Chapter 13

Late April – mid May 1965

With the Easter holidays ending at the weekend and the swimming club about to start up, Lizzie and I swam twice more during the week. I was looking for an improvement in the strength of my arms and shoulders due to lifting weights, but couldn’t feel any difference in my swimming. Euan had said it would take time – but not how much. The next time I saw him on my morning run, I’d have to ask him, but I looked for him each day with no luck.

Mutti had much on her mind – her hatred of Vogel and now my powerful need to tell the truth to Aunt Anastasia consumed her. She was distracted and I sought a way to help her. After thinking about it, I asked her if she’d like to come and talk with Aunt Anastasia on Saturday afternoon when she left work. She was uncertain at first, but finally decided to be there. Part of the agreement was that I wouldn’t talk about Mr Franks until she arrived.

As the swimming club was in recess, I ran on Saturday morning, but Euan was still missing. He’s not a young person anymore and I wondered if he was alright.

I know where he lives. Should I knock on his door?

I pondered that as I ran, finally deciding I had enough on my plate, but that decision left me uneasy.

Summer had finished, with morning temperatures becoming fresh.

How cold did it get in winter?

Brisbane was subtropical – and there were all sorts of warm climate plants around – including the amazing, delicious, gold-skinned Bowen mangoes we’d enjoyed over summer. These cooler temperatures were welcome after the humid heat, but I’d had enough of European wind-driven rain, sleet and snow.

Am I becoming a hot-house plant, preferring Brisbane’s summer heat to northern Europe’s miserable winters?

How had Willi managed, thrust from Australia’s warmth into one of England’s worst winters? He’d never mentioned it...

I went into the city early as I wanted to explore the Polish shelves of Mr Caune’s bookshop. Polish classes would start up on Thursday. I jotted down a few books to ask Mrs Kowalczyk about and I went upstairs to Aunt Anastasia’s flat at about half-past eleven.

I knocked on the door and unlocked it with the key she had insisted I take. “Good morning, Aunt Anastasia. It’s Karlota.”

“Come in, dear.” The welcome was clear and bright, mirroring her eyes, belying her age.

Aunt Anastasia was sitting in her usual chair by the window, wearing the dark blue ankle length dress, which was her everyday attire. She had the Russian newspaper spread on her lap.

“Come, come.” She waved me across the room. “Sit down and tell me how your week has gone.”

“Shall I make tea first?”

She beamed. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

Ten minutes later, we were sitting opposite one another at the window. I prattled on in Russian (with Aunt Anastasia correcting my occasional ‘peasant pronunciation’) about my week, steering clear of the emotional discussions with Mutti.

Eventually, I ran down, and in the silence, we shared a look.

Aunt Anastasia inspected her hands, folded in her lap before raising her head, her blue eyes searching mine. “Have you thought more about helping me?”

I stiffened, despite knowing that this was where the conversation had always been headed. “Yes, I’ve thought about it a lot.”

Aunt Anastasia’s shoulders relaxed a tension I’d not noticed.

“But I’d like to talk to you about this with my mother. She’ll be here about three o’clock.” I searched Aunt Anastasia’s face for reassurance. “Is that okay?”

Aunt Anastasia pursed her lips and her eyes avoided mine. “Your mother doesn’t trust me.” It was not a question.

“No, it’s not that.” I leant across, taking her hand as I thought how to reassure her. “It’s that ... we both need to talk to you about this.”

Aunt Anastasia looked down at my hand and I started to pull it away. Her other hand stopped me. “Alright, Karlota.” She looked up, sharing a thin-lipped smile. “We’ll wait.” She let go of my hand with a gentle squeeze, but I could see she was troubled.

After lunch, Aunt Anastasia had me find a slim volume on her bookshelf titled The Art of War by a writer called Laozi.

I looked at the name – it wasn’t Russian. “This is translated from Chinese into Russian?”

“Indeed. I think you might find it both interesting and useful if we are to lock horns with Mr Franks.”

Hearing his name startled me. Mutti and I always avoided naming him out loud, but I controlled my reaction as I flicked over the pages.

“You think dealing with ... that man ... is like waging war?”

“A little.” The murmur firmed. “We need to out-think him, out-manoeuvre him or he will trample us.”

I looked down at the slim book. “And this book will help?” I was sceptical.

“Maybe.” She looked across at me, a slight frown providing emphasis. “It will certainly make you think – and every little helps.”

I couldn’t see how an ancient Chinese treatise on waging war would help me in my dealings with Mr Franks, but if Aunt Anastasia wanted me to read it, I would. It was quite a small book. I read it aloud to Aunt Anastasia, with interruptions to check my understanding, make abstruse points about grammar and correct my lapses in pronunciation.

Time crawled round the beautiful Ormolu clock until we heard a knock on the door.

I looked across at Aunt Anastasia. “That’ll be Mutti.”

Aunt Anastasia started levering herself to her feet. “Well, let her in.”

I opened the door for Mutti, who smiled and gave me a hug. As we moved apart, she looked across the room. “Good afternoon, Miss Zaytseva.”

“Good afternoon, Mrs Miller.” She turned to me. “I think a glass of tea would be welcome, Karlota.”

As I headed to the kitchen to start the samovar, I heard Aunt Anastasia guide Mutti to a chair in the window. From the kitchen, I could hear them talking, but not make out what was being said, which was frustrating. A few minutes later, I carried the silver tea tray out and set it beside Aunt Anastasia. I pulled a chair for me across from the dining table. Their conversation had stopped as soon as I entered the room. An awkward silence settled over us.

“Tea, Mrs Miller?” Aunt Anastasia passed a crystal tea glass in its podstakannik across to Mutti.

“Thank you.”

“Here’s yours, Karlota.”

“Thank you.”

Silence descended once more, all of us unsure how to start. Mutti looked at me, gesturing with her eyes that I speak.

I sipped my tea. “Aunt Anastasia, I’ve told you I want to help you.”

“Yes.”.

I took a deep breath. “But I haven’t told you why.” I glanced at Mutti; she was looking at me but holding her face blank. “You see, we are being threatened and used by ... Mr Franks.” My eyes flicked to Mutti. I knew she did not like us naming him out loud, but Aunt Anastasia had named him.

Aunt Anastasia’s eyes widened, flicking between us. “Go on.”

I swallowed, glancing again at Mutti. “I’m not ... quite ... what I seem.” I faltered to a stop. This was difficult.

Aunt Anastasia’s lips curled into a tiny smile. “I think I can help.” She glanced at Mutti before returning her eyes to me. “While you are certainly German, you are from ... the east not west zone ... Yes?”

I blinked and gave Mutti an embarrassed look. “How ... was I that bad at telling lies?”

Aunt Anastasia reached across, picking up my hand. “No, my dear. It wasn’t your story that gave you away – although my teacher’s nose told me from the first that there was something you weren’t telling me.” Her smile broadened. “It was your Russian – or rather the speed you picked it up, supposedly from almost nothing.” Her eyes smiled at me. “That truly made me suspicious.”

“Oh...”

Aunt Anastasia’s voice was a touch patronising. “Karlota, you are talented with languages, but to come from nothing to near fluency in a new language in three months of a few hours a week. Well, I’ve never heard of such a thing.” She looked across at Mutti. “There was some home tutoring as well?”

Mutti remained motionless.

Aunt Anastasia’s eyes returned to me. “Then I came across a newspaper article about the education system in east Germany. The article told me that all east German students learn Russian from the start of their schooling – and I began to think.” She looked at me. “You’ve been learning Russian for about six years?”

I sagged, dejected that she had seen through me.

Aunt Anastasia saw my look. “Don’t be hard on yourself, Karlota. That you are learning multiple languages concurrently tells me you are a talented and dedicated linguist.” She smiled. “It must be hard to pretend you don’t know a language while learning it.”

Willi had done that with Mutti and me...

Aunt Anastasia’s face was puzzled.

“What I do not yet understand is ... why Mr Franks can blackmail you.” Her eyes gathered mine and Mutti’s. “You are defectors, but there are many defectors from east Germany, though probably only a few in Australia.” She eyed us, speculation on her face. “What makes you different?”

I glanced across at Mutti. She gave me a nod, encouraging me to go on.

“Well ... umm ... my father is a Stasi ... umm ... an east German secret police officer and Mrs...” I saw Mutti stiffen. “Er ... MI6 used us as bait to trick eastern Bloc agents into the open to kidnap us.” I suppressed a shiver at the off-hand way Mrs Henderson had dangled us in front of my father. “MI6 rescued us and they killed and captured agents in England and elsewhere. After that, the Stasi and probably the KGB as well wanted us ... dead.” I stopped, the terrifying detail of the gunfight around us that night pinning me to my seat. I forced myself into the present. “They shipped us off to Australia as the safest place. Mr Franks realised he could blackmail us: if we didn’t help him spy on the Poles, Germans and Russians here in Brisbane, he would betray us to the Stasi.”

Aunt Anastasia’s lips pursed as she glanced between us. “Disgusting man ... but how did he know you were here?”

Mutti leant forward. “That was my fault, I’m afraid. I insisted to MI6 we needed an emergency contact here in case things went bad. MI6 contacted ASIO and ... that man ... decided he could use us to his advantage as I speak Polish and Russian fluently.”

Aunt Anastasia looked at Mutti, her eyes narrowing. “But why is it Karlota doing the work, not you, Mrs Miller?”

I could hear disapproval in her voice and saw Mutti wince at the implication. I jumped in. “We had no choice.” I could see the hurt in Mutti’s eyes. “If Mutti had tried, our story would not have stood up for long. People would have realised she was from east Germany – and we would have been exposed to my father.” Again, I glanced across at Mutti and rushed on. “But Mr ... er ... that man didn’t care and we came up with a way for me to do the work. Mutti helps – a lot.” By the end, I could hear the pleading in my voice.

Mutti had no choice ... she’s not abusing me...

Aunt Anastasia frowned over this for a few seconds before her face relaxed. “I understand.” She looked at us. “You had no choice.” Her glance at Mutti was full of empathy. “He put you in a desperate position, didn’t he?”

Mutti sighed. “I ... well, we ... couldn’t see any other way.” She glanced at me, loaded with love and pride. “It was Kal that came up with the ideas that made this possible and it is her that carries out our plans. I help when it’s needed.”

Aunt Anastasia acknowledged me with a smile filled with respect. “Well done, Karlota.”

I blushed at the praise.

Aunt Anastasia gave me a confused look. “But why did you feel you had to tell me all this? You could have continued as before – I had my suspicions, but that’s not proof...”

I huffed out a breath. “Because of me.” I looked down at my feet for a moment before looking up, glancing in apology at Mutti. “In every part of my life I was having to tell lies and it was ... is wearing me down.” I shot Mutti a regretful look. “I persuaded Mutti that I ... we ... could have an honest relationship with you because you would not betray us.”

Aunt Anastasia considered this in silence before looking at both of us with deep gratitude on her face. “Thank you for your trust.” She picked up her tea, took a sip and frowned. “I think we need fresh tea. This is barely warm.”

I gathered up the tea things and made us another round.

Mutti came into the kitchen as I was finishing. “Aunt Anastasia says there are some lamingtons in a biscuit tin in the pantry. Can you find them?”

“I’ll look.”

There were several biscuit tins, but I found the correct one on my second try. I arranged half a dozen of the small chocolate and desiccated coconut-coated lamingtons on a plate and added that to the tray, which I carried out.

After the rather intense conversation, I relaxed, watching Mutti and Aunt Anastasia chat – in Russian – about Aunt Anastasia’s experiences in China; they got on well.

Aunt Anastasia turned to me a few minutes later. “What do we tell Mr Franks?”

I gathered my thoughts for a moment. “Tell him you haven’t been able to find anyone suitable in the Russian community. But you’ve been teaching Russian to a German girl who’s agreed to help you.” I turned to Mutti. “We’ll tell him I’ve attached myself to a highly placed member of the Russian community by pretending to learn Russian.” Mutti’s smile had that predatory touch. I turned to Aunt Anastasia. “We need to make sure that he doesn’t realise we both know the truth about each other.” I was feeling devious. “That way, we both get credit for the same thing.”

Aunt Anastasia laughed. “That’s excellent, Karlota – I like it. Perhaps reading Laozi helped after all.”

I smiled at Mutti. “Mutti is teaching me about this sort of thing: always seek a way to take advantage of a situation.”

Mutti returned the smile. “You’re learning, Kal.” She looked at the clock. “But we must be going, Miss Zaytseva.”

I gathered up the tea things. “I’ll wash these up.”

“Thank you, dear.” Aunt Anastasia smiled.

Ten minutes later, as we were walking down to the tram, Mutti took my hand, giving it an encouraging squeeze. “You handled that well.”

“Thank you, Mutti.”

“I think this will work well for all of us.”

“I do, too.”

On Monday, there was still no sign of Euan. After spending time with Aunt Anastasia and the excitement of the ball and Mr Franks, school and my usual activities felt humdrum. I’d asked Lizzie not to mention the ball, as I didn’t want to attract attention. I could see that she was bursting to share my experiences with her friends, but she agreed to say nothing.

Euan was still absent on Wednesday morning.

What was going on?

I decided that I’d go to his house on Friday after school if I hadn’t seen him.

At swimming on Wednesday, Lizzie blitzed the fifty-meter field, much to her delight. My time for the 800m swim improved by several seconds: the weightlifting was helping, it seemed.

As always, my improvement thrilled Lizzie and she berated me when I downplayed it. “Kal, you’re good and getting better all the time. I’m sure you’ll be beating people in the long swims by next year. Remember, you’re at least a year younger than all of them.”

I hugged her in thanks before we headed for our trams. She’s such a caring, supportive person and I’m truly lucky to have found her as a friend.

I hate lying to her...

On Thursday after Polish class, I showed Mrs Kowalzcyk my list of books. She looked at the list and frowned. “I think you might find them dry.” Her lips pursed for a second. “Umm ... have you read any Science Fiction?”

“No. What’s that?”

Mrs Kowalczyk laughed. “I don’t know myself. But there’s a new Polish author that is being spoken of highly – Stanislaw Lem – and he writes this science fiction, sort of ... futuristic fiction. Ask the bookshop if they can get you a copy of his novel Solaris. If you can get a copy, please let me know what you think of it.”

I jotted down the name and book title in my exercise book. I’d speak to Mr Caune about it on Saturday.

At home, Mutti told me she was still waiting to set up a meeting with Mr Franks but had heard nothing. Euan and Dodger were still absent on Friday morning and I went to his house straight from the tram home from school. The blinds were down – but that could be to keep out the sunlight.

I knocked on the door and waited. I didn’t hear any movement and knocked again. After a minute, I heard movement and the door opened. Euan stood there blinking in the sunlight.

“Ah ... Karlota.” His shoulders were drooping, not in his usual upright soldier stance.

“Good afternoon, Euan ... er ... I called round to see if everything was okay. I’ve not seen you and Dodger for quite a few days.”

His shoulders slumped further and he looked away. “I’m ‘fraid Dodger is n’ longer with us.”

“Oh, Euan.”

Without thinking, I pulled him into a hug and I felt his hands come up and rest on my shoulders. After a few seconds, he gave my shoulder a gentle pat and pushed me away.

“Thank ye, Karlota.” His eyes lifted over my head. “We’d been t’gether nigh on sixteen yairs. I ken this day was approachin’, but...” His voice drifted away.

My single experience with death was the Stasi agent getting shot in our car when Mrs Henderson rescued us and that was totally different. I didn’t know what to say to comfort Euan and, in my desire to help, blundered on. “Can I come in and make you a cup of tea?”

Euan’s eyes locked with mine. “‘N yer mam? She’d approve of ye comin’ inta m’ house – alone?”

I stood there, uncertain how to answer.

Euan smiled and gestured to a bench on the veranda. “Sit yesel’ on that. I’ll fetch out tea.”

A few minutes later, Euan brought out two mugs of tea, handing one to me and sitting himself in silence at the far end of the bench.

“Thank you.”

We sipped our tea in silence for a few minutes before Euan spoke. “I buried him over yonder, by t’ fence.” He pointed to some freshly turned earth. “I’ve a mind t’plant a tree o’er him.”

I searched for something to say. “I knew Dodger whilst he was old. What was he like as a puppy?”

For a moment I thought I’d said the wrong thing; Euan leant his head back against the house, eyes squeezed shut before chuckling. “He were a terrible chewer – shoes, chair legs, ye name’t and he’d chew on’t. He fair wrecked a few things ‘til I trained him.”

Once started, Euan reminisced about Dodger for some minutes as we finished our tea. Eventually, he glanced down into his empty mug. “Ah, lassie. Ye should’na let me prattle on — but thanks.”

I smiled. “I miss you out on my runs.”

“Weel now, suppose I still need t’ walk.” He sized up my shoulders. “‘N I see ye’s been usin’ them weights.”

I glanced down at my arms. “I can’t see a difference. But I shaved a bit off the eight-hundred-meter swim this week.”

“‘Tis na more muscle ye want, but stronger muscles. Anyhow ye shoulders have grown, I reckon.”

“Thank you for lending me the weights.”

“‘Tis ma pleasure, lassie.” Euan stood. “‘N thank ye fer coming round t’ brighten ma day.

I stood up. “I was worried about you, Euan.”

Euan huffed. “Away wit’ ye, lassie. Ye should concairn yersel’ wi’ lads, not old codgers likes o’ me.”

There’s only one lad that concerns me...

I could see the twinkle in Euan’s eye. “See you on my run, on Sunday?”

“We’ll see.”

At home, I rushed to get tea ready for Mutti. When asked about ‘that man’, she shook her head.

“I went round to Euan’s house this afternoon.”

Mutti raised an eyebrow. “You need to be careful...”

I wrinkled my forehead. “Euan’s not dangerous.”

Mutti’s gaze was disapproving. “That’s not what I was suggesting. But what would the neighbours think of him, seeing you, a young girl, go into his house?”

“Oh ... But I didn’t go in. I sat outside and Euan brought tea out.”

“Alright. But why did you go there?”

“I haven’t seen him and his dog on my morning runs. I was worried about him. It turns out Euan’s dog – Dodger – has died.”

“Oh, the poor man. How is he?”

“He was down, but I got him reminiscing about Dodger and that seemed to cheer him up.”

Mutti smiled with approval. “Do watch out for him – but remember, you shouldn’t go into his house unless I’m there. We don’t want the neighbours gossiping about him.” She thought for a moment. “We should ask him round for a meal one weekend?”

“That’s a marvellous idea. I think we should leave it for a week or two, though.”

“Probably a good idea.”

At swimming, I held my improved time for the 800 m. Coach told me I could try the 1600 m on Wednesday. Lizzie gave me an ‘I told you so’ look. We parted with a wave after swimming, with her heading home while I walked into the city.

Mr Caune noted down the Stanislaw Lem book. “I’ll see what I can do, Karlota...” He looked up, a twinkle in his eye. “This might test my contacts in the publishing world,” he said, relishing the challenge.

“Good luck.” I smiled. “Mrs Kowalczyk, my teacher at the Polish club recommended it.”

Upstairs, I went to make tea once I’d greeted Aunt Anastasia. As I sat down with the tea tray, her unusual fidgeting warned me she had something on her mind.

Mr Franks?

She sipped her tea through narrowed lips, replacing the podstakannik on the mat with an uncharacteristic clumsy clunk, nearly sloshing the tea over the rim. “Have you spoken with Mr Franks yet?”

Indeed, Mr Franks.

“Not yet, I’m afraid. Mutti is trying to set up a meeting, but it hasn’t happened yet.” I pondered this for a moment. “What about you?”

She shook her head. “I’ve left a message but heard nothing yet.”

I gave a dry laugh. “He’s playing hard to get. Mutti says he plays games to prove he’s in charge.”

Aunt Anastasia didn’t react and we both sipped our tea as the silence deepened around us.

After a while, Aunt Anastasia shifted in her chair. “Would you mind sharing with me the sort of thing you are doing in the German and Polish clubs?” Aunt Anastasia sounded diffident.

“Well ... I’m not doing anything in the German Club. I told them my mother doesn’t want me speaking German, but I don’t want to lose my heritage. They let me join the book club on Saturday afternoons. I keep my ears open and take home a newspaper which we read, but I haven’t seen or heard anything that might interest ... that man.”

Aunt Anastasia looked up. “Why do you refer to him as ‘that man’?”

“Mutti is worried that someone might overhear us talking; we try to keep things anonymous.”

Aunt Anastasia frowned.

“In east Germany, the Stasi planted bugs – listening devices – in people’s houses. Mutti has the radio on while we talk, in case.”

“I see...” Aunt Anastasia looked across at me. “I can understand why the two of you are careful, given the danger you face if you’re discovered.” She paused for a moment. “Your mother seems quite adept at this sort of thing.”

“Mutti learned this in Ravens...” I snapped my motor mouth shut.

Aunt Anastasia sat motionless for a second. “Ravens ... brück?”

I dropped my head, annoyed that I’d revealed more about Mutti than I should.

Aunt Anastasia’s gaze was piercing. “Your mother was in a Nazi death camp?”

I stared at my hands, taking several deep breaths.

When I raised my head, Aunt Anastasia’s face was full of understanding. “It’s not your story to tell, is it?” Her eyes stayed on mine. “And that’s important to you, isn’t it?”

I jerked a nod, angry that I’d slipped up – again.

“Thinking before you speak is difficult, isn’t it?” Her eyes were full of sympathy. “It’s alright, Karlota. I’ll keep that to myself.” Her eyes drifted away from mine but settled on me after a moment’s thought. “You should tell your mother that there are a few people here in Brisbane that survived those ... places. I don’t know if any of them were at Ravensbrück, but perhaps some were.”

My stomach sank at the thought of another way we could be exposed. “I’ll let her know...”

For a moment, I tried to fit this fresh problem into all the others Mutti and I faced. I couldn’t see anything we could do about it. We must hope these people would not recognise a middle-aged Mutti as the girl and teenager they had known.

Aunt Anastasia leant across and patted my hand, dragging my attention to her. “So, tell me about the Polish Club.”

I dragged my mind from the swamp it had been contemplating – and realised that Aunt Anastasia had switched subjects deliberately. My eyes squeezed shut for a moment. “I had a Polish friend in England, Wi ... er ... we did our homework together and swapped languages.” It seemed she’d not noticed me pull myself up and I pushed on, hoping she’d say nothing. “I went to the Polish club as I heard they had a library and I wanted to borrow Polish language books to help me keep my Polish alive. They let me join the Polish classes they run on Thursday after school for the children of members.” I was quite proud of my achievements there. I told her about helping in the office and finding a membership list – and about Jan Drozd.

“Mutti and I have a card index we add to each week using the German, Polish and now Russian language newspapers to keep track of people.”

“My dear, you and your mother seem to be meticulous about this.”

There it was again, that niggling, out-of-reach thought about Mutti.

Aunt Anastasia waved across at her desk. “Please pass me my diary. It’s that green book on my writing desk. Oh – and the fountain pen as well.”

The diary was tooled leather with “1965 Дневник” and the Russian eagle in gold on the front. A leather clasp held it closed. I handed it and the pen to Aunt Anastasia and she flicked open the clasp.

“Now...” She leafed through the pages. “Ah yes, here we are.” She looked across at me. “On Saturday, the twelfth of June, the Korolevs have invited me to a cocktail party at their house. I’d like you to come with me.” She looked up. “You danced with Maxim, their son, at the Easter Ball.”

I shrugged. I had danced with nearly a dozen young men at the ball.

Aunt Anastasia smiled. “Maxim was your first dance partner ... taller than you, with dark hair and eyes – more brown than nearly black like yours.”

His face floated up from amongst the others I’d danced with that night.

“He’s nineteen, studying law at the University.” Aunt Anastasia pursed her lips. “I expect he thinks you are older than you are, thanks to your makeup and the champagne you were drinking.” She gave me a calculating look. “I think you should get close to him.”

I wasn’t sure where this was going and I remained silent under Aunt Anastasia’s penetrating gaze.

After a moment, she quirked a smile. “Do you have much experience with boys?”

Willi’s gentle breath on my neck, our arms around one another, hands sliding over our bodies...

My face flushed and I dropped my eyes. “Um – no.”

“But there was ... someone special?” Her eyes were soft, understanding.

I couldn’t speak, squeezing my eyes shut, clamping down on the sudden tears. After a moment, Aunt Anastasia’s hand slid across mine.

“Your gold chain?”

My hands flew to my neck, the tears now beyond suppression trickling down my face. Through my misery, I heard Aunt Anastasia shift in her chair and a soft handkerchief dabbed my cheeks. My eyes flew open to find her leaning forward, her eyes glistening as a single tear spilled from an eye, called from her own deep sorrow. I reached up and moved her hand across to her face, our tears together darkening the snowy cloth.

We shared our sadness for several seconds until I summoned enough strength to speak. “They dragged me away without a goodbye.” I smothered the emotion. “I tried to send him a message – but she didn’t pass it on.”

Aunt Anastasia’s pale blue eyes watched as we moved our shared hands and handkerchief to collect the tears on our faces. “Yuri was a cavalry officer. So gay, so alive.” She shook her head as if trying to deny what had occurred. “He died fighting in Manchuria in the war with Japan ... in 1904.”

Her eyes closed and I saw her swallow, still feeling the loss across the decades. She struggled to her feet and I leapt up to help, worried that the emotion we were sharing was painful for her.

She read the care on my face. “It’s alright, Karlota.” She patted my shoulder. “Stay here. I want to show you something.” She disappeared into her bedroom, her cane clicking on the polished boards when she reached the edge of the carpet. After a minute, she returned, clasping a large, inlaid Chinese box to her chest. Sitting down, she arranged the box on her lap and shared a watery smile.

“This is a Chinese puzzle box. Parts of the pattern slide and unlock the box.” Her hands moved over the dark lacquered surface, recalling its feel.

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