his hands, one tense, sunburned muscle of his neck showing under dark, dishevelled hair, thrilling as a suggestion, a promise of his face which she could not see. Then she would rise and walk hesitantly toward him and let her hand run slowly down the hard tendon of his neck, without a word, without a kiss.
Then she could think, with a cold wonder, of another man who was waiting for her somewhere.
But she knew that she had to see Andrei. One evening, she put on the red dress and told Leo that she had promised to call on her family.
“May I go with you?” he asked. “I haven’t seen them since my return and I owe them a visit.”
“No, not this time, Leo,” she answered calmly. “I’d rather you wouldn’t. Mother is . . . she’s so changed . . . I know you won’t get along with her.”
“Do you have to go tonight, Kira? I hate to let you go and to stay here alone. I’ve been without you for such a long time.”
“I’ve promised them I’d come tonight. I won’t stay late. I’ll be back soon.”
She was putting on her coat when the door bell rang.
It was Marisha who went to open the door and they heard Galina Petrovna’s voice sweeping through the room, approaching: “Well, I’m glad they’re home. Well, if I thought they were visiting others and neglecting their old parents and . . .”
Galina Petrovna entered first; Lydia followed; Alexander Dimitrievitch shuffled in behind them.
“Leo, my dear child!” Galina Petrovna swept toward him and kissed him on both cheeks. “I’m so glad to see you! Welcome back to Leningrad.”
Lydia shook hands limply; she removed her old hat, sat down heavily, as if collapsing, and fumbled with her hairpins: a long strand of hair was falling loosely out of the careless roll at the back of her neck. She was very pale and used no powder; her nose was shiny; she stared mournfully at the floor.
Alexander Dimitrievitch muttered: “I’m glad you’re well, my boy,” and patted Leo’s shoulder uncertainly, with the timid, frightened look of an animal expecting to be hurt.
Kira faced them calmly and said with cold assurance: “Why did you come? I was just starting for your house, as I promised.”
“As you . . .” Galina Petrovna began, but Kira interrupted:
“Well, since you’re here, take your coats off.”
“I’m so happy you’re well again, Leo,” said Galina Petrovna. “I feel as if you were my son. You really are my son. Everything else is just bourgeois prejudices.”
“Mother!” Lydia remonstrated feebly, hopelessly.
Galina Petrovna settled down in a comfortable armchair. Alexander Dimitrievitch sat apologetically on the edge of a chair by the door.
“Thank you for coming,” Leo smiled graciously. “My only excuse for neglecting to call, as I should have, is . . .”
“Kira,” Galina Petrovna finished for him. “Do you know that we haven’t seen her more than three times while you were away?”
“I have a letter for you, Kira,” Lydia said suddenly.
“A letter?” Kira’s voice jerked slightly.
“Yes. It came today.”
There was no return address on the envelope; but Kira knew the handwriting. She threw the letter indifferently down on the table.
“Don’t you want to open it?” Leo asked.
“No hurry,” she said evenly. “Nothing important.”
“Well, Leo?” Galina Petrovna’s voice boomed; her voice had become louder, clearer. “What are your plans for the winter? This is such an interesting year we’re entering. So many opportunities, particularly for the young.”
“So many . . . what?” Leo asked.
“Such a wide field of activity! It’s not like in the dying, decadent cities of Europe where people slave all their lives for measly wages and a pitiful little existence. Here—each one of us has an opportunity to be a useful, creative member of a stupendous whole. Here—one’s work is not merely a wasted effort to satisfy one’s petty hunger, but a contribution to the gigantic building of humanity’s future.”
“Mother,” Kira asked, “who wrote all that down for you?”
“Really, Kira,” Galina Petrovna drew her shoulders up, “you’re not only impertinent to your mother, but I think you’re also a bad influence on Leo’s future.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that, Galina Petrovna,” said Leo.
“And of course, Leo, I hope that you’re modern enough to outlive the prejudices we’ve all shared. We must admit that the Soviet Government is the only progressive government in the world. It utilizes all its human resources. Even an old person like me, who has been useless all her life, can find an opportunity for creative toil. And as for