Novak leaves early the next morning with Collette—as soon as it’s light enough for them to see the road, she says—while the morning star hangs silent in a faded, blue sky, looking like a brilliant jewel, and the Alps stand magnificent and white in the distance, appearing tall and majestic in the crisp morning air. They return shortly after noon with a priest—an old man with a cough who spits up phlegm constantly and wipes his nose on his sleeves. Anastasia is glad for her mother’s sake, as well as Annette’s, understanding how neither woman would rest properly with the knowledge that Baltazzi has not been decently buried.
Annette spends the night at her father’s side, along with the Countess, and their tears and wailing echo throughout the cavernous extent of the house. Annette begs for her father’s forgiveness—confessing her sins as if his dead body can grant her special dispensation — thinking she’ll never see him again because of her adulterous affairs. There’s no room in Heaven for an adulteress, she tells the Countess, as her sins, compounded with her father's death, make her think she’s the one to blame. This is her punishment, she says—it’s as if she’s being held accountable for her shortcomings as a person—and his death is the ultimate sacrifice to her vanity and selfishness. She doesn’t sleep, and her red rimmed eyes have dark, ugly circles under them—a painful mask that leaves her heart unveiled—while her long hair hangs about her face in an unkempt mess, looking wild and disheveled—like Ophelia may have looked on the eve of her suicide. There’s no consoling her, but then, when does a person ever find solace with their grief, except through time, she asks herself?
Annette willingly shares her anguish with the Countess, and the two of them sit in silence with their arms wrapped about each other—seeking comfort from one another and drawing strength from each other's loss—looking for answers to impossible questions. Together they prepare the body for burial; they bathe it, clothe it, and weep for it—mourning like a Greek Chorus of two—finally allowing George and the priest to take the body away.
They follow, like Hecuba and Andromache mourning the fallen Hector, and when George lowers the body into the long, deep pit he’s spent most of the night digging out, Annette throws herself on the mound and weeps again.
Anastasia weeps openly with the children. She remembers her own father's death when she was no older than Hans, her youngest, and seeing their tears brings a multitude of memories back for her. Standing as a silent witness to her mother's pain is more than she could endure, and seeing her sister's broken heart tears at the very foundation of her being. She tells herself she has to be strong; her mother needs her, and her sister needs her, but the children need her more. She thinks about Novak, and how he says he needs her to be there for him now that the war is over for him; to support him, and understand his needs—and she remembers hitting him, striking out at him and knocking him down—venting her frustrations on him as if he truly is the one to blame for everything—and asks herself who will be there for her?
Collette stands silent in her steely resolve—the icy exterior she presents, unsettling. She is upset when Novak tells her about the plan for George to take the children into the woods, telling herself she will never see the children again. She is genuinely saddened by Baltazzi's death—her mother's pain is terrible to witness; Annette's truly distressing—but her own loss seems greater at the moment. After all, Baltazzi has been dying all along, and she knows it was simply a matter of time before he finally succumbed to the inevitable. She has prepared herself for this eventuality since the day of his stroke. The news of the children's quarantine comes as a shock though, and she tells herself she has to do something to stop George and Novak from taking the children away from her. She finds it hard to believe Anastasia can accept their explanation so calmly, and knows if anything is to be done, she has to do it herself.
She listens as the priest intones his benedictions, her heart beating faster with the melody of the psalms they sing out; her courage picks up with the gentle breeze that sweeps down out of the mountains in the distance--bringing the sound of guns closer once again--and the resolution of an idea grows in her mind.
ix
"But where are we going?" Dieter asks yet again.
"Into the country with George," Anastasia says, lacing Manfred's shoes tighter, trying to avoid the tears she feels waiting to spill down her cheeks.
"Is Auntie Collie coming with us?" Manfred asks
"No," she says simply. "She has to stay and take care of Gramma, and Auntie Anna."
"Are we going to live there?" Hans asks. He’s sitting on his hands, on the dresser, kicking his feet against it and it reminds her of the distant booming of the guns at night; his mother asks him to stop again, for the third time.
He looks over at Dieter sitting on the bed. "Do you think it'll be fun with George in the country?"
"We won't be living with George," Dieter says shaking his head slowly. "Don't you ever listen, stupid? He's just going to be up there for a little while."
"Don't call your brother stupid, Dieter," Anastasia says quickly.
"Well, he is," Dieter explains. "He never listens, or pays attention."
"He's young," Anastasia says simply. She looks at Hans and explains. "You're going out to the country because we think it’ll be better for you—”
"I thought we were already in the country?" Manfred asks. He stands up, stomping his feet, checking to see if his mother laced his shoes too tight. Hans starts kicking the dresser again.
"Did you get everything packed?" Anastasia asks, looking at Dieter.
"You've already asked me three times," Dieter reminds her.
"It never hurts to be prepared," she smiles.
"Or over prepared," Dieter smiles back at her. "Can we go outside now?"
"Can we Mommy?" Hans asks, trying to climb off the dresser with an effort, looking at the drawers and trying to catch them with his feet. Anastasia helps him down, telling him to be careful.
"You can go out, but don't go too far," she warns them. "Dieter? Did you hear me?" she asks.
"Yes Momma," the boy replies, and they charge down the stairs, racing to see who will reach the automobile to help George pack.
Anastasia busies herself cleaning the room, folding clothes they won't be taking with them, and straightening the three beds against the wall—all three lined up in regimental fashion. She can hear them downstairs screaming at each other—Hans starts to cry—and she sits on the nearest of the three beds with a heavy sigh. She doesn’t want to go downstairs, not yet; she wishes their last hour at home with her could have been a little less hectic. But Novak insisted they have everything done before they leave. He’s not leaving anything to chance he says, and wants to make sure they have everything.
She turns her head when she hears Martin and Josef running down the hallway, and calls out for them to be careful going down the stairs. She can hear them both calling back to her that they will, their sing-song voices trailing down the stairs with the echo of their steps.
Annette stands at the doorway, her arms folded across her breast as she leans against the wall, her head hanging low.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Anastasia asks.
"About as sure as you are," she says, forcing a smile.
There are tears in her eyes; it seems that she always has tears in her eyes now—they all do. There are moments of certain lucidity—moments when she’s in control of herself, and her feelings—but just as suddenly she likely to fall apart, which is when Anastasia finds her alone and in tears. There are things she sees, or does—old memories that remind her of her father—and that’s all it takes, Anastasia realizes: a word, a phrase, sometimes just a look—like the way Martin lifts one of his eyebrows that’s similar to his grandfather—and the tears fall like a cleansing rain on her soul. Sending the children away just seems to add to her grief, compounding it.
"Come, sit with me," Anastasia says gently, patting the space on the bed beside her. Annette sits down and lets herself fall into her sister's arms, holding her tightly.
"I can't go with you," Annette says through her tears. "Novak says I have to stay behind. He doesn't want any hysterics."
"Who put him in charge, anyway?" Anastasia tries to smile. She can feel her own tears coming, knowing how much it hurts Annette not to be with the children.
"I told them to pretend they’re on a safari in Africa—it’s better like that, if they think it's an adventure," she says. "I don't think I was too convincing though. I kept breaking down. I told myself I wouldn't, for their sakes, but that was a lark, wasn't it?"
"I'm just grateful Collette wasn't here yesterday while I was packing all their stuff," Anastasia says with a sigh.
Annette looks up at her. "She wasn't?"
"She left to bring the priest back to the village. He spent the night here, remember? No. You don't remember anything about the last two days, do you?" she smiles, seeing Annette look up at her blankly. "He stayed an extra day and heard your confession—Mama’s as well."
Annette slowly nods, remembering fragments of it like it was a dream, and then stands up, walking to the window. She sees George and Novak in the yard, tying everything they can to the carrier on top of the automobile. She wonders why she can’t remember yesterday? And realizes she slept most of it away. The goat inside the automobile is eating the back seat, and she tries to open the window to shout out a warning. The window’s stuck, frozen with dirt, paint, and time she supposes. Anastasia stands up and looks out the window, laughing.
"Do you think it matters?" she asks.
Annette gives up with a laugh and sits back on the bed again.
"Where's Collette now? I thought she'd be here?" Annette asks.
"She was in tears this morning. She doesn't want anything to do with the move. She had a terrible row with Milan yesterday. She kicked his crutch out from under him—in front of the children!"
"She did what!"
"I thought George was going to hit her. Manny started crying, and then they all started crying. George tried to help Milan up, but felt a pain in his back and dropped him again. I would've laughed if it wasn't all so tragic," she says with a smile. "When I think about it now though, it really was quite funny—I certainly felt that way the first day he showed up!"
"There's nothing funny about it. I just can't believe she'd do something like that! Although anything Collette does is no surprise," she says quickly. "What were they fighting about?"
"Milan said she couldn't go with the kids."
"But he does intend to let her?"
"Eventually."
"And George?"
"He wants him there to set up traps and get things ready for us. He says I'll be able to go out in a week or so—he wants me to go to the hospital with you and get a flu shot. He just wants to make sure the boys don't come down this thing."
"And what about me?"
"Didn't you have that flu shot at the hospital as well?"
She nods slowly. "For what good it's worth."
"You don't think it'll work?"
Annette laughs once, forcing a smile when she sees the fright crossing her sister's face. "I don't have it yet. That's a good thing, I guess."
"Collette will have to get one before she can come out. I don't know if Momma's up to it right now. Milan says we should leave that one alone for a while."
"He's taken right over, hasn't he?" Annette says plainly.
“Someone has to," Anastasia smiles.
"And George?"
"He's seems more than willing to do whatever Milan asks. It's not like he tells George to do anything, anyway. He's not the old Novak you used to hate so much in the past. He's changed."
"Yes, he only has one leg," Annette smiles.
"He doesn't have a thing," Anastasia says, cocking an eyebrow and wiggling her little finger.
"What does he have?" Annette asks.
"He showed it to me yesterday. He just stepped into the bedroom, closed the door, and undid his pants—right in front of me."
“He is your husband," Annette reminds her.
"I never really saw him naked like that before," she says.
"What does he have?"
"There's a little tube there—it’s all horribly scarred down there too—but there's this little tube he uses to pee out of. He has it stopped off with a piece of cloth because he says it leaks sometimes—when he's finished peeing. He says he has to sit down to pee now, too. It took a lot of nerve for him to do that—to show it to me—but he says he loves me that much. I was all he could think of while he was out there."
"That's what they all say—”
"Why would you say that?" Anastasia asks, standing up and walking to the window. She sees Novak down in the yard, directing George and the boys, holding the goat in one hand by a leash. Manfred and Josef are in the automobile, waiting, laughing and pointing at the goat. The goat is edging toward Novak's empty pant leg.
"I think it's almost time to go," she says.
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