soften the blow. “I have to reach my own conclusions.”
He had nodded grudgingly, but they argued about it later, spoiling a lovely evening walk through the Tiergarten with baseless accusations and biting retorts. They were both such passionate people that their relationship inevitably shifted dramatically through peaks of great joy, valleys of anger when they declared it was over between them, and the muted middle ground of remorse and reconciliation. Mildred, who disapproved of Boris only slightly less than Martha’s parents did, called it the “Russian roller coaster” and encouraged Martha to disembark. Martha laughed off her friend’s warnings even as she secretly thought she probably ought to heed them. Could she really marry Boris and make a life with him in the Soviet Union, a country so unlike America? Her trip would help her decide one way or the other.
But that journey was a week away, and she refused to let any worries about the future of their relationship spoil their outing. The night’s coolness had burned off with the dawn, and the bright sunshine and cloudless skies promised a hot, sultry day, perfect for swimming and sunbathing.
They drove about twenty kilometers west to Gross Glienicker See, a beautiful serene lake with secluded coves and sandy beaches surrounded by lush forest. In a private spot on the northern shore, they spread their blanket in the sunshine, stripped down to the swimsuits they had worn beneath their clothes, and plunged into the cool, pristine lake, refreshed and exhilarated by the sensuous touch of the water upon their skin, their mutual desire, and the anticipation of pleasure. By unspoken agreement they said nothing of Nazis or politics but luxuriated in idleness, speaking little and then only of the fine weather and the beautiful scenery. They glided together and apart, closing their eyes and lifting their faces to the sky, sighing as the concerns of Berlin and of the future were washed away.
When they tired of swimming they lay in each other’s arms on the blanket, baking in the sun, plunging into the lake again when the heat became unbearable. When they were fatigued, they dozed; when they were hungry, they moved their blanket into the shade, unpacked the picnic hamper, and dined on sandwiches, beer, and vodka. Martha had not felt so content since she had arrived in Berlin, with the crystal lake shimmering in the sunlight, the blue sky above endless and serene, and Boris, lacing his fingers through hers, smiling as he smoothed her windblown curls from her face, pressing his lips to hers and lingering there, his mouth warm and hungry and tasting faintly of beer and mustard.
The temperature continued to rise throughout that glorious, lazy, sunbaked day, and they agreed that it was probably unendurable in the city and they were clever to have escaped it. But they were obliged to return, so at five o’clock they reluctantly dressed, shook the sand from the blanket, packed up the Ford, and headed back to Berlin.
As they left the lake behind, Martha sighed contentedly, relaxed into her seat, and pulled up her skirt to the bottom of her bathing suit to soak in the last sunbeams and enjoy the cooling breezes stirred up by the car’s swift passage. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Boris glancing frequently at her sun-kissed thighs. “Keep your eyes on the road or we’ll end up in a ditch,” she teased.
“How can I?” he retorted, his voice a low, thrilling growl. “You’re the most delicious distraction.”
She smiled and tilted her head back, enjoying his attention.
The car sped from cool shade into patches of brilliant sunshine where the scent of pine and earth came to her sharp and pungent. They passed between bicyclists traveling in both directions, men and women alike, some carrying small children in little wagons on the side or in baskets on the front. Occasionally a motorcycle sped noisily past them, the riders’ faces obscured by leather helmets and thick goggles. Others traveled on foot, women in pairs, strolling leisurely with a basket dangling from an elbow or with armfuls of flowers, sturdy men striding along with knapsacks. Martha’s heart warmed to the German country folk, so simple, friendly, and earnest as they enjoyed the beauty of their land.
It was nearly six o’clock when they reached Berlin, and, knowing that she might be recognized, Martha pulled down her skirts and sat up straight as befit an ambassador’s daughter. Boris said something in Russian, a mournful complaint understandable in any language.