days—which, after all, is all that anyone has ever asked of love.
As these thoughts passed through the Count’s mind, was he concerned that Mishka still pined for Katerina? Was he concerned that his old friend was morbidly retracing the footsteps of a lapsed romance?
Concerned? Mishka would pine for Katerina the rest of his life! Never again would he walk Nevsky Prospekt, however they chose to rename it, without feeling an unbearable sense of loss. And that is just how it should be. That sense of loss is exactly what we must anticipate, prepare for, and cherish to the last of our days; for it is only our heartbreak that finally refutes all that is ephemeral in love.
The Count picked up Mishka’s letter with the intention of reading on, but as he turned the page, three youths leaving the Piazza happened to stop on the other side of one of the potted palms to carry on some weighty conversation.
The trio was made up of a good-looking Komsomol type in his early twenties, and two younger women—one blonde, one brunette. The three were apparently headed for the Ivanovo Province in some official capacity and the young man, who was their captain, now warned his compatriots of the privations they would inevitably face while assuring them of their work’s historical significance.
When he finished, the brunette asked how large the province was, but before he could answer, the blonde obliged: “It is over three hundred square miles with a population of half a million. And while the region is largely agricultural, it has only eight machine tractor stations and six modern mills.”
The handsome captain did not seem the least put out by his younger comrade answering on his behalf. On the contrary, it was plain from the expression on his face that he held her in the highest regard.
As the blonde concluded her geography lesson, a fourth member of the party jogged up from the direction of the Piazza. Shorter and younger than the leader, he was wearing the sailor’s cap that had been favored among landlocked youth ever since Battleship Potemkin. In his hand he had a canvas jacket, which he now held out to the blonde.
“I took the liberty of getting your coat,” he said eagerly, “when I picked up mine.”
The blonde accepted the coat with a nod, and without a word of thanks.
Without a word of thanks . . . ?
The Count rose to his feet.
“Nina?”
All four youths turned toward the potted palm.
Leaving his white jacket and Mishka’s letter in his chair, the Count stepped from behind the fronds.
“Nina Kulikova!” he exclaimed. “What a delightful surprise.”
And that is exactly what it was for the Count: a delightful surprise. For he had not seen Nina in over two years; and many had been the time that he had passed the card room or the ballroom and found himself wondering where she was and what she was doing.
But in an instant, the Count could see that for Nina his sudden appearance was less opportune. Perhaps she’d rather not have to explain to her comrades about her acquaintance with a Former Person. Perhaps she hadn’t mentioned that she had lived as a child in such a fine hotel. Or perhaps she simply wanted to carry on this purposeful conversation with her purposeful friends.
“I’ll be just a minute,” she told them, then crossed over to the Count.
Naturally, after such a long separation the Count’s instinct was to embrace little Nina like a bear; but she seemed to dissuade his impulse with her posture.
“It is good to see you, Nina.”
“And you, Alexander Ilyich.”
The old friends took each other in for a moment; then Nina made a gesture toward the white jacket hanging over the arm of the chair.
“I see you are still presiding over tables at the Boyarsky.”
“Yes,” he said with a smile, though unsure from her businesslike tone whether he should take the remark as a compliment or criticism. . . . He was tempted in turn to ask (with a glint in his eye) if she had had an “hors d’oeuvre” at the Piazza, but thought better of it.
“I gather you are on the verge of an adventure,” he said instead.
“I suppose there will be adventurous aspects,” she replied. “But mostly there will be a good deal of work.”
The four of them, she explained, were leaving the next morning with ten other cadres of local Komsomol youth for the Kady District—an ancient agricultural center in the heart of the Ivanovo Province—to aid the udarniks,