It's now much too late for me to even attempt to find my way back to the motel, so I know I will have to spend the night with Viktor and his family. I assume I'll sleep on the sagging sofa and wonder how I'll ever avoid the springs poking through the thin material when Valeria waves me into a bedroom. I see Viktor, his father, and his grandfather going into another.

"You can sleep in here with us," Valeria tells me with a smile.

"You have only two bedrooms for five people?" I'm unable to hide my surprise.

"We're lucky to have a whole apartment to ourselves," she replies. "Usually, there are two or three families living in each apartment."

I sleep in a double bed with the two women. It's a little tight, but not unbearably so. I'm not quite asleep when it hits me like a bolt of thunder. Of course! The two youngest Imperial children would have been given new names to protect their lives. Since Lizonka married Isaak Borovsky, they most likely would have been given his surname; therefore, Kolya would have become Nicholas Borovsky!

Could it be true? Could Nicholas Borovsky be the son of Tsar Nicholas II and Tsarina Alexandra? If so, would he have remembered his true identity? Could he still be alive somewhere today? Would there be any way to find him?

I ponder these things until exhaustion overtakes me.

The following morning, Valeria shakes me awake.

"The Prime Minister is on television!" she tells me.

We rush together into the living room, where I see Gorbachev giving a speech. Viktor translates for me.

"I hereby discontinue my activities at the post of President of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics."

"I knew it was only a matter of time," Deda Boris comments.

"So who will be the Prime Minister now?" I ask.

"Boris Yeltsin," Viktor tells me. "He was elected by popular vote, as the United States and other democracies choose their leaders."

Wow! I think to myself. Such a monumental occasion, and I just happen to be here!


Breakfast turns out to be black tea with porridge, and everyone passes around a jar containing a dark red substance.

"It's raspberry jam," Viktor explains. "We put it in our tea."

I add some to my tea and find I like the taste. I add jam to my porridge as well. The others all give me funny looks, but nobody says anything. Perhaps they think it's a strange American custom. It isn't - I just can't stand the taste of plain porridge.

After the meal, I help Valeria and her mother with cleaning up. They chatter together in Russian, Valeria interrupting to translate for me at intervals.

Later in the morning, I suddenly remember what day it is and hurry to call home.

"Merry Christmas!" I cry as soon as I hear Mom's sleepy hello.

"Oh, Tanya! Hi!" She sounds a tad more alert. "Merry Christmas to you, too. Your Dad and I were just about to go to bed."

"Oh yeah, I forgot about the time difference," I reply. "Sorry!"

"That's all right. Are you still having a nice time?" she asks.

"I'm having a wonderful time," I tell her. "Guess what! Gorbachev just resigned, and Russia has a new President now, a democratically elected one - Boris Yeltsin."

"That's nice." I hear her yawn. "Well, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. You take care. I love you, sweetheart."

"I love you, too," I reply.

After lunch, Viktor invites me to go for a walk with him. I notice he's carrying a bottle of vodka.

"I feel like celebrating," he tells me.

We leave the apartment building and reach the main road.

"Don't you celebrate Christmas at all?" I ask as we walk along.

"We do, but not until January 7," he replies. "Our calendar is different from yours. Christmas has always been very important to Deda Boris. Every year, he gets the icons out and prays over them."

And what about you? I want to ask, but don't.

We reach the edge of a forest. Patches of melting snow lie on the ground, and tall trees reach up to the sky, their leaves filtering swaths of sunlight onto the ground below, creating a pattern of light and shadow. I feel a deep sense of peace.

"In the summer, Deda Boris and I come here to gather mushrooms." Viktor takes me hand and leads me through the trees to a small clearing, where he sits on a fallen tree trunk and pulls me down beside him. I realize how easily he could overpower me, yet I'm not in the last afraid.

"Edible mushrooms grow here?" I ask, looking around me at all the foliage.

"Oh yes, lovely ones," he tells me.

"Aren't you afraid you'll pick a poisonous one by mistake?" I ask.

"I know which ones to pick." His voice has a bit of an edge, and I fear I've offended him.

"I sure wouldn't!" I giggle. "The only edible mushrooms I've ever seen have been in supermarkets!"

"Oh, Tanya." He smiles as he slowly shakes his head. "My beautiful American devushka. Do you know how lovely you are? I think I could eat you up, right here and now!"

His hands frame my face, and as I look into his eyes, I am no longer myself but Grandmother Ursula, looking into the eyes of Nicholas Borovsky, my grandfather, enemy turned lover.

Much later, we return to the apartment, a bit disheveled but light hearted, chattering and giggling as if we've known each other forever. After our magical interlude, the return to ordinary life seems abrupt.

We eat dinner, and later, we watch on the small black and white television as the red hammer and sickle flag is taken down, to be replaced by the traditional Russian tricolor.

Big tears are rolling down Deda Boris's cheeks.

"If only my sweet Maria were here to see this!" he cries.

"Perhaps she does, somehow." I feel the moisture on my cheeks and am astonished to realize I'm crying, too.