Ekaterina has learned it in half a dozen languages. Jeg elsker dig, دوستت دارم, seni seviyorum, σας αγαπώ, احبك, я люблю тебя, I love you.
She has yet to say it, but she thinks it, over and over, я люблю тебя, Peкa. Jeg elsker, Peкa. Seni seviyorum, Peкa. I love you, Peкa.
Ekaterina can tell, that her Peкa knows, but still, she cannot say it. It is difficult. They are on the луна, the moon, surrounded by strangers and aliens and foreigners.
Sometimes, Ekaterina thinks, it is harder to be being foreign than to be being an alien. To be alien, that is an excuse. You can say you are from other planet, you do not understand. But to be from Earth, and still be lost?
Ekaterina misses her home, a very small town in Сибирь, in Siberia. Isolated from the speedy progress of the rest of the Earth. Steadfast in the tide.
Peкa reminds Ekaterina of home, somehow, even though Peкa couldn't be less русский, less russian, if she tried.
But Peкa can cook, with real food. Peкa can knit, and sew. Peкa can smile, can hold off the coldness of winter, the coldness of deep, dark space.
Ekaterina loves her Peкa, loves her more than a thousand bright springs. But Peкa is walled off. There is something in Peкa, something inside, that keeps her just a little too far away.
Peкa could never truly be loving Ekaterina. She is fond, and loyal, and sweet. But never is she in love with Ekaterina. There is something else, someone else, anything and everything else, holding her back.
And Ekaterina doesn't care.
