Chapter 21

Bliss. Joy. Every day was filled with happiness. How could I not be happy, serving Russia? Dutifully, humming with a smiling face, I carried out my chores. Russia's coats and uniforms had to be clean and in good repair, for how could Russia woo others to the right way of thinking if he was a mess? Russia had to eat properly, for how could a country function without good meals? I took pride in every darned sock, every rubbed out scuff, every hard-boiled egg, every haircut that came out just so. And Russia praised me in his thrilling, muted way: a pat on the head, a soft smile, a gift of a tiny model Sputnik that blinked if a button was pushed. I was content. More than content, I walked through each day with the brightest of smiles.

Russia was not my only source of joy. I had so many wonderful friends! Not just friends, but family! I joined in the conversations of the Stans, adding tidbits about Russia's favorite hobbies in hopes that they may catch on. They listened intently, glancing between each other with concerned looks. No need to be concerned, I thought. Better late than never to learn a little information about their benefactor! I cut into fights between the tumultuous lovers, Azerbaijan and Armenia, chiding them for causing unrest in Russia's house. They moved away from me sullenly when I was finished, obviously chagrined for being such ungrateful houseguests. For some reason the Sisters were not so chatty. Belarus avoided me, though I think out of jealousy for my closeness to Russia. Ukraine pulled Moldova away from me more than once, which I was thankful for. Such a small girl had a habit of getting underfoot. Estonia and Latvia were very welcoming to my chattering, listening in silence as they went about their business in the kitchen. Giving each other knowing looks, as if they already guessed how glorious the Master of the house really was. They let me go on and on, sometimes lifting a head and smiling, nodding in agreement as I praised Russia's recent efforts to reach space or Russia's obvious superiority over the silly Western European nations.

But it was Georgia and her parlor that once more became a refuge for me. Georgia understood most of all the depths of my love for Russia. We would sigh together on her couches, talk animatedly about his aloof but kind air or the little tendrils of hair that stood up on his head in the winter, giving him a rakish appearance. The content and silent Chechnya presided over our discussions, sitting still next to Georgia, head down and hands folded neatly in her lap.

Georgia doted on Chechnya, dressing her in the smartest little uniforms, removing her headscarf, brushing out her long, straight black hair and plaiting it into a thick braid down her back, feeding her tiny cakes and cookies and nice teas that Russia picked up for us when visiting his friend China. Chechnya responded well to the devotion, politely accepting the treats with a small "Thank you," and daintily eating without producing crumbs.

"Are you happy?" Georgia asked her now and then, playing with her hair or pouring her more tea.

"Yes, Georgia," Chechnya replied with a small nod, her eyes distant. "I am happy."

Once when deep in discussion about the greatest man in Russian history (I was in Lenin's camp while Georgia argued passionately for Alexandr Nevsky), I caught Chechnya staring at me. So rare was it that she watched anyone in her new, happier state that I stumbled over my words and came to a halt.

"Chechnya, do you have something to add?" I asked. I chuckled. "In Lenin's favor? Or do you want to throw your hat in the ring?"

She continued to stare, inching her hand toward Georgia's lap. Squeezing Georgia's thigh.

"He is. Not. Like you," she said, her voice halting, as if the words stuck to the back of her throat. "He is. Falling. Away. Going. Look. Is he. Still there? I cannot. I cannot see him. I see you. Bits. Glimmers. Not him."

Georgia stared at Chechnya's small hand through her difficult speech, and then looked up at me, face pale. Some of the joy left her eyes, and she bit at her bottom lip. Chechnya inched her hand back to her own lap, then looked down at the floor. I glanced between the dark-haired women, bemused.

"I don't understand," I said. "Who is falling?"

"I…" Georgia paused. Her eyes brightened. She lifted her stakan and felt the side of the glass. "I think I need more tea. This seems to have gone cold. Chechnya, more tea? Lithuania?"

"Yes. Thank you," Chechnya said mechanically. I said nothing, handing Georgia my glass and shaking my head of the strange thoughts that niggled at my mind.

Oh, I was falling, falling. Every day I sunk more into the mire of bliss. Every day I lost more of myself to the madness. And I welcomed it. I welcomed the joy of every day. The small wonders like the dust motes in the sunbeams streaming through Georgia's parlor. The ecstasies, like Russia's brilliant success in the space race, first man to reach the stars of the heavens. And the deep happiness that came from being loved by such a loyal, benevolent man.

One day as I dressed Russia, helping him straighten trousers and brushing down his coat, he stopped me. Maneuvered me in front of him. Looked me up and down with his happy, twinkling eyes. My heart swelled and I blushed at the attention.

"Lithuania, you serve me with great attention as always," he said, placing a hand on my cheek. I smiled.

"Th – thank you," I stuttered. "You deserve more than what I can do, though. I try, but sometimes –"

"No, it is a thoughtful hand that keeps me well-dressed," he said with a laugh, moving his hand from my cheek and patting my shoulder. His hand rested there, and a more earnest look washed over his face.

"Are you happy?" He said. "I wanted to make sure, you see. I waited this long time, many years now if you have noticed, watching to make sure. And I think you are, for you never give me twinges…" His finger rubbed the chain around my neck. "Are you happy?"

I grabbed his hand and held it against my cheek.

"I am happier than I've ever been," I said, closing my eyes as the ache in my heart overwhelmed me.

"I am. Very glad to hear that," Russia said. He leaned over me and kissed me, and I welcomed him. Once again I knew the pleasures of Russia's bed.