, when you are older, I will tell you what Perseus's future held."

"You will be my...oracle?"

"Yes."

"But he didn't die?"

"Oh, no. He grew up nicely. All people on island could guess right away that Perseus was of royal birth-the son not just of a king, but of a god. He grew up strong, played all games, always beat his playmates, but his mind was set only on brave deeds by which he might prove himself to be hero among men."

Anthony stared at his mother. "Did Perseus become a hero?"

"Yes, son," answered Tatiana. "Perseus became spectacular hero. When you are little older, I will tell you what he did to Gorgon Medusa and to sea monster. But now I want you to have sweet dreams. I want you to dream of Luna Park and cotton candy and playing hide and seek under the boardwalk. All right?"

"Mama, wait-was the oracle right? Did Perseus kill...that man?"

"Yes, son. Perseus did kill Acrisius. Accidentally. Without meaning to."

"So he was right to send them away."

"Suppose so. Didn't matter much, though, did it?"

"No. That wasn't very cary, Mama. Maybe sea monster next time?"

"Maybe. I love you." She closed the bedroom door behind her.

Vikki had gone out for the evening, to another Christmas party at the hospital. She had invited Tatiana, but Tatiana had gone to several holiday parties in the last few weeks and was all partied out. She was at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and the New York Times spread out in front of her, and the radio on with the latest from Nuremberg, when the doorbell rang.

It was Jeb. He was wearing his naval whites, and he looked tall and wide, and...

"What you doing here?" she asked, surprised. She was not expecting him.

"Why, I've come to see you," Jeb said, pushing past her and inside.

She closed the door behind him. "It's late."

"Late for what?"

Tatiana went to the kitchen. "You want cup of tea?"

"How about a beer? You have a beer?"