Standard Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

"Здравствуйте товарищ!"

Edgar did not reply. He knew it was not a good idea and that his lack of response to his neighbor could be written down within the hour and used against him later, but he could not bother to care. At the time, it did not matter if he was sent to a gulag in Siberia and forced into labor for the rest of his life. His mother was dying. She had not said anything, no doctor had diagnosed her. However, the cough was getting worse, and the conditions in which they lived did not help. Their small apartment was cold, and she would go to the factory to work and come back to the same stiffness in the evening. The only thing warm she was allotted was probably the hot kasha she got for lunch.

Sometimes, he wanted to save a couple of crackers from his own meal, but he knew that it would not make much difference; they were not much more nutritious. He was seventeen, and he hated the world he was born into. He realized that adolescents in other parts of the world might be feeling the same, but would outgrow it one day. But for him, he was just growing into this life, which was predetermined from birth. He was born into a working class family, no connections to the Communist Party, his parents working twelve-hour shifts at the factory. He had two younger siblings, Sasha and Katya, whom he despised. Once his parents were too old or dead, he would become the man of the house and his siblings would become his responsibility as well. He would go to work in a factory, maybe the same one his father was in, contribute to the prosperity of the country, marry, have children, and then die without anyone ever knowing what he really thought. He would never have the chance to outgrow his situation. Unless he took it.

He had started seeing Izabella Lebedeva, the only child of an influential Party member with ties to the Kremlin. Maybe one of the few advantages of this life was that public school was for everyone, irrespective of origin. So this was the only time he would have to rise above his station. He used to date Tanya, a nice girl from his neighborhood, but once the plan formed in his mind, he broke up with her and focused on getting Izabella's attention.

Iza – as she preferred to be called – was a sweet, shy girl. He could easily see her growing into the perfect Soviet prototype; taking care of the children, seeing to their music and sports classes, holding a degree or job if she wanted to, but always sheltered, always in her golden cage. It was not hard to have her pay attention to him. Even if he thought it was the irony of nature to hide the monster within, he was bestowed by nature with good looks, and he had quickly learnt the subtleties of how to court a girl – it was enough to leave a few of Pushkin's love poems with a rose on her desk, and later on audio cassettes of Joe Dassin's songs.

They started by greeting each other more often, then asking random questions about homework, and now they were at the point where he was waiting for her to finish classes to walk her home. It was only a couple of blocks away, but those were the moments they had for themselves – if he was lucky, they would stop in a nearby park, and she would go on the swings while he would simply watch her, like today.

She started opening more about herself. She was raised by her grandmother at her dacha until she started school, as was the custom with working parents. Her summers were a dream, made out of wife's tales, braided hair and running through the woods. She always felt a bit lonely as most of the children around her did not share the same interests, being countryside folk, but she found refuge in reading the classics, her favorites, Russian and French alike. Edgar could not help but smile at the thought of the little-ponytailed girl wandering in the fields, while he remembered his own childhood, in a cramped apartment with paper-thin walls, where he didn't have any moment of privacy. He wondered whom he pitied in the end and what a normal childhood was in the world they were living.

"Is there something on your mind? You seem far away." Iza noticed. He hoped she was doing it because she cared.

"Not more than usual," he replied smirking. "How was your class?"

"Modern technology? Oh, I do not really understand those things… Today they were talking about the first expedition on the Moon, and how the USSR made it possible. I believe it is impressive, but I am more interested in humanities. I mean, in books, anything is possible…" and with her eyes shining, he knew she actually meant it.

He was smiling – he had started teaching himself English through smuggled books, and he knew about the American landing on the Moon, but he would not dare correct her. That would be a serious allegation against the Holy Mother, and one that would not be passed as coming from a naïve child.

Iza interrupted his thoughts: "… would you?"

"Excuse me, Iza; I am afraid I got lost in my thoughts again."

She laughed sweetly. She was average looking, brown-eyed with brown hair, but when she smiled; she looked so precious and fragile. Maybe in another time and place, he could have fallen in love with her.

"I said if you could travel into space would you, and where would you go?" Iza asked with her big innocent eyes.

Edgar flinched. For a moment, he did not know how to respond. He saw the earnest and genuine look of curiosity emanating from the girl, but he also knew it could be a landmine, and he could become vulnerable in the future if he were to open up about his real feelings. He could not tell her that he would jump on an airplane and just move to the other side of the Earth, where people were free to speak their minds. He could not afford to cave in, and he just hoped she did not catch on to his hesitation:

"Going into space is not really my thing. I prefer trains and boats, there is so much of our country that I have not seen and want to explore."

"Oh, I think I would like to go to other planets, and meet their populations, and try to understand their culture and convince them that we are good. On ne voit bien qu'avec le coeur, l'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux."

"So you like the Little Prince? I'm impressed."

"Edgar, I'm impressed you've been paying attention to your French literature classes!"

They just smiled at each other, and as they continued their way back to her place, they held hands for the first time.

This was his chance!

Edgar knew he should contain his excitement, but it was impossible. His mother had died a couple of months ago, and as his father was left to drink his sorrows away, Edgar was the one to have to piece everything back and make it functional. He was twenty, he started working at the factory to help his family out, but still taking evening classes in the hopes, he could graduate with a technical diploma and be able to get a better job and support his father and siblings. It was all about survival. The only light in the darkness had been his ongoing friendship with Izabella. For some reason, she had stayed with him through it all. She had started University and was studying to become an Art teacher, so maybe her emotional side made her stay by his side. There were no church bells that would ring shortly, and their relationship had not gone further than chaste kisses and hand holding.

Edgar understood that there was a class divide between them, and as much as he could pretend to be the hard-working compassionate and responsible man, it would never be enough for Izabella's father, Gen. Lebedev.

Therefore, he was taken aback by Izabella's proposal – her father was willing to sponsor them a tour holiday in Eastern Germany. The first time Izabella mentioned it, he imagined it was a test, a trap to see how he would react, but he could not hide his eagerness. She must have interpreted his response as interest in trying to heal after his mother's death. He had not cried or complained to Izabella, instead, brooding and keeping everything inside, which made him seem more serious than usual.

They were on their way to her place to discuss everything further with her father. Edgar had visited Izabella's place a couple of times, always with her parents present, and although it was not eccentric or particularly ostentatious, it did emanate class and comfort. Although there had been a time when he despised Izabella for not standing up to her parents and indulging herself in this life, he could almost forgive her now that he saw it. There were certain standards imposed on her as well.

"Edgar, a pleasure to see you! How is the job at the factory? I heard nice things about you ... that you've improved production about twenty percent thanks to your ideas. I think those physics classes in school weren't wasted on you", he said with a pointed look to Izabella.

She blushed.

"I must say if you weren't so responsible I could not entrust my daughter to you. I think this trip will be good for you to see the world, then return to our beloved country and make it prosper even more," he said as he poured Edgar shots of vodka, winking.

Edgar could read the hidden messages in the speech. Although it seemed as if he would be in charge of Izabella, they were going with a tour guide who would hold onto their passports and report every move back to the center. Edgar was not seen as a future husband for Izabella, but a responsible friend. He was a good cause – the orphan boy, struggling; the one whom the Party supported. One they took from his humble origins to show him the world and could one day rise to be part of the system and make it even more successful. The smart thing would have been for Edgar to follow instructions and return to the USSR with a renewed sense of patriotism and desire to contribute to the prosperity of the system. Then, after having strengthened his position, he could try to leave without taking too many chances. However, he was also known to be hasty and impulsive and lunge at the first opportunity, maybe a sign of his deprived background. He could not wait for another chance, although that might have been his safest bet. He had to take advantage of this opportunity, and not return from the trip.

"What are you thinking about?" Izabella asked as soon as they landed in Berlin. It was breathtaking. Edgar was thinking of The Wall, of how on the other side of it, people who spoke the same language could actually voice their mind. He could not tell her that he was thinking of how hard it would be to climb over it.

He just smiled: "I never imagined I would leave the USSR, that is all."

She laughed: "That's right, I remember you don't like flying much," and then they continued their schedule.

They would visit several factories in the next several days, and Edgar asked a lot of questions and even took notes, pretending to be interested in the new technology from Eastern Germany, making up stories of how he could adapt it back home. He did not ask anything about The Wall, but every time he tried to approach it, the guide was reminding them that it was "outside the visiting area" and "not a matter of interest."

The third night, he made a duffel bag of all his belongings, and decided to head to The Wall and climb over it. He had heard stories, and he knew that if he managed to get out unharmed, then he would be welcome in the West without too many questions even if he did not have his passport. Anyway, he did not intend to go back to the USSR – he would either escape or die trying.

There were times in which he thought of telling Izabella everything, of trying to convince her to come with him or just be honest with her. It wasn't because he loved her – no, he did not allow himself to indulge in those feelings at home, he was just using her for his own good. But he saw the potential in her, and sometimes he thought she could flourish more outside the closed society of their country. But he knew she would never risk her situation, and she did not have any reason to. She had a good life, and she would always have it. As long as she continued to live in and through her art, and not oppose the system, she could even be happy in their home country. Maybe not the happiest, but happy enough. Therefore, he left without a goodbye. The last time they talked was over the schnitzel they had for dinner, which was a first for him, but not for her. Such a small insignificant conversation, but that brought back the clash between their classes.

Izabella seemed to take in everything with awe. It was her first trip abroad as far as he knew. She had flown before in the USSR as a child with her parents. This was something only high officials in the Party could afford; it was not bragged upon or mentioned in conversation. The fact that Izabella was raised differently than him only resurfaced slightly in small ambiguities such as when mentioning having bananas, jeans or other foreign goods, all which were imported, but only available to a restricted few. This reminded him why he was doing this, and how the divide will always exist in a class-based society.

Now he was going through the small streets, a city map torn from an atlas back home hidden under his sleeve as his guide. He noticed someone had been following him for the last few blocks. He was not doing anything out of the ordinary, and although they were not really allowed to wander by themselves, he hoped that he would manage to escape by the time his disappearance would be reported. He turned onto a few narrow, unlit streets until he was almost sure that he had lost his tail, and The Wall was coming into sight. It was not lit, but guarded day and night. There was no one on the streets, not a soul, no sound, no sign of life. He bet on his speed and decided to take the momentum and jump as high as he could, then climb the rest. He started running, keeping his eyes on the prize, imagining the life that awaited him on the other side.

He heard shouts around him, something that sounded like "Halt!" and the next thing he knew he could not feel his feet anymore, The Wall still in front of him, unreachable.

His stubble was growing thick and hard, but at least it kept his face warm. He had been in Perm for two out of the five years he was sentenced to. His life was hard in the cold Siberian winter. His day would begin at sunrise and continued long after sunset. They worked in the fields and lived in unbearable conditions in stinking barracks. If he could survive diseases, hunger and the cold, he might be able to go back to his former life. He smiled with sadness at how he had once thought being in forced labor would not be worse than the life he had been living. Now he understood that this was not even life, it was just torture, pure and simple. He was worse than cattle, as he still had his mind intact, and his thoughts would still haunt him.

Memories such as the way he was manhandled and brought back to the hotel they were staying at in Eastern Berlin. What he first took as bullets since he could not feel his legs was actually someone attacking him from behind. Presumably, the same man who had followed him to The Wall, and who only pretended to lose Edgar from sight. He could only remember the look of shock and pain on Izabella's face. He tried murmuring, "I'm sorry" to her, but he was not sure she heard it.

What followed was a pseudo-trial in which all sort of crimes were brought against him, starting with neglect for his siblings, theft of materials from the factory he was working in, having expressed alarming capitalist views against the system, ending with treason and attempt to flee the country. The only true allegation was the last one, but that did not matter to the judge. He was condemned to five years of hard labor, and even that was believed to be a soft sentence due to his family situation and his immaturity.

Since he had arrived in the labor camp, he had seen men beaten to death in front of him many others who had died from tuberculosis. One of the cruelest episodes he had witnessed was when one of his inmates found the energy to try escaping. He was found and brought to the common area. One of the guards was feeling benevolent and asked who would dare throw the first stone, making a biblical satire. He then looked with careful eyes around him and the men understood it was a test. If no one reacted, then they would probably face harsher punishment. So one of them threw a nearby stone. And the others followed with other objects. Edgar pretended to have some work and stayed clear of the site, but the last image of the bloodied body would linger with him for life. He quickly realized that there was something else that could be lost here – humanity.

Everyone was replaceable there, their life did not matter. Edgar tried to keep his composure and be optimistic about the future. He had to be physically and mentally strong to survive this, but he had to live with remorse over the past.

Izabella did not attend the trial. It was only now that he realized his feelings for her had run deeper than he had originally thought, now that he knew they had no chance since he was in the lowest position he could be. Even at the end of the sentence, he would still be young enough to start his life again, marry and have children. However, he had lost any chance with her. She was probably married and living her life in a bubble, the way he had always imagined her. Only he never imagined the pain that image conjured in him.

He had started opening his mind to an old man who had been there for more than twenty years for having written a pamphlet against the system.

"I did not even expect them to understand it," Ivan would often sigh.

Edgar had told him how he regretted his past sins and would have given anything to make amends with Izabella.

"Women are just trouble, son, believe me. Be happy you are rid of her!" Ivan would reply.

"It's not that easy… We knew each other way back. She believed in me. And I only used her. I wish…"

"Oh, just stop it!" Ivan's voice boomed in the remote room. "Women are not as fragile and innocent as you think they are."

"Ivan, you may not realize, but I regret…"

"I see it well. I can recognize the signs of love."

Edgar was taken aback. Was it love? Had it been love all along, hidden under all those layers of deceit?

"Yes, I can see it in your eyes. Do you think I am not made of the same flesh and blood as you, that I haven't had feelings for a woman as well?"

"What happened?"

Ivan laughed curtly and pointed around him.

"This happened! And I don't care how much Dostoyevsky you have read, no woman is going to keep waiting for you after this is done, no matter how much you plead," he said it with finality.

Atonement was, of course, one of the most important parts of the punishment, the purpose of the labor. And reintegration as a good member of the society a close second. But that was what Edgar was unsure of. Given the choice, would he try to escape again? Did he regret the crime or the unlucky aspect of being caught? He was not certain himself, but he assumed that three more years would give him an answer.

He was surprised when he heard he had a visitor. He had no friends, and his family could not afford to travel and visit him. Moreover, it would put shame and suspicion on anyone to visit. He could think of only one person, but it couldn't be … could it?

As the door was closed shut, his eyes fell on Izabella's figure, now a grown woman. His memories of her were just a hazy reminder of her features and did not do her justice. Her hair had the same color, but was combed back and put into a tight bun, her eyes held big round glasses, and she was wearing lipstick. She was wearing a suit, which perfectly hugged her slim body and gave the impression of a refined lady. All of this bore a stark contrast to his unkempt body, his dirty work overalls and the weight that was holding his leg.

"Privet, Edgar. Long time no see," she said casually, with a hint of a smile.

He did not reply. Even if he could find something appropriate to say, he did not have the voice to mutter it.

"How have you been? I must say, your appearance is not flattering, but at least you are a productive member of the society again, and not an enemy of the people."

The shock was beginning to wear off, so Edgar was trying to focus on Izabella's words:

"How have you been? You look… krasiva."

Izabella just laughed:

"Spasibo, but that is no way to talk to an engaged woman," pointing to her hand. It was only then that Edgar saw the engagement ring and felt embarrassed. Of course, she would be engaged, that is what a woman in her position was expected to do at her age.

What was he thinking?

"Iza… Izabella, I don't know where to begin, but I have to say… I am deeply sorry. I did not mean to involve you in this story, and I've spent a great deal of sleepless nights over it."

He dared look up at her.

She seemed amused.

"Really? You did not plan to use me? Have you not used me … at all?"

For once, he was happy for his beard, which hid his red cheeks.

"You are right, of course. I did use you to try to improve my situation, but I did not intend to hurt you. I genuinely thought you would continue to be happy, and lead the life you … well, the life you are living."

Something in her eyes lit at this, and if looks could kill, he was sure he would be dead.

"I see… So you are regretful you have involved innocent me and happy that my life continued as it should…" She paced around the small room, only the clinks of her heels audible. "Well, I will spare you the rest of your guilt. Have you ever stopped and wondered who leaked the information to our guide and had you followed?"

Edgar was taken aback by this and creased his forehead. It was something he did wonder a while ago, but it seemed so insignificant now.

He was eyeing her carefully.

"You have been very careful, I must admit. All those little traps I had set along the way, you always held yourself back and gave the correct answers. I could tell a couple of times you were hesitating, but you kept your composure very well. I was not even sure the trip to Germany could break you. I thought you would have tried to become at least an officer in the system before you tried something like that. I don't know if I should admire your boldness or just deem it plain stupid. You did not want to involve me? Edgar, I was involved a long time ago."

She sat down in the chair opposite him, her fingers drumming on the dirty table. It was as if she wanted a cigarette, but then changed her mind, and started fumbling with her ring.

"When I told my father back in high school that I believed a classmate of mine was struggling with non-partisan ideas, he did not even blink. 'It is just a stage – by the time he finishes his mandatory military training, it will pass,' he mumbled. He seemed even sympathetic towards you. He had seen too many people, he had too many people to follow, condemn, correct. He knew the system would catch on to you sooner or later if you continued on that path. But then it became a challenge. Do you really think it was my dream to become an Art teacher and teach schoolchildren how to paint like Shiskin? No, I wanted so much more. I wanted to follow in my father's footsteps, but I was denied, because I am a woman, and therefore I have no place in politics other than to be the woman behind the man," she looked with murderous eyes around her, as if recalling the argument she had had with her father.

"In the end, we reached an understanding. If I could prove myself, if I could show I was worthy of the cause, he would help me get in. Climbing the ladder to see how high I could reach would be my problem, but he would get me in. So I chose you."

She stood up again, pondering how she should continue.

He was dazed.

The story seemed so incredible, and for a moment, he wondered if he might still be in his cell dreaming, or she was truly there in front of him. Nevertheless, the cold weight hanging from his leg reminded him that this was very much the reality.

"It was easy. I just had to listen, doe-eyed and angelic face while you praised the system, at the same time I was laying down the trap. In a way, it was too easy. I was only afraid you might crack and tell me the truth, or try to convince me to elope with you. But it was always about you, never trying to involve me at all until the very end. As if you were protecting me or something," she barked a laugh. "And now here we are…"

"Have you gotten what you wanted?" his voice was unsteady and blank.

"Oh, I got it all right. I am right where I wanted, at the beginning of the ladder. My father kept his word and wrote me a long recommendation. I got in the system, and if I play my cards right, I think I can still make a difference."

"Why are you telling me all this? What is the point? Is this a sort of apology?"

Bella let out a curt laugh: "Apology? For what? Using you at the same time as you were using me? I don't think so."

"So, why did you come here?"

"As a truce? It's hard to explain, but I do not need you anymore. The experiment is over, so I figured I would let you go."

He looked at her disbelievingly. What was her game?

"Edgar, when you planned on leaving, have you ever thought where you would go?"

He nodded. There was no need for pretenses now.

"America."

She nodded in return.

"And, once you were there, would you have ever sent me a postcard, to tell me you've made it, and that life goes on?"

He would have, he had thought about it before fleeing. She must have read the answer on his face, since she went to her purse and pulled out a small envelope with her manicured hand. She did not hand it to him, just set it on the table in front of him:

"This is my postcard to you."

It took him a while to pull the envelope to him and open it. When he did, inside was a passport and a boat ticket departing from Novorossiysk, together with a permission to leave letter bearing his name.

He looked incredulously from the content of the envelope to Izabella. What was the meaning of this? Was this part of her scheme to get him killed?

"In Berlin, you did not hesitate to try and jump that Wall. Will you chance it all now? The guard has instructions to take you to the port where you can get your boat. If you change your mind, just tap him on the back, and they can turn around. It's a couple of days drive, so better start right away. Do svidaniya!"

She smiled for the first time since she had arrived, and then turned and left the room, leaving only a slight scent of perfume. He stood there motionless until a guard entered and, without a word, freed him from his shackles.

So this part was true.

The guard just signed to follow him, and they slowly approached a truck. Again, the man just gestured to Edgar to get in. The latter weighed his options. What were his options? He could continue his sentence and try to reintegrate into society, hoping against hope that he would have a second chance. Or… He could just take this one. Although he did not trust Izabella at all, there was no choice. He was not leaving behind a life, it was just an existence. He just felt slightly sorry for not having the opportunity to say goodbye to Ivan.

His decision was made. He got in, and the truck left immediately.

Over the bumpy road, Edgar examined the content of his envelope again. He just noticed a small note inside, in beautiful handwriting: "When you are safe, send me this," attached was a postcard of Eastern Berlin, which had a few lines already written - Tu deviens responsable pour toujours de ce que tu as apprivoisé.

For the moment, he could not wrap his mind around what was happening. He would put more thought into it later. He looked at his passport again, but to his surprise, although it had his picture, or better said, the picture of the handsome man he had been, it bore another name – Edward Cullen.

The car suddenly stopped.

His heart started racing. Had this been a trap all along? Will he get a bullet in the head right now? He was a little upset that the last things flashing through his mind were two, chocolate brown eyes and a mischievous smile.

Back to reality, he only heard a grim voice saying "passport."

This was it.

Until then, he had not really committed any crime. But handing over a passport with a fake name… His mind went back to his trial. At that time, he had not committed any crime and was still convicted. Being guilty or innocent did not matter in the end.

He would not be a coward.

He handed in his passport.

Forty-eight hours later, Edgar Kuklinski was reported dead.

He hated this sort of events. He had been in the U.S. for five years now, and although he enjoyed it here, there were these occasions that he did not understand. The need to show your face and mingle, in order to make connections. And he hated the Russian diaspora the most. Children of a second or even third generation of migrants, most of the people he met did not even remember what they were trying to run from. When nostalgia kicked in, the only thing that could make him stay was the smell of alcohol. It was the real deal too - Stolichnaya. Even after all this time, it was hard for Edward to express his feelings. He had imagined freedom of speech, he breathed it in, but now, when it was there in front of him and within reach, he found himself reserved.

That is not to say he had not done well for himself and achieved the American dream. The moment he stepped foot in New York, he knew this is where he was supposed to be. It was as if the life behind him had never happened, for he struggled to begin everything anew.

At first, he got a job in a car service garage. At the same time, he would go to evening school to improve his language skills. He had good ideas, and soon he was promoted to supervisor and then manager. In a few years, he had his own car service company and was becoming more and more known. Where he had strived before, he thrived now. And he was not doing it for the betterment of the country, but for himself. No one pretended otherwise, and he felt good about it.

It was just this sort of event that annoyed him. He was wearing a suit these days and had brushed up on his language, the accent barely noticeable. Tanya had convinced him that this sort of networking in the community would be beneficial for his business. It was strange, the ways of life – Tanya had been his girlfriend in high school before he had started taking an interest in Izabella. Apparently, she had an uncle in Alaska and managed to come to him. The irony of life, if he had only stuck to her, probably things would have ended up differently. She was now happily married, and they were all good friends, but as an Italian, her husband could not understand their whole struggle and Tanya would often reminiscence to Edward about their past lives.

He had actually been too busy to think about the past. But sometimes, he would wake up in cold sweat reminiscing the death of his inmate, or other dreadful scenes from the camp. This was his mind's way of cruelly reminding him the price he had paid for his freedom. It gave him a reason to go on and look towards the future, not back at the past.

However, once he became more comfortable in the new environment, he sometimes thought of Izabella and held the card she had asked him to send. He would turn it around and could not decide whether to mail it; it was now marked with the passing of time and seemed used, and he kept it more like a charm, in the breast pocket of one of his suits. A reminder of where he had come from and how hard it had been to get here. He could not make his mind whether she had done more harm than good. So he tried to leave the past behind and move on.

The place they were at now seemed more crowded than usual. It seemed things were shifting in the USSR as well, since so many had managed to cross the Ocean… As he was shaking hands and greeting everyone, a familiar figure emerged in the room. He had felt the presence before their eyes met. Her hair had some auburn touches to it that he did not remember, and when she smiled, he thought she might have whitened and straightened her teeth. And there were no eyeglasses. But it was her, even if dressed glamorously in a more Western fashion and smiling more than he remembered. He waited until they made eye contact and strolled towards her offering her a glass, which she accepted without a word.

"Izabella," he murmured. When he said it, he did not feel the difference in class and distinction he had once felt.

"Please, it's Isabella. But I prefer Bella," she replied sweetly in perfect English, as if introducing herself for the first time.

"What brings you here?" he played along, suddenly confident in his position.

"Oh, I am a Ph.D. student here and writing my thesis on contemporary art."

He smiled. Of course, he should have known that the daughter of a Party member did not need to climb walls or take boats to get here.

They could simply fly.

"So, you finally went into space…. Did you ever encounter the fox?" he smirked. If someone was listening in on their conversation, they could surely not follow, but to them, it was just a continuation of a conversation they had ten years prior.

"You never sent me the postcard," she murmured as a reply.

Had she really expected him to? Had she ever wondered about him in the years that passed?

"I… I did not know if I could. It seemed so … final."

She simply nodded.

"So, how is Mother Russia these days?" he continued with no curiosity in his voice.

"The wind is changing… I don't know if you would recognize it if you were to go back."

He nodded.

He did not intend to go back. It seemed surreal to him that she was there, that he could finally ask her whatever he wanted. He did not feel the burden to repress his thoughts as he had once done.

"So, why did you do it? Can you tell me why you decided to help me run?" Edward whispered as if he wanted to be let in on a secret. And there were always people watching and listening, especially at these gatherings.

Bella looked into her glass and hesitated a little before replying: "Because you cared. I knew you lived with the regret of getting me involved and I did not like this feeling. I wanted us to be even, I wanted you, at least, to know the truth. I was no victim in this story."

"I admit you were no victim, but you played a substantial role in my story. But how did you know for sure? I could have pretended to be sorry for all you knew."

Bella hesitated again: "I had my sources…"

Edward blinked slowly, and when he looked into her eyes again, he exclaimed: "Ivan!"

She acquiesced silently: "Please don't be mad. He genuinely cared about you, he always asks about you!"

Edward was shocked, but also a little bemused: "Sukin syn! And to think of all the time I spent feeling guilty for not saying goodbye! How is the old man?"

"He is fine, he came out of the camp shortly after you left, and he is reunited with his wife," Bella resumed.

"His wife? Did they get married in the meantime?"

"He had been married to her for the last thirty years… She had always waited patiently for him."

Edward finished his drink in a gulp.

Was anything he knew true? He should have known that appearances were deceiving, especially in that kind of place. He realized for the first time that evening, and for the first time in a long time, that he felt comfortable talking to the person next to him ... they shared a common understanding. That made him wonder…

"And where is your husband? Won't you introduce me to him?" Edward made a sign as if looking around, while actually getting more drinks.

"Actually, I left him back in Russia. We had… differences of opinions. He thought I was too involved in my career. And he preferred the stay-at-home mom who made borscht for the entire family."

"Some men would make that mistake," Edward smirked. And he looked at her more intently. She blushed, and in those moments, he seemed to recognize the girl that he had known. Then he remembered he had once fallen in love with that girl.

They were interrupted by a flow of people wanting either to talk to Bella or Edward. Their eyes would meet across the room from time to time, but neither of them made a move to approach the other throughout the evening. Edward felt good about meeting Bella again and was surprised to see he bore no resentment towards her anymore. If anything, he felt a slight excitement that they were together in a world where they could speak their minds. In a free world. He played with the thought and savored it for the remaining of the evening.

Just as Bella was taking leave, Edward surprised her by holding her beautiful fur coat, helped her put it on and with a smile on his face, kissed her hand in the European fashion before sliding a small envelope into it that she barely noticed.

He then left without a word.

Her face fell when she opened it only to find a crumpled postcard of the Eastern side of Brandenburg Gate. But when she turned it around, she smiled, noting that under her perfect handwriting there were some words written in chicken-like scribble:

" XXX Call me – Edward."

Translations:

Здравствуйте товарищ - Good day, comrade

Gulag - Forced labor camp in the USSR

Kasha – porridge

Dacha – country house

On ne voit bien qu'avec le coeur, l'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux - It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye

Privet – Hello

Krasiva – beautiful

Spasibo – Thank you

Do svidaniya - Goodbye/until we meet again (lit.)

Tu deviens responsable pour toujours de ce que tu as apprivoisé - You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.

Sukin syn - Son of a bitch

Borscht – traditional beetroot soup