“Aaron,” she said in a soft scolding whisper. Her hands flew out, youthful, dainty, covered with rings, and clasped Aaron by the shoulders, and then she gently kissed his cheek. Aaron nodded to her in quiet understanding.
“Come inside with us,” said Aaron to Yuri. “They need us now. We’ll talk later on.” His face had changed dramatically. Now that Stolov was gone, he appeared more serene, more like himself.
The house was filled with good rich cooking smells, and a high tempestuous mingle of voices. The laughter was loud, bursting, the merry ecstatic kind of laughter of people at a wake. One could hear others crying. Women and men crying. An old man sat with his arms folded before him on a table, crying. A young girl with soft brown hair patted his shoulder over and over, her own face evincing only fear.
Upstairs, Yuri was shown to a rear bedroom, small, faded, but quite appealing to him, with a narrow single four-poster bed, and a dark golden satin bedspread that had seen better days. There were dusty curtains on the windows. But he liked the warmth, the coziness, even the faded flowers on the wall. He glimpsed himself in the mirrored door of the chifforobe—dark hair, dark skin, too thin.
“I am grateful,” he said to the gray-haired woman, Beatrice, “but don’t you think I should go to the hotel, that I should look out for myself?”
“No,” said Aaron. “Don’t go anywhere. I want you here with me.”
Yuri was prepared to protest further. The house was needed for the family. But he could see simply that Aaron meant for him to stay here.
“Oh, now, don’t start being sad again,” said the woman. “I won’t have it. Come on, now, we’re going to have something to eat and some wine. Aaron, I want you to sit down and drink a nice cool glass of wine. You too, Yuri. Now, both of you come.”
They went down the rear stairs, into the warmer air, and the misty white layers of cigarette smoke. Around a breakfast table, near a bright fire, sat several people crying and laughing simultaneously. And one solemn man who merely stared morosely into the flames. Yuri could not actually see the fire. He stood behind the chimney, but he saw the flicker and he heard the crackle and he felt the warmth.
He was distracted suddenly by a wraith of a female creature in a small back room, looking out the rear window into the night. She was very old, fragile; she wore gabardine and withered lace, and a heavy golden pin that was a hand with diamonds for nails. Her fine-spun white hair was soft around her face, nested in the old-fashioned way, with pins against the back of her head. Another woman, younger yet still impossibly old, held the hand of this very old one as if she would protect her from something, though how, one could not tell.
“Come on, Ancient Evelyn, come with us,” said Beatrice. “Come on, darling Viv. Let’s go near the fire.”
The very old woman, Ancient Evelyn, whispered something softly under her breath. She pointed to the window, her finger dropping as if she hadn’t strength to keep it aloft. Again she pointed; again the finger dropped.
“Come on, now, dear, you’re doing it again,” said the woman addressed as Darling Viv. She was kind. “I can’t hear you. Now, Ancient Evelyn, you can talk.” She sounded as if she were coaxing a baby. “You know you can. You were talking words all day yesterday. Talk, dear, talk so I can hear.”
The ancient one murmured again indistinctly. She continued to point. All Yuri saw was the dark street, the neighboring houses, the lights, the dark heavy soaring trees.
Aaron took his arm.
A young woman with jet-black hair and beautiful gold earrings approached them. She wore a red wool dress, and a fancy belt. She stood near to the fire for a moment, warming her hands; then she drew closer, gathering the attention of Aaron and Beatrice, and even Darling Viv. There was a cool authority to her.
“Everyone’s together,” she said to Aaron meaningfully. “Everyone is all right. They are patrolling this block and the one across the street, and two blocks uptown and two blocks down.”
“It will be peaceful for a while, I think,” said Aaron. “He blundered, like a child. He could have caused more death, more suffering…”
“Oh, darlings, please,” said Beatrice. “Must we speak of this? Polly Mayfair, sweetheart, go back downtown to the office. They need