Heads You Win

“I’d love to hear more about your life in the Soviet Union, and how you ended up coming to America,” said Anna, as the train pulled out of Penn Station.

“The sanitized version, or do you want all the gory details?”

“The truth.”

Alex began with the death of his father, and everything that had happened to him between then and the day he met her on the subway on 51st Street. He only left out the real reason he’d nearly killed Major Polyakov, and the fact that Dimitri worked for the CIA. When he came to the end, Anna’s first question took him by surprise.

“Do you think it’s possible your school friend might have been responsible for your father’s death?”

“I’ve thought about that many times,” admitted Alex. “I’ve no doubt Vladimir was capable of such an act of treachery, and I only hope for his sake we never meet again.”

“How different it might have been, if you and your mother had climbed into the other crate.”

“I wouldn’t have met you, for a start,” said Alex as he took her hand. “So now you’ve heard my life story, it’s your turn.”

“I was born in a prison camp in Siberia. I never knew my father, and my mother died before I could even—”

“Good try,” said Alex, placing an arm around her shoulder. She turned and kissed him for the first time. It took him a few moments to recover, before he murmured, “Now tell me the real story.”

“I didn’t escape from Siberia, but from South Dakota, when I was offered a place at Georgetown. I’d always wanted to go to art school, but I wasn’t quite good enough, so I settled for art history, and ended up being offered a job at Rosenthal’s.”

“You must have done well at Georgetown,” said Alex, “because Mr. Rosenthal didn’t strike me as someone who suffers fools gladly.”

“He’s very demanding,” said Anna, “but quite brilliant. He’s not only a scholar but a shrewd dealer, which is why he’s so highly respected in the profession. I’m learning so much more from him than I did at university. Now I’ve met your indefatigable mother, tell me something about your father.”

“He was the most remarkable man I’ve ever known. Had he lived, I’ve no doubt he would have been the first president of an independent Russia.”

“Whereas his son will end up as president of a pizza company in Brooklyn,” she teased.

“Not if my mother has anything to do with it. She’d like me to be a professor, a lawyer, or a doctor. Anything but a businessman. But I still have no idea what I’m going to do after I leave business school. I have to admit, though, that you and Lawrence have changed my life.”

“How?”

“While I was searching for you, I dropped into several other galleries. It was like discovering a new world where I kept meeting so many beautiful women. I’m hoping that when we get back to New York, you might introduce me to even more.”

“Then we’ll have to start at MoMA, move on to the Frick, and if the love affair continues, I’ll introduce you to several reclining women at the Metropolitan. And to think I thought it was me you’d fallen for.”

“Anna, I fell for you the moment I saw you. If you’d only turned around after you got off that train and given me even the hint of a smile, I would have battered the doors down and chased after you.”

“My mother taught me never to look back.”

“Your mother sounds as bad as mine, but can she cook a calzone?”

“Not a hope. She’s a schoolteacher. Second grade.”

“And your father?”

“He’s the principal at the same school, but no one’s in any doubt who really runs the place.”

“I can’t wait to meet them,” said Alex as Anna rested her head on his shoulder.

Alex had never known a journey to pass so quickly. They swapped stories about their upbringing, and she introduced him to Fra Angelico, Bellini, and Caravaggio, while he told her about Tolstoy, Pushkin, and Lermontov.

They’d only reached the seventeenth century by the time the train pulled into Union Station just after eleven thirty. Alex didn’t speak as the taxi drove them to the National Cemetery. When he and Anna walked along the manicured lawns, passing row upon row of unadorned white gravestones, he was reminded of his conversation with Lieutenant Lowell in a dugout and the word “futility” rang in his ears. Not a day went by when he didn’t remember the Tank. Not a day went by when he didn’t thank whatever god there might be for how lucky he was to have survived.

They stopped when they reached the gravestone of Private First Class Samuel T. Burrows. Anna stood by silently as Alex wept unashamedly. Some time passed before he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, unwrapped it, knelt down, and placed the Silver Star on his friend’s grave.

Alex didn’t know how long he stood there. “Good-bye, old friend,” he said, when he finally turned to leave. “I will return.”