“She was never the same. There was no laughter.” Natasha stared at him. Field wasn’t sure what she expected him to say.
“I won’t be like that, Richard. I won’t lie down and die.”
“Lena believed she could escape.”
Natasha sighed. “The last few weeks, she was more like her old self, just a little. It is hard to say what I mean, because there was so much we did not—could not—talk about. The past—you think it binds us, but it’s not like that. It seems black, do you see? It all seems black. What we have lost—it is so terrible, and the present so bleak, that we can never talk about it. Sometimes with others, if they had lived in Moscow or somewhere else, then it is possible to discuss the past or talk about the revolution. But not to Lena, because we had known each other too well.”
“Because there is no escape?”
“Of course. But Lena believed. And—”
“You think it was a mistake?”
Natasha didn’t answer. She was staring out of the window.
“Your father died in Russia?”
For a split second he saw the uncertainty in her eyes as she turned to face him and tried to recall what she had previously said. He wished immediately that he had not spoken. “On the ship,” she said.
“You buried him at sea.”
“No, in Harbin.”
Field wanted to ask if she ever went up to see the grave but thought it a subject best left alone.
She smiled at him. “You are a good listener.”
He shrugged.
“Few men know how to listen.” She paused. “It is strange. Once, I would have been your equal. Now, if you took me to one of your clubs, you would be thrown out in disgrace.”
“I’m not a member of any clubs.”
“No, but—”
“And I doubt I was ever your equal.”
Natasha did not respond.
“I don’t think running hosiery stores matches up to being a tsarist officer.”
“I told you, Richard, there is no shame in being poor.”
“There is when it matters more than life itself to be rich.” Field shook his head. “My father sank so deep into debt that his only escape was to blow his brains out.”
“But you admired him.”
“No.”
“But you loved—”
“I hated him. Hated what he did to my mother, to us, to himself.” Field stared at his hands, trying to contain his anger.
“How can this be so?”
“If your relationship with your father was different, then you can count yourself fortunate in that, at least. Mine was incapable of valuing what he had, or of not overvaluing what doesn’t matter, and the result was that he carried his anger within him. You say your father was soft; well, mine was hard. He would come home from work and the atmosphere in the house changed, as though someone had flicked a switch. We had to be quiet or we would be beaten, my sister and I. If we didn’t put our toys away, we were beaten. If he caught us talking after our lights had been put out, then we would be beaten. I say we, but it was usually me, and all the time, my mother did nothing.”
Field realized he’d said more than he’d intended but now could not stop himself. “She would never say a single word. She would come in and soothe us, put her hand on my brow as I was crying and say that she was sorry, and the more she did that, the more I hated her, too.” Field was staring at her. “You don’t want to hear this.”
“I do.” Her face was white. She put her hand on his and he tried to withdraw it, but she gripped it fiercely. “No.”
“You said—”
“I don’t care.”
Field ripped his hand free and glanced around the empty room. He bent his head. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” He lit a cigarette, his hand shaking. He leaned back.
“They’re your family, Richard.”
“It’s extraordinary how anger can sustain you. My whole life, until I came here, was like a shirt that didn’t fit. I didn’t come here to escape, I came here to begin again—to forget, to discard everything that had gone before.” He looked at her. “You cannot go back. I don’t want to. We’re a perfect match.”
Field sighed. “He always used to say, ‘Don’t be fortune’s fool, Richard. Whatever you do, don’t be fortune’s fool.’ ”
