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Please stop looking at me, she thought, afraid of his eyes and terrified of her own heart.

Paullina Simons

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Paullina Simons
Age: 61
Born: 1963
Born: January 1
Translator
Writer
St. Petersburg
Eyes
Looking
Eye
Thought
Heart
Terrified
Afraid
Please
Stop

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Tatiana realized she was too young to hide well what was in her heart but old enough to know that her heart was in her eyes.
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But on that sunlit Sunday, Alexander knew nothing, thought nothing, imagined nothing. He forgot Dimitri and war and the Soviet Union and escape plans, and even America, and crossed the street for Tatiana Metanova.
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Not bombs nor my broken heart can take away from me walking barefoot with you in jasmine June through the Field of Mars.
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Alexander smoked and watched her from his tree stump bench. What are you doing? she would ask him. Nothing, he would reply. Nothing but growing my pain into madness.
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Tatiana, I love you. Do you hear me? I love you like I’ve never loved anyone in my whole life. Now, get up. For me, Tatia. For me, please get up and go take care of your sister. Go on. And I’ll take care of you.” His lips kissed her cheek.
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Tatiana had imagined her Alexander since she was a child, before she believed that someone like him was even possible. When she was a little girl, she dreamed of a fine world in which a good man walked its winding roads, perhaps somewhere in his wandering soul searching for her.
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This is days and days and months and years and all the minutes in between, just you me.
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Daughters are supposed to be friends to their mothers in their old age.
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We’ll meet again in Lvov, my love and I…” Tatiana hums, eating her ice cream, in our Leningrad, in jasmine June, near Fontanka, the Neva, the Summer Garden, where we are forever young.
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We thought the hard part was over—but we were wrong. Living is the hardest part. Figuring out how to live your life when you’re all busted up inside and out—there is nothing harder.
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Tania, last time in Morozovo, I let you go, but not this time. This time we live together or we die together.
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There is a very definite Russian heart in me that never dies. I think you're born and you live your life with it and you die with it. I'm very much an American - my books tend to be about American things, but inside there's that sort of tortured, long-suffering, aching, constantly analysing Russian soul underneath the happy American exterior.
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I was blinded by stupidity for a brief moment in our life, for a flicker in the eternity in which you and I live, and I stumbled.
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I'm not hungry, Alexander whispered. I'm famished. Watch out for me. Now, don't make a single sound, he said, moving on top of her. Tania, God....I'll cover your mouth, just like this, and you hold on to me, just like this, and I'm going to-just like this-
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Thank you, she whispered, for keeping yourself alive, soldier. You're welcome, he whispered back.
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Love is when he is hungry and you feed him. Love is knowing when he is hungry.
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The power you have over someone who loves you is greater than any other power you'll ever have.
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Dear God, Tatiana prayed in bed that night, turning to the wall and pulling the white sheet and the thin brown blanket over herself. If You are there somewhere, please teach me how to hide what I never knew how to show.
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You are my hand grenade, my artillery fire. You have replaced my heart with yourself.
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Will you remember that? Anywhere you are, if you can look up and find Perseus in the sky, find that smile, and hear the galactic wind whisper your name, you'll know that it's me, calling for you... calling you back to Lazarevo. (Alexander)
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