Ch 29 Tonya

"Broadcasting from Moscow…the battle report of January 7, 1942…"

After the first ring of doorbell, Lyuba Orlova flew over to the door like a cheerful bird. With one letter in each of those two small hands, she flew back to her mother's side who was still listening to the battle report.

"Mama!" Lyuba yelled, "It's papa's letter from the front again!"

Both letters were folded into triangles—sign of letters from the battlefield indeed. But mama looked at the envelopes, smiled and shook her head, "Sweetheart, it's not papa. These letters are from aunt Natasha and uncle Vanya."

Lyuba loved aunt Natasha because auntie was so pretty and sang beautifully. Lyuba also loved uncle Vanya because uncle's drawings were incredible. Lyuba kept her portrait that uncle sketched for her right above the headboard of her bed. In her words—"it looks more Lyuba than real Lyuba!" And of course, it was also because uncle was handsome…

"But nobody is more handsome than papa." Lyuba would quickly comment with a serious face whenever her mind came across it. Nobody in the world could compare to her papa—air force captain Andrei Orlov. Seven years ago—according to the old folks—when papa was still an aviation school student, he spent the summer in Bereza. All the girls in the village lingered outside his window but, in the end, papa brought mama to Moscow. Aunt Natasha who then was twelve years old kept a long face when they left, since that handsome man didn't take notice of her at all; uncle Vanya, however, was happy because this man took the burden of unwanted attention for him.

"Mama, what's in the letter?" asked Lyuba curiously as her mama opened one letter. But Tonya didn't read it to Lyuba like usual. Her eyes first flashed through a hint of surprise, and then, smile, "Sweetheart, you are too young to understand it. It's about love."

Lyuba pouted—she was almost five years old! Half a year ago before papa went to the front, he told her, "Lyuba, you're a big girl now. You must look after mama and your future baby brother or sister." It had been half a year and Lyuba would very soon become a big sister, but mama still treated her like a baby!

"But papa said I'm a big girl!" Lyuba protested. "General Elizaveta in the nursery across the street promoted me to general last week. I know love stuff, too. I talk about it with other kids all the time…"

"Go play with your general Elizaveta, dear general Lyuba. Mama needs to write some letters…

As her daughter's footsteps disappeared out of the door, Tonya Orlova repositioned her posture as to sit comfortably for herself and the baby inside, then carefully examined the opened letter in her hand. If it wasn't the name "Natalia Braginskaya" written as the sender, she wouldn't believe that the letter was the work of her serious little sister.

The letter was quite a mess—the writings were scribbled, words scratched out here and there, conveyed with incoherence. The only sentence without grammar mistake was the very last one—"I am doomed. Dear sister, save me. Tell me what I should do…"

Such a letter was very clear to the big sister. "I can't believe Natasha could be falling in love." Tonya pondered, "And from this letter, it seemed that she didn't want to admit it…What is Vanya thinking? They're in the same troop, why didn't he straighten her mind out…"

And now she remembered that Vanya's letter was still unopened, though she thought that she already knew what was in there. Her brother's letters all sounded the same—"Alive and healthy. Take care. Vanya." Apparently, he was trying to pull off an army man's calm and imposing manner.

"He's just a silly boy. Can't rely on him to talk to Natasha." thought Tonya as she opened her brother's letter, taking a big sister's high ground, "He didn't even have a serious relationship before. He might have passed some love notes or wandered in the park with girls, but how could those count…"

The envelope opened and shocked Tonya as a pile of paper scraps fell on the table. "What was he thinking?" At first, Tonya blamed her brother's antic, but soon, judging from the writings on them, she decided that this letter was far more informative than his previous briefings.

So she decided to play jigsaw puzzle. Fifteen minutes later, she stared at the scraps pieced together and a vague sadness rose up inside her heart.

In the beginning, her brother quoted a few sentences from War and Peace—the citations were baffling. Then, he suddenly started the accusation of war, aflamed with indignation—the word choices were solemn enough to be published on a newspaper. And now, he confessed his own jealousy. In Tonya's memory, her self-important brother was never so eagerly jealous of anyone.

"Dear sister," he wrote, "I know that you won't feel comfortable when you read this, considering that Andrei is also in the front. But I still have to tell you: I'm jealous of you. When you met your lover, the war hasn't started yet. I'm jealous of little Lyuba, because when she meets her lover, there won't be any war. I'm jealous of all the young people living fifty, sixty or seventy years later. I wish I could live till then and tell them straight into their eyes, 'Don't forget me, you happy people!'"

He then hastily crossed out a paragraph. The writings afterward were almost illegible—"Sometimes I think: I'm not only guarding Moscow, but also guarding my sister and niece who live in Moscow, and all those people that haven't been born yet. Alas! I'm guarding the people that I'm jealous of. I can't help but to feel sorry for myself—why wouldn't I be sorry? As I just grew up, the war was heading towards me as if I was born for it. Bah! The war treated me kindly and gave me a lover. I don't dare to conclude that there isn't a better lover in the whole world; but no matter how good those people might be, I wouldn't trade this one in. Sister, would you trade in your Andrei for someone else, even if that other person might be ten times better?"

"How could I! Vanya!" Tonya uttered. At this moment, she felt as if her brother was sitting in this room and staring at her with jealousy and pain—she could understand such sentiment, but couldn't relate such a face to that proud and cheerful Vanya at all.

She sighed deeply and continued with the torn letter:

"…But don't think that I'm afraid of death. My lover is a brave person, and so am I—not anything less than your brave eagle Andrei. I'm just too willing to live life…Yes, the war won't last forever and one day I will return to my daily life. But now, I'm in fact afraid of the peaceful life that I've been yearning for. Tonya, do you understand? When I'm in a battle, I know my lover is by my side. I can even steal my lover back from death's hand. Not even death could separate us, but peace can…"

At the end, her brother wrote in big bold writings:

"Don't worry about me! You know what I am all these years!"

"I know…" Tonya murmured, "I know that you're a brave man. I know that you would tear the letter into pieces after you finished. And I know that you would still send the torned letter to your sister…"

At this moment, she felt that a small foot inside her just kicked. She caressed this small, warm and restless life with a woman's whole tenderness.

"You heard all that, didn't you? It's letter from uncle Vanya. He said that he's protecting you. He said that he's jealous of you, too…"