Chapter 25: A TALE OF TWO BROTHERS
Tuesday, June 8th… early afternoon in Angwin…
Illya asked no questions as Katie drove to a pocket park located on a hillside to the east of Angwin. She offered no conversation other than to comment that they'd have to stop at a pharmacy on the way home to verify the reason for having left.
At this time of day the park was unoccupied save for the ducks floating serenely on a cement pond. Choosing one of the picnic tables shaded by Japanese maples, Katie unzipped a soft-sided cooler, producing a chilled bottle of supermarket sangria and two red plastic Solo cups. Settled on the benches, Illya merely lifted an eyebrow and waited as she unscrewed the lid and poured a full cup for him but only a half-cup for herself.
He took an exploratory sniff, as if judging the bouquet, then held up the opaque cup, pretending to evaluate the color and clarity. Finally, he took a sip, ostentatiously swishing it around in his mouth before swallowing.
"Nothing like a fine vintage to complement an excursion with one's daughter on a sunny afternoon."
"Chateau Le Plonk," Katie grinned. "It was a very good month, I'm told. Do you think Mama believed us?"
"About a spur-of-the-moment sojourn to a pharmacy for some undetermined item? Not for a moment. However, as I am sure you know by now, my child, one of the keys to a happy marriage is allowing for time apart. D'accord?"
"And not sharing every single little thing with your mate… until time."
"Exactly. I shall explain everything to Elise at the appropriate time—that is, once I have been apprised of what it is that I will have to explain."
"Dad… the thing is, this is going to take a while to explain. We might have to come up with a better alibi." Might as well get to it. "You know of my interest in genealogy, right?"
"Yes."
"Well… while Dennis and I were living in Kyiv, I started researching his family… and a name came up—Anton Feodor Romanov."
"Indeed?" An unreadable expression settled on Illya's face. A name I never expected to hear again… that has somehow clawed its way up from the grave of dangerous memories.
"Does it mean anything to you?"
Illya was silent for so long Katie thought perhaps he either didn't know… or was simply ignoring the question. He looked away, focusing on the ducks. She knows… and if she does, so do others. To confirm or deny—that is the question. When at length he sighed and turned back, he spoke so softly she had to strain to hear above the twittering of birds and rustling of leaves in the light breeze.
"I was told that was my biological father's name, and that he was from Kyiv. It was not a secret."
"Then why haven't you ever mentioned that?"
"I do not remember him at all. It meant nothing to me then—or now."
"You never tried to find your real family?"
"The Tsyhany were my family, Katya… the only family I knew until I was ten years old, when the soldiers came and killed almost everyone. Some were captured and taken away to Janowska concentration camp. I was among the few who escaped." Illya displayed not a glimmer of emotion as he recounted what Katie had already known for years. "We evaded the soldiers for weeks, but when we could run no more they caught us. The commandant did not know what to do with me—clearly I was not a gypsy and I pretended I did not know my real name. I suppose he assumed I was a stolen child so I was sent to a state school for orphans under the only name I did know—Kuryakin."
"And afterward…. when you were grown up? Why didn't you search for them then?"
"By then I was a staunch Soviet citizen—communist and KGB."
"Brainwashed, you mean."
"No. Indoctrinated… just as every child here is brought up to believe that the United States leads the world, that the American way is the only way. That patriotic might makes right. Had my connection to the Romanovs come to light, I would have been stripped of rank and sentenced to a labor camp in Siberia."
Katie shivered. "And then I married one. That must've been a shock, Tato."
Because his daughter had unconsciously reverted to her childhood form of address, Illya understood they were about to embark on a serious subject—one which, perhaps, he wasn't prepared to discuss. "You have no idea. I believe it is now my turn to ask questions. Why are we here, Katya? What is it you are wanting to say?"
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The moment of truth…
"You have a brother, Tato." It spilled out before she could check herself.
Illya said nothing, unblinking, and continuing to regard Katie as if she had spoken in Esperanto.
"Did you hear what I said?"
"I had many brothers… sisters, too," he said slowly. "I watched them die, one after another—shot, bayoneted, starved, frozen."
The grief was there, if only for an instant, on his face and in his voice. If she hadn't been watching intently she would have missed it.
"I'm not speaking of your adopted family, but a biological brother."
He was shaking his head. "No. Anton brought only one child to the camp. Had there been another, I would have been told. Unless perhaps there was one that died along the way from… wherever he had come from."
Katie closed her eyes for a moment. This isn't going to be an easy sell… but then, I hadn't expected it would be." Tato, please remember that I am a scientist. I've done my homework. I required proof… and I found it."
"Show me."
"Back at the house."
"Then tell me."
"That's what I'm trying to do, Tato." Patience, Katie! Her father had now gone into inscrutability mode… his defense against unpleasantness.
"On September 19, 1933, identical twins were born out of wedlock in Scotland to Anton Feodor Romanov and his mistress. When the infants were two weeks old, Anton kidnapped one of them and disappeared. A year later he and the child surfaced in Poland, on their way to Kyiv… less than six hundred miles from the family home… but they never got there."
"Where did you obtain this information?" Illya asked cautiously.
"Dennis' great-grandmother, first cousin to Anton. Bobchi Agata was ninety-nine when I interviewed her."
"A fairy tale based on the senile ramblings of a nonagenerian?" Illya scoffed mildly. "Really, Katya… I am surprised you bought it. Why has not Dennis ever mentioned this… or his parents?"
"A lot of Romanovs went missing back then, and were presumed dead. As far as they knew, this great-uncle was among them. No one had ever asked Agata about Anton until I came along. By the way, with her permission I recorded the interview and I have a transcript. She was quite lucid for her age… and very funny."
"But how could she have known…?"
"Letters he'd written home, during the affair and later while on the run. I have them."
"That still does not prove…"
"Don't be tiresome, Tato. I haven't finished. Twelve years later the family were contacted by a Roma survivor of the pogrom, who told of the death of Anton and of the child having been left with the leader, Pavel Kuryakin." At last… a crack in the façade of indifference.
"How long have you known of this, Katya?" Illya asked, frowning. "And why are you only now coming forth with it?"
"As I said… since Kyiv. But only last week was I able to solve the puzzle."
"Puzzle? What puzzle?"
"What became of the other child… the one left with the mother. The one who has supplied the missing pieces."
"You mean… he's still alive?" Illya leaned forward, unable to maintain even a semblance of reserve.
Finally, I've got his attention… "Very much so. And why wouldn't he be? You're still here, aren't you?"
"You have met him… in person?"
"I have. His name is Donald Mallard. He's a naturalized U.S. citizen, living in Washington, D.C."
Illya's expression of incredulity was priceless.
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The moment of acceptance…
Katie had never known her father to be utterly confounded… as he was now… or so unnerved, hands clenched together so tightly the knuckles were white.
"I… I… I do not know what to say," he choked out.
"Well… let's see. For starters… 'Yes, I want to meet him' or 'No, I don't want to meet him' or 'When can we meet?' He's here waiting and not far away. The rest is up to you. Have some more wine and give it a think."
The 'thinking' took up five very long minutes while the bottle was emptied.
"Guess I should have brought something stronger, huh?" Katie observed. She'd had only the half-cup as she was driving.
Illya gave her a wan smile. "It appears we will have to find a better excuse for being absent without leave this evening as well."
"Does this mean you want to go… now?"
"There may never be a better time… or even another time, if things go sideways. I assume Eli told you?"
"He did. I'm positive you've got it covered, Tato. I'd better give Donald a call, then." Fishing in her bag for the phone, Katie punched in the number.
"Donald… it's Katie. Are you ready for this? I've told him and he wants to meet. Yup… now. What? Are you kidding? Hang on…"
Stifling a laugh, Katie first looked at her father's shirt, then peered under the picnic table. "Jeez! I thought only women did this. Checked cotton shirt, jeans and Docksiders. Okay, okay. I understand. We'll be there in fifteen minutes. Bye."
"He wanted to know what I was wearing?" Illya queried incredulously. "Is he… ah…?"
"No, Tato. At least, I didn't get that impression. That said, he's not at all like you." Swinging her legs over the bench, Katie stood up and packed their trash into the cooler.
"How are we different if we are identical?" Illya asked as they went to the car.
Checking to be sure Illya was securely strapped in, Katie pulled onto the paved drive and turned in the opposite direction from the way they'd arrived.
"Physically, you're almost carbon copies. Otherwise, you'll have to judge for yourself. We met only last Friday so I don't know that much about him."
"What if he does not like what he sees?" Illya persisted.
"Funnily enough, he said the same about you. Let's just see how it goes, Tato."
"What have you told him about… before Switzerland?"
"Nothing. I'm leaving that to you. And while you're getting acquainted, I'll be thinking how we're going to spring this surprise on the rest of the family."
Illya fell silent again, recalling the other imbroglio waiting back at the hacienda.