The Four Winds of Heaven (43 page)

Kolya was aware of the impression which he was creating. He sensed her admiration, yet could see that it was his physical being and not his true self which caused it. Sometimes their eyes met as she laughed, and she would remain staring at him for several seconds, as if unable to bring herself to look away from him.

He allowed this to go on for a period of days, chatting to her all the while no more nor less than he spoke to her aunt or to his mother. But if she demonstrated an interest in a particular subject he would, the next afternoon, find something to tell her about it. At a ball he was the first in line to ask her to dance, and when he took her tiny form into his capable arms, he saw that her gray eyes lit with joy. He danced in silence then, knowing that she was basking in the pleasure of movement and his grace. But she said, “I am amazed, Karl Maximovitch. A man so busy as you, who finds time to waltz with such agility!”

The comment was rather inane and therefore unlike Sonia, but he seemed pleased with it. “Papa needs my help,” he said seriously. “I work because it is a challenge, but also because there is little choice. However, I do take time for amusement. Since your arrival, I have taken more time than ever.”

She gazed at him and smiled. “Thank you,” she replied. And that was all. But when Sonia went home, she said to her Aunt Clara, “I am impressed with Karl Maximovitch. He takes his duties seriously. Why is he not married?”

“Perhaps because he has never found the right mixture of laughter and honor in a woman,” Clara answered. Sonia pondered the notion and found it odd. “No, think about it,” her aunt said. “Tania, for instance, is full of mirth. But she would bristle at the thought of Kolya's long working hours. Another girl might be kind and good to his parents, a dutiful wife—but not one who would stimulate his intellect, or make him laugh.” Sonia winced; she had known one woman like that, but had seen only the joy in her. Natasha Tagantseva. Yet perhaps Ossip had found in her just such a combination. Sonia went to sleep intrigued, and curious about Kolya Saxe.

More than anyone else, the Gunzburgs visited Aunt Guitele and the Saxe family. But Sonia also attended other teas, and there were theatrical presentations and concerts. She found her days filled with pleasant activities, and her evenings bright and animated. She loved Kiev. Her single point of irritation concerned Sioma Halperin, the social upstart, who crossed her path whenever he could. She could not stand him, and cringed at the mere sight of him. Sometimes she would see Mossia Zlatopolsky, and would think: I have made a friend that will last. Someday a woman will be pleased to be his wife. She did not know that in his mind, he thought: Too bad she is twenty-two, the perfect age for marriage. I envy the man who will possess her, for one will certainly come before I am ready to pledge my faith to any woman.

One morning, Clara knocked on Sonia's door, and when she entered, her thin face was grave. “What is it, Aunt Clara?” Sonia asked. She rose and nervously smoothed out a wrinkle in her blouse. Never since the day of the pogrom eight years before, had she seen the older woman with such a serious expression. “Have I offended you?” she asked anxiously.

“No, my love, of course not,” her aunt replied. She sat down, a strange glow in her eyes. “But I come bearing news. You have two suitors for your hand in marriage. Aunt Guitele has told me that Maxik wishes you to be his wife, and Madame Saxe came to me yesterday, announcing that Kolya is very much in love with you and also wishes to marry you. What do you think? Have you thought about either of them, Sonitchka?”

The young woman sat down abruptly, the blood rushing to her cheeks. “It did occur to me that Kolya was most gracious at the last ball, and that Maxik enjoys talking with me,” she said slowly. “But somehow, I did not think that they were serious. I like them both. Each one possesses unique qualities, each surely has his faults. Frankly—I am quite speechless, Aunt Clara.”

“But you are not leaving Kiev for two weeks,” her aunt replied. “Nobody will press you for your decision until the moment of your departure. You will have time to reflect, and to decide. Each one is a good match, in your uncle's and my opinion. Of course, I need not tell you that Sioma Halperin has made a similar proposal. But I have only to look at you when I mention his name to gauge your reaction. Your uncle has already politely discouraged him.”

“Oh, thank God!” Sonia cried. “Now perhaps he will leave me alone!”

Sonia felt dizzy. With Volodia she had felt something new, something actually quite terrible, something forbidden and yet sweet. She had respected him, but hated his family. Never had the idea of a union truly entered her mind. She had wanted to kiss him, yes, but had in fact wished mostly for the security of knowing his love—just that. Because she had not allowed herself the freedom of candidly loving in return, she had never resolved her emotions after his death. Now she was suddenly presented with two mature young men of good standing who could offer her an entire life of which no one close to her could disapprove. She could decide, and permit her emotions to influence her decision. She could acknowledge her womanhood! Finally, after all the years, she could place Volodia in a special niche, a treasured and beloved niche, but nonetheless remove him from the mainstream of her existence. She could hope to live in joy again, and put away her guilt.

But after the first breath of happiness, sobriety returned. Sonia had always been logical, and now she sat in the quiet of her room, thinking about her future. She could not select a husband for his attractiveness alone, for she knew so many who had, disastrously. There must also be emotional, financial, physical balance. Max was a good son, faithful, affectionate, and therefore would indubitably be an attentive husband. He was a very talented musician, and that was an important point they had in common. He dressed well and had received an impeccable education. He was original, which was both good and bad, but at least she could be sure that he would not bore her through their days together.

However, Max possessed two enormous defects. For one, he was excessively ugly. If his children, particularly a daughter, were to resemble him, what a disaster that would be! But, and this was more serious, he did not work and did not wish to work. Certainly he had no need of additional income—but Sonia wished he would do something, no matter what, even collect rare coins or stamps! How could Sonia, so industrious by nature, live with a man of total leisure and no dedication?

Kolya Saxe, on the other hand, was extremely handsome, yet not in the pretty manner that she despised in so many dandies of her generation. He was more refined, more worldly than Max, and was a driven worker. But there was something indefinable which kept her from unhesitatingly going to him, guided by her physical attraction for him and her respect. Was it the slight drooping motion of his lips, was it the bright glitter of his black eyes that were so difficult to penetrate? She thought: Perhaps he would fall in love with another, and one day be unfaithful. With Max, I would never have to fear that…

Since Aunt Clara had told her of the two proposals, Sonia no longer felt the same toward the two young men. At Aunt Guitele's, Maxik would dispense with an excess of formality and whisk her toward the piano more rapidly than before, and at the Saxes', she was placed next to Kolya for tea. But now, when Kolya's black spaniel came between them under the table, begging for scraps, Sonia would lower her hand to comb her fingers through its hair, and would encounter Kolya's fingers performing the same caress from his side. It was their only intimate gesture, but it filled the young woman with feverish chills so that she could hardly speak. Yet she was almost afraid of her magnetic pull toward the tall, dark man. She had never realized that she, cool and poised like her mother, possessed such emotions urging her to do forbidden, impulsive things. She wondered if she were quite normal, quite healthy, when she sat beside Kolya and felt his fingertips brush past her own, electrifying her entire body.

Time continued to pass, inexorably bringing Sonia's day of reckoning closer. One afternoon, when Kolya was taking tea at Aunt Clara's apartment, she asked him softly, “Will you be at the Horowitz concert tomorrow?”

He started. “Is it tomorrow?” he cried. “I had certainly intended to be present, but work piled up and I forgot the date.” He gazed at her, and his black eyes bored intensely into her delicate face. “If you go, I must go, absolutely. When I return home, I shall send someone to purchase me a ticket.”

She blushed, and regarded her glass. “I doubt that you will find one, Karl Maximovitch,” she stated. “Uncle Misha purchased ours three days ago, and few remained even then.”

“But I shall try, nevertheless,” he asserted. She raised her gray eyes and saw his longing, and shuddered. She was both delighted and afraid.

The next day the Gunzburgs arrived early at the concert hall, which was still nearly empty. On the stage, the piano had been pushed against the right wall, and in the open space, seven or eight rows of chairs had been set up. The first row was barely six feet from Horowitz's stool. It would be difficult for him to play with people crowding behind him, and for the listeners it would be no less disagreeable, for the balance of the music would be wrong. But undoubtedly those seated on the stage would be students of the Conservatory, and to hear the Master from too close was better than to miss him altogether.

The public began to stream in. Sonia turned in her seat and stared at the front door, straining to discern all who passed through it. Kolya was not among them. The flow of patrons became a flood, and she could no longer make out each individual. She turned back nervously and adjusted the folds of her skirt. Kolya had not come. Evidently he had been unable to purchase a ticket.

Horowitz entered, greeted by thunderous applause, although he was only at the start of his career. As he bowed and sat down silence fell upon the hall. He began his first piece, and when he had finished it, the audience applauded and the ushers opened the doors to let the latecomers into the hall. Five or six people entered, but not Kolya. He would definitely not come. Sonia regarded the program on her lap. But all at once, a deep electric shock rushed through her body, and she raised her eyes. Horowitz had patiently awaited silence, was raising both hands above the keyboard to attack the second piece. At that instant, Sonia saw Kolya upon the stage, about to take one of the student seats at the back. One second later, the people in front of him hid him from her sight. She had just had time to make him out. He would come to her at intermission.

She closed her eyes, and warmth flooded her being. Now she knew! If she had suddenly felt his presence so strongly, it must be because she truly loved him. She allowed the nape of her neck to touch the back of her chair, and thought: My mind is made up. But when he sought her out between numbers, and bowed over her hand, she did not betray her decision. Nor did she breathe a word of it to her aunt and uncle.

The following morning, at breakfast, she announced, “I would like to accept Kolya's suit, Aunt Clara, Uncle Misha. But how can we announce this to Aunt Guitele without offending her?”

“There shall not be a problem,” Misha declared. “Guitele always knew about Kolya's proposal. She is aware that Max is not a man to turn the head of a pretty girl. Clara will go to her at tea, without you, and tonight I shall go to the Saxes. We shall telegraph your parents. Your father can meet us in Warsaw, for we too must leave Kiev and head back to Paris. Then I shall be able to discuss the details with him, matters which would not interest you but which must be settled. This is not a time for a lady's maid to escort you home.”

When the Gunzburgs departed from Kiev, their many friends and relatives flocked to the train station to see them off. Maxik came to Sonia and said, “We shall see you again, Sofia Davidovna. Kiev is in need of you.” But he did not linger, and she was swept up in good-byes, from new friends who she knew would be hers for life, since she would be returning soon as Madame Karl Maximovitch Saxe.

Most of those present had come to kiss Misha and Clara goodbye, as they would not see them again until the next sugar campaign, so they did not fuss too much over the visiting niece. No one but Max and his mother knew of the impending wedding plans, and so they did not notice that Kolya's parents, and Moussia and Ilya, took Sonia aside and kissed her, or that she blushed when she was momentarily left alone with the second son, Karl. He did not kiss her. But his black eyes did not leave her face, and he whispered, “You will return as my bride, and the next time I shall see you, we shall be betrothed before the world.”

At the Hotel Bristol in Warsaw, Baron David met his brother, his sister-in-law, and his daughter. He declared that he did not need to meet Kolya in order to grant his consent, after the glowing report he heard from Misha. Mathilde would write the Saxes, and would invite them to spend the New Year in St. Petersburg, where they would formulate an official marriage proposal. It would be two weeks hence. Until then, only Ossip and Johanna would be told.

On December 30, Kolya and his parents arrived at the Hotel de l'Europe in the capital. Mathilde and Sonia went to greet them, and Mathilde thought: This young man is everything I myself would have liked in a husband. She looked at her daughter and admired the rosy glow upon her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes. The two young people were never alone, but they spoke to one another with their faces. Mathilde felt a twinge of regret, witnessing this younger, lither version of herself in the throes of a fulfilling love. But she was glad for her daughter, and relieved, too, after her years of worry concerning Sonia's withdrawn moods. She invited the Saxes to spend New Year's Eve with the Gunzburgs and also asked them to come to luncheon the next day, in order to make their first official visit to the parents of their son's intended.

Baron David had recently begun to suffer acute attacks of angina pectoris, and was in bed. But waiting for Sonia and Mathilde was Johanna de Mey, very excited, the cords standing out in her neck, her hands dry as she rubbed them over and over each other. Her eyes gleamed unhealthily. “Add ‘1912,'” she said to Sonia when she returned from the hotel with her mother.