But Let It Go, And You Learn

"Happiness always looks small while you hold it in your hands, but let it go, and you learn at once how big and precious it is." Maxim Gorky

"People often say that this or that person has not yet found himself. But the self is not something one finds, it is something one creates." Thomas S. Szasz

Author's note: I can tease you no longer, so here you go. The final chapter. :(

I've thought about this chapter for so long but never thought it'd be so hard to write. When you're done, if you'd like more of Erzsi and Vanya, or more of Anya, let me know in the reviews; I already wrote the moment with the photo of Vanya and Nata so look for that. Finishing « Tizenöt » left me satisfied, but finishing this left me wanting more.

I think of all the chapters this one's proverb is my favorite I've found, and speaks perfectly of Vanya. It all comes together in this one (in ways I never intended): the opening quotes, the places, the people; so I hope you can forgive my one narration shift at the end. I thought it finished the story off most elegantly that way.

"When you meet a man, you judge him by his clothes; when you leave, you judge him by his heart." Russian Proverb

1989

When she steps off the train Erzsi sighs deeply. Freedom, forty years later.

Gil is already holding Lutz tightly, and Lutz returns the hug; their German mingles together in the most familiar of ways. She's barely taken in who else is there when a figure runs to her, light hair that is long and moves and overwhelms her as a lithe body throws itself upon Erzsi. "Mama!" it screams, over and over.

There's not enough strength in her arms to hold Anya tight enough, the tears coming too quickly. She holds Anya and Anya holds her and they refuse to let go, both moaning the other's name because it's been years, ten years, since she has held the little girl she bore, that she loved and raised and let go and missed.

When she can no longer take it, has to see that face, they break apart, leaning back to see each other. Anya hiccups, face red, tears still coming, and they both laugh at it because Erzsi must look just as awful. Anya has her father's coloring, his jaw, his soft voice, and Erzsi cannot help but reach out and stroke her cheek. Anya's nose, her eyes, that fire behind them that could burn a man, those are just the same as they ever were, the same features her mother has.

"You are," Erzsi starts, each word painful from the lack of air in her lungs, "so much more beautiful than I ever could have imagined." Her chest hurts, her heart beating fast and hard. One hand reaches out and Erzsi closes her eyes, Anya's touch just as soothing as the one she left behind in a sunflower field somewhere in Gorky. She tries not to think of him, because it hurts too much.

"I love you Mama," Anya cries. "I love you, I love you." She holds her baby close to her chest once more. This time when they break apart, Gil interrupts.

"Remember me?" he asks mischievously, as if his face isn't just as red and wet as theirs. Anya screams in joy, throwing her arms around his neck, and Erzsi laughs. She laughs and smiles and it's been so long since there's been happiness like this, simple and pure and without any guilt or longing.

That's when she catches Lutz's gaze. He smiles weakly as she moves to him, taking him in. He's still tall and wide and strong and beautiful to her. "My baby," Erzsi whispers, because he will always be her first child. At that his smile grows and they embrace for the first time in too long. His body shudders beneath her arms, his face buried in her neck, his back slouched to come down to her height. There will be time to catch up, time to speak the things they were too afraid to say over the phone. To tell the stories. To be a family again, her and Gil with the no-longer-little Lutz they raised. Now with Anya added.

Francis is smiling behind Lutz; though there are no tears on his face, there is color there that betrays his emotion. He too Erzsi embraces, kissing each of his cheeks. "Thank you," she says. "Thank you for everything you've done for Anya. She is perfect."

"Like her mother," he quips, kissing Erzsi's hands. Anya giggles.

Gil and Francis embrace, introducing Anya and Lutz. The one giggles, reaching out a petit hand. The other nods in shock, kissing that hand. But Erzsi can sense one last body present, standing in the shadow, farther along. She moves slowly, knowing just who it must be.

Years have passed, and still her heart beats quickly at his shadow.

She's done so many things she never thought possible, and still she cannot help but suddenly remember a thousand happy moments, flooding her mind, moments made with Roderich Edelstein.

Yet when she sees him, sees his face, her heart does not swell with love like it used to. He looks old, wears a face of disapproval, looking down on her, and it's been so long Erzsi can't tell if he means it or if this is simply Roderich being Roderich. She's dwelled on the bad for so long, learned to love another, accepted what had been done to her and what hadn't been given to her. She's made peace, without Roderich. They never had a chance to find that reconciliation together.

Roderich's eyes are blank, staring back at her from behind fragile glasses.

"Hello," she whispers in German, and she knows her accent is a little too German from Gil, too little Austrian like it used to be. He scoffs. "Roderich," she starts, not sure what she wants to say.

In the blink of an eye he's grabbed her, holding her tight to his chest. There is that strength in his arms, the strength she had lacked when embracing Anya. He does not cry; that's not Roderich. She's glad for that.

The image of him in that dark room finally comes back, and Erzsi tightens her grip just a little at the memory of 1949. Roderich had not struggled, because after the divorce he never could put up a fight. He'd watched her till the end, his eyes trained on her, empty. Even then she wasn't sure if she still loved him, but she remembers being frightened of a world without Roderich. A world without moments like these, here, where he is both predictable and spontaneous.

Roderich turns his head, kisses at her neck through her hair, and it takes Erzsi by surprise, the intimate move they've shared for centuries, that she's never denied him. He started doing it before they were married, and she didn't understand until much later that it meant he loved her and missed her and could not find the words for what he wanted to express. It was second only to sex in the intimacy, the emotion, attached to such an act.

Pulling back, Roderich's eyes betray his sadness. "I'm sorry," he says quietly, blinking in an uncomfortable manner, and his use of informal speech is foreign; he's never spoken like that before. "Habit."

Erzsi nods.

Something in her compels Erzsi to wrap her arms around his neck, slowly, hands running up his chest, around his collarbone, until she's embracing him the way she used to, to say she too loved him and missed him. It's his turn to be surprised, and they stay like that for several minutes. "Habit," she murmurs.

Roderich nods.

Behind them Gil's laugh rips through the air, Francis and Anya joining in; Lutz is probably shaking his head. Roderich looks over her shoulder, focused on the sight, but Erzsi cannot turn back. She waits for him to ask, but the question never comes. Instead it is a statement, a simple observation.

"Braginski must be proud of the daughter you share."

She doesn't miss the hurt, couldn't if she'd wanted to. "I still love you," she offers with only half an effort because she's not sure if it's true anymore, but wants to believe it. The heart cannot forget so easily what it gained so slowly.

The once-hers Austrian shakes his head. "You do not have to lie." That cuts at her, hitting her in that little piece of her heart that was always Austrian soil. Always Roderich's. Because he can be so cruel like this, can lash out with the simplicity construction of words, can cause great injury without lifting a hand.

She sees it, Erzsi sees him realize what he's said, sees him realize what her reaction is. He immediately regrets it, she can tell, but he's said it and any hope she had of making things right with him quickly, of returning to those arms and that body and going back to his bed because it was home, they're all gone.

"I lo-" he starts, but she knows what he's about to say.

"Save it," she spits, disgusted with him, disgusted with herself. He had his chance to say I love you. But that wasn't what he said.

Maybe they're both out of practice.

"Erz-" but he's cut off by Anya, who does not know the strange man, does not hear the conversation they're having. She wraps her arms around her mother from behind, and Erzsi reciprocates, holding Anya to her back. Roderich looks so sad but now Erzsi knows she was kidding herself, thinking it could all go back to the way it was. She's not that person anymore. He's not that person anymore. It wasn't just a cold war that drove them apart; it was the chance to reflect on everything they did and didn't do. The chance to be, without the other there.

"Mama?" Anya asks, and now the other men have come to join them as well. As she turns in her daughter's arms, Erzsi doesn't miss Roderich taking two steps back. Moments like these, he's not good at sharing them with other people. "Mama, when will I get to see Papa?"

That question was always going to come. Erzsi has a letter tucked into her jacket from Vanya, a letter for Anya. The girl- no, the young lady- lights up as Erzsi produces it, holding it to her chest. "He said he will come," Erzsi offers, "when things have calmed down. But I do not know where you can meet." Anya cannot go back to Russia, Erzsi said she wanted to wait longer before that happened. And Erzsi cannot let him come to Hungary after all that had transpired. They knew it'd be difficult to meet again; he has few friends left.

Francis steps forward. "I offer my house in Paris, for when the time is right."

Anya jumps up and down, holding her adopted parent close. "Thank you Francis!" she screams in French, and his face breaks out into a wide smile. But there's something more there as he holds the woman he's cared for.

"What are you grinning about?" Erzsi asks, her eyes narrowing. He shrugs.

"Happiness," he starts in slow Russian, "always looks small while you hold it in your hands, but let it go, and you learn at once how big and precious it is." He smiles. "Maxim Gorky. Today reminded me of it, of Vanya telling me that quote."

The name clicks in her mind, the name of that little town. "He was a writer?" she asks. Francis nods. Perhaps Vanya was the one who gave the town that name.

"Where are we?" Gil asks suddenly, turning to his brother. The station is somewhere in Germany, that western land that for so long was off limit. Much of it has been rebuilt, repaired, like its country incarnate has.

"Bonn," Lutz says. "It is West Germany's capital. Or, at least, the West Germany that was." He smiles to himself, in that boyish way she's always loved, and Gil looks at him with such love Erzsi cries her last unshed tears. Anya wipes them away.

"Живы бу́дем – не помрём," Anya whispers in her mother's ear. It's going to be alright. She used to whisper it to her in the night, when Anya wept from fear.

Erzsi holds her daughter close. "I know." She kisses her head.

Francis gestures for them to leave the station and Anya looks to her mother, who nods; the girl takes Gil's arm, leading the way out. Lutz offers Erzsi his arm.

"I've missed you Erzsi," he says as she takes hold of him. She smiles at that.

As they leave Erzsi chances to glance back, where Francis is speaking to Roderich. But there will be time to speak, to explain. Things with Roderich will get better. They've all been through so much, their countries changing, themselves changing. But with Anya's laugh and Gil's voice, Lutz's watchful gaze full of love, Erzsi knows it will be ok. Time makes even the most unappealing situations grow bearable, heals all wounds, gives new life to immortal creatures.

One last look is cast upon the train car that had brought them here, bright red in the sun. Behind its glass cabinets are books with dangerous ideas, on the table pictures of a family lost in a revolution. Vanya's train car brought them freedom. The irony is not lost on the Hungarian nation.

When she met him, Ivan Braginski was cold and distant and scary. He was abusive and controlling and Erzsi judged him by what she saw him as. By what the world saw the Russian nation as. The photographs she carried then reminded her of days gone by, of the only men she thought she could ever be content with.

Now she carries three more photographs that prove the older ones wrong.

The first is Erzsi between Gil and Irina, their sleeves rolled up, standing in the garden they had helped Vanya plant in the back. Behind them sunflowers are turned towards the high sun, a breeze bending them slightly. Their clothes are dirty, as are their faces, but there is also satisfaction in all of them.

The second is outside the ballet studio, Erzsi and Vanya crouched down to Anya's height. Erzsi's pointing at the camera, showing Anya where to look. Vanya is beaming at them, one hand on Anya's head, the other on Erzsi's knee. The little girl couldn't have been more than four. She was so small. She is still so perfect.

The third is from Pripyat, the river behind them. Vanya is standing behind Erzsi, his arms around her waist, and she's holding his hands, the ring he'd given her reflecting the light. They're both grinning so wide, the sun sparkling on the water; that moment was one Erzsi would have never thought possible. Her face is bright, but it's Vanya's that she loves the most. He looks so happy, so young, so loving, and Erzsi hopes the world will let him have moments like those back.

He's not perfect, but Erzsi still loves him. Lutz helps her down the stairs.

Roderich can only stand and watch them leave. Francis stands a little way from him, watching the Austrian's reaction. Erzsi looks back, once, and he wants to smile but he can't. She moves on without him, just as she had with Ivan.

He thought he'd hold her tight, kiss her, lavish her, love her. He thought she'd love him right back, as if not a moment had been missed.

But then Francis arrived with a woman that was clearly the child of Ivan Braginski. Roderich thought nothing of the pair, until that woman's eyes caught his, and his heart froze.

Roderich had not even thought of another woman since he married Erzsi. After the divorce he just couldn't, and that one night towards the end of the last world war, in the bunker, reminded him why not. Erzsi was perfect, moved against him and with him and Gott he hates her for how much he loves her. Her kiss had been different, he knew she'd felt another's touch, but it had been nothing in that moment. Surely it had been a one-time thing; Francis had confessed later, and Roderich knew it had meant nothing. She was still his.

But then Francis came with Erzsi's daughter, and Roderich realized how wrong he was.

"What happened?" he whispers quietly to no one in particular. Francis looks up with sad eyes, his face reflecting an uneasy spirit within. "She said she'd love me forever. She said she'd love only me."

"Forever is for humans." It shakes Roderich, the nation of love saying such things. Those blue eyes are watching him, and he hates that Francis is here.

"What happened?" Roderich repeats weakly. Francis blinks before speaking.

"She fell in love."