Tatiana and Alexander

“Good one,” Alexander said calmly. “The state got on its feet enough to cover the cost of Lenin’s Rolls Royce, didn’t it?”

“What does Lenin’s Rolls Royce have to do with what we’re talking about?” screamed the engineer. Slavan laughed. “The Soviet Union will be fine,” the engineer continued. “It is in its infancy stages. It will borrow money from abroad if it has to.”

“With all due respect, citizen, no country in the world will lend money to the Soviet Union again,” said Alexander. “It repudiated all of its foreign debt in 1917 after the Bolshevik Revolution. They will not see any foreign money for a long time to come. The world banks are closed to the Soviet Union.”

“We have to be patient. Changes will not happen overnight. And you need to have a more positive attitude. Harold, what have you been teaching your son?”

Harold didn’t reply, but on the way home he said, “What’s gotten into you, Alexander?”

“Nothing.” Alexander wanted to take his father’s hand, like always, but suddenly thought he was too old. He walked alongside him, and then took it anyway. “For some reason, the economics are not working. This revolutionary state is built foremost on economics, and the state has figured out everything except how to pay the labor force. The workers feel less and less like proletariat than like the state-owned factories and machines. We’ve been here over three years. We just finished the first of the Five-Year Plans. And we have so little food, and nothing in the stores, and—” He wanted to say, and people keep disappearing, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Well, what do you think is going on in America?” Harold asked. “Thirty per cent unemployment, Alexander. You think it’s better there? The whole world is suffering. Look at Germany: such extraordinary inflation. Now this man Adolf Hitler is promising the Germans the end of all their troubles. Maybe he will succeed. The Germans certainly hope so. Well, Comrades Lenin and Stalin promised the same thing to the Soviet Union. What did Stalin call Russia? The second America, right? We have to believe, and we have to follow, and soon it will be better. You’ll see.”

“I know, Dad. You may be right. Still, I know that the state has to pay its people somehow. How much less can they pay you? We already can’t afford meat and milk, not that there is any, even if we could. And will they pay you less until—what? They’ll realize they need more money, not less, to run the government, and your labor is their largest variable cost. What are they going to do? Reduce your salary every year until—until what?”

“What are you afraid of?” Harold said, squeezing Alexander’s reluctant hand. “When you get big, you will have meaningful work. You still want to be an architect? You will. You will have a career.”

“I’m afraid,” said Alexander, extricating himself from his father, “that it’s just a matter of time before I am, before we all become nothing more than fixed capital.”

CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_4e86abac-4595-5638-9443-d8947e266d23)

Edward and Vikki, 1943

TATIANA WAS SITTING BY the window, holding her two-week-old baby with one hand and a book with the other. Her eyes were closed, and then she heard a breath, and instantly opened her eyes.

Edward Ludlow was standing a few feet away from her with an expression of curiosity and concern. She could understand. She had been very silent since her baby was born. She did not think that was so unusual. Many people who came here, leaving their life behind, must have been silent, as if the enormity of what was behind and what was ahead was just dawning on them in their small white rooms as they stared at the robes of Lady Liberty. “I was worried about you dropping the baby,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you …”

She showed him how tightly she was holding Anthony. “Don’t worry.”

“What are you reading?”

She looked at her book. “I’m not reading, just … sitting.” It was The Bronze Horseman and Other Poems by Aleksandr Pushkin.

“Are you all right? It’s the middle of the afternoon. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

She rubbed her eyes. The baby was still sleeping. “This child not sleep at night, only day.”

“Much like his mother.”

“Mother on his schedule.” She smiled. “Everything all right?”

“Yes, yes,” said Dr. Ludlow hurriedly. “I wanted to let you know that an INS worker is here to talk to you.”

“What he want?”

“What does he want? He wants to give you a chance to stay in the United States.”

“I thought because my son … because he was born on American ground …”

“American soil,” Dr. Ludlow corrected her gently. “The Attorney General needs to look at your case personally.” He paused. “We don’t have many stowaways coming to the United States during war, you have to understand. Especially from the Soviet Union. It’s unusual.”

Tatiana said, “Does he feel is safe to come here? Did you say him I have TB?”

“I told him. He’ll be wearing a mask. How are you feeling, by the way? Any blood in the cough?”

“None. And fever is gone. I feel better.”

“You’ve been going out a bit?”

“Yes, salty air is good.”

“Yes.” He stared at her solemnly. She stared solemnly back. “The salt air is good.” He cleared his throat and continued. “The nurses are all amazed your boy hasn’t caught TB.”

“Explain to them, Edward,” said Tatiana, “that if ten thousand people come to see me every day for whole year and I had TB every day for whole year, only ten to sixteen people contract disease from me.” She paused. “It’s not so contagious as people think. So send in INS man if he thinks he strong enough. But tell him odds. And tell him I don’t speak so good English.”

Smiling, Edward said her English was just fine and asked if she wanted him to stay.

“No. No, thank you.”

The INS man, Tom, talked to her for fifteen minutes to see if she spoke rudimentary English. Tatiana spoke rudimentary English. He asked about her skills. She told him she was a nurse, and that she could also sew and cook.

“Well, there is certainly a shortage of nurses during the war,” he said.

“Yes, much of it here at Ellis,” said Tatiana. She thought of Brenda being in the wrong profession.

“We don’t get many cases like you.”

She made no reply.

“You want to stay in the United States?”

“Of course.”

“You think you could get a job, to help in the war effort?”

“Of course.”

“Not be a public charge? That’s very important to us in time of war. You understand? The attorney general comes under scrutiny every time he lets a person like you slip through his fingers. The country is in turmoil. We must make sure you stay productive, and that you have allegiance to this country, not your old country.”

“Don’t worry about that,” she said. “As soon as my TB goes and they let me work, I will get job. I will be nurse, or seamstress, or cook. I will be all three, if need to. I will do what I have to after I am good again.”

As if suddenly remembering she had TB, Tom stood up and went to the door, tightening the mask around his mouth. “Where will you live?” he said in a muffled voice.

“I want to stay here.”

“After you get better, you’ll have to get an apartment.”

“Yes. Do not worry.”