Weekend with Déduška

4. Aubert Vanya

As he pushes the door open a little boy at the bottom of the stairs giggles. "Hello Vanya," the Russian nation says to his youngest grandson, locking the apartment door behind him. From the living room Anya bustles in, pausing only to kiss each of her father's cheeks before flying up the stairs.

"Mama is late," Aubert Ivan informs him, the boy following his grandfather. Vanya hangs his coat, pulling his suitcase into the living room; he'd bring it back to the guest room later. Aubert jumps onto the couch. "Are you hungry?"

"No," Vanya says, plopping down beside him and wrapping an arm around his small shoulders. "I ate on the plane. Are you hungry though?" Aubert shrugs. "Well if you get hungry let me know, I'll eat when you eat."

"Mama says dinner isn't to be taken before five-thirty."

"Is that so your papa can be home for it?" He nods. "Has Papa called since he left?" Raphael, Vanya knows, is lecturing in Switzerland this and next week. Unfortunately Anya was needed at the last minute to do some English-French-Hungarian translations out in Vienna; rarely were both parents gone at the same time but Vanya didn't mind coming up to watch the baby of the family. He was his baby after all.

"He said he'd bought me a gift!" Aubert seems delighted at the idea, Anya rushing down the stairs to take something from the kitchen table.

"I'm so sorry Papa," she sighs but Vanya just smiles.

"It's no problem Anya, I told you that. Do you need my help with anything?"

"Can I have you carry my suitcase down?" She's already walking to the stairs. "I've only left heels out and those won't do on the stairs."

"I've got it. Come on Vanya-baby, you going to help me?" Vanya, standing, leads the way as the boy follows.

"Yes Sir!" he says in his best military voice. That makes the Russian nation laugh.

The girls were in London with Francis, enjoying the warm weather. Martie was serving a tour with the French military, making his country proud and his grandfather prouder. And little Vanya, well, he had a whole week to spend with big Vanya instead of just a weekend. That was quite exciting.

They lay on their stomachs in front of the television, big Vanya watching the news and only vaguely paying attention to his picture, little Vanya intently coloring and only vaguely paying attention to the news.

"Déduška, what's вто́рник?"

"Tuesday."

"And возраже́ние?"

"That means protest."

"Who's Putin?"

"He's the president."

"Of Russia?"

"Da."

"Do you like him?"

"Eh," Vanya admits, "he has his moment; we go hunting."

"Like you do with Martie?"

"Da."

"When I'm old enough will you take me hunting?"

Rolling onto his side Vanya takes in the boy with his impeccably colored picture of the French countryside: eight shades of green, six shades of blue, three different browns; the people had been colored a flat, boring yellow. "If you want," he replies seriously. Aubert smiles at him before holding up his picture.

"I finished!" The box of crayons look dead.

He admires his grandson's picture on the fridge before putting the milk and butter away, sitting at the table while Aubert gets napkins and spoons. "Thank you Vanya," he says gratefully, the boy climbing into his seat and taking the piece of bread and butter offered.

"Lapsha?" he inquires, face over the bowl of noodles in soup.

"Does Mama make this for you?"

Aubert nods his head, adding, "And Nagyi too, though they always say yours is the best." Dutifully the boy starts in on the hot soup, Vanya pushing his spoon around the bowl for a piece of chicken and smiling to himself.

In the park they lean against a bench, taking in the sights: big Vanya the pretty ladies, little Vanya the pretty dogs. "I want a puppy," the boy finally announces.

"Big or little?"

"Big!"

Fingers come out to stroke the boy's cheek, watching him finish his ice-cream. "Do you know what kind?" Aubert shrugs.

"Did you ever have a dog Déduška?"

"Da, hunting dog when I was in Siberia. She was a good girl, fluffy, happy."

"What was here name?" the boy asks happily, scooting in further under his grandfather's arm on the back of the bench and resting his head on Vanya's chest.

"Hmm? Raisa." The Russian nation smiles in memory of the happy dog. She had been a beauty though the winters had not be kind enough to her. Poor girl.

Aubert's big purple eyes are wide, anticipatory, as they take in the nation who sighs, one hand ruffling the boy's hair.

"Alright, alright. I know Anya never will give in so I'll get another dog."

"Yay!" Arms around his shoulders hold him tight, Vanya laughing at the delight of his grandson.

For lunch they eat in a café near the Eiffel Tower, Vanya taking in the Seine River and wondering what adventures his Anya had had on it when she first lived her. "Can we get dessert Déduška?" Aubert asks, licking a finger of oil as he finishes up his fries and steak.

"Whatever you want sunflower," and the Russian finishes his glass of wine, ready for coffee and chocolate.

With dinner cooking on the stove Vanya pulls his grandson onto his lap, the program loading on Raphael's computer. "So excited!" The boys legs swing in anticipation, giggling as his grandfather kisses his head.

An arm comes around the boy, Vanya making the video call that is quickly picked up, Erzsi's image clear on the screen. "Hello boys," she coos.

"Nagyi, Nagyi! Guess what we did today?" Aubert immediately launches into his stories, one right after another, and Vanya smiles at him, his eyes coming up every once and a while to look at Erzsi grinning at Aubert too. Her eyes twinkle even on the screen, her face softening as she catches Vanya's gaze.

Silently she mouthes, "I love you," before Aubert finally lets her talk.

In the large public library Vanya pulls down books about his past, about days he struggles to remember, repressed and forbidden for so long. Thick tomes line the wall; his hands shake as he pulls down tales retelling the death of the Romanovs. He lines his arms until he can't carry anymore, making his way back to the table where one of the librarians is sitting, laughing at his grandson's story.

"There you go Monsieur," she says, standing. "Your son is very smart." Aubert smiles wide at that; he was the youngest human Vanya thinks they've ever told about the nations incarnate. He plays along with the game, his favorite one to share in because it's a secret and Aubert is good at keeping secrets.

"Thank you Miss." Vanya piles the books on the table, stacking them and removing his journal of notes from his bag.

"We found me a book!" Aubert informs him and the Russian smiles.

"Good. Read quietly while Déduška works, da?"

"Da!"

As he makes his notes, trying once more to create the most accurate timeline of the end of the Romanovs' lives that he can, Vanya's neck starts to pain him. Deciding it was time to take a break he leans back, sketching out his Alexei Nikolaevich as a boy about Aubert's age.

His grin is small, little Vanya reading a book backwards as he tells himself his own story. "And then he said, nah-uh, that's not what the soldiers eat so I won't eat it either."

Sometimes Vanya regrets the boy being named for him; he's not sure he's ever done anything worthy of that sort of honor.

Big, sweet eyes catch his. "Do you want to hear my story too?" Aubert asks. Settling in the nation nods, ready to listen.

They're up very early, Vanya carrying his grandson despite knowing he was too old for such things yet small at the same time, thin; he's always been so susceptible to illness. He grips the boy tighter because while modern medicine means it doesn't matter, that Aubert will live a full life, it still scares Vanya to think back on how illness has ravaged in the past.

He goes to lay the boy down on the couch but he won't let go, so Vanya carries him to get the phone, taking it to the couch where he sits with Aubert on his lap. Then they wait.

He doesn't know how long they've waited for, the clock having last read five-thirty in the morning. When Vanya looks at his watch it reads quarter-past-six.

Finally the phone rings.

"Déduška?" a voice on the other end asks in a quiet voice. He shakes the little boy in his arms to try and wake him as the voice continues. "Sorry Déduška, there was this thing-"

"It's ok Martie, I understand." It feels so good to hear that voice, to know that Martie is still safe somewhere. He's not in a war zone but at the same time it's still dangerous and Vanya appreciates that. "Your brother's here, though he might have gone back to sleep on me."

"Did not," Aubert moans. Martie laughs, the sound foreign as if he hasn't done so in a while.

"Hey Vanya-baby, how you doing?" The two brothers exchange simple words before Aubert hands the phone back, his head falling on Vanya's shoulder and eyes closing to go back to sleep.

"You doing ok?" Vanya asks, rocking the boy in his lap. He remembers rocking Vanya in the hospital while Anya gave birth; it never seizes to amaze him how quickly children grow.

"Yeah, it's not as bad as last time, mainly cuz I know what to expect."

"I hear ya."

"I'm sure this must seem like nothing to you," Martie laughs but Vanya doesn't, taking a deep breath.

"Believe me Martie, I still get just as worried as your mother and grandmother; I'm just better at hiding it."

"Hey, I've got a question."

"Da?"

"How's your timeline coming along?" He means the final days of the Romanovs.

"I got down another couple of hours I think, at the library. I'll have to check my journals back at home to make sure it all lines up."

"Da. Oh, I've got to go Déduška but it's been great talking to you and Vanya."

"You stay safe Martie. If you ever need anything you know you can get your message through to me." Francis had arranged it for Martie, to calm Anya's nerves. "I love you."

"Da," Martie laughs. "Da." He'll never say he loves them back on the phone. Well, except for his mother. "Till next time."

"Talk to you then."

The kitchen is calm as they eat crêpes with apples, Vanya peeling another one while Aubert eats happily, talking about what they should do today. So far they're going to the moon, swimming to the United States, and going back in time. They'd need more breakfast for all that, and maybe a packed lunch.

From the hall there's a shuffling sound, the front door opening as voices echo loudly in the small apartment. "Gah, why would you ever do that?"

"I know right? Boys, what idiots!"

"What idiots," Francis agrees, leading the way through the living room and into the kitchen, Nika and Lara following close behind. Vanya stands to shake hands with his fellow nation.

"Hi Déduška!"

"Hi Déduška!"

"Hello girls." He kisses each of their heads. "Would you guys like crêpes too?"

"Oh yes please," and Nika trails close behind, informing her grandfather in a wild mixture of French and Russian about what they'd done and seen in London. Lara, he sees over his shoulder, has sat at the kitchen table to listen to Aubert who's telling her in a mixture of French and Hungarian what he and their grandfather had done while they were gone. Francis just stands in the archway, leaning against the wall.

"Here, take these to the table." Nika does as she's told, joining her siblings in their discussion. "You're thinking something," Vanya whispers to Francis, leaning against the wall as well and taking in the sight. It makes his heart beat faster just thinking that this was his, this was his family. And they loved him.

"I'm thinking you're happy," and looking to Francis he finds the Frenchman watching him instead of the table. "And that makes me happy Ivan, to finally see you content. Satisfied."

"Sometimes I worry that you know me too well," the comment making Francis laugh.

"It's a good thing I like you then."

Midday they sit out on the small balcony, no room for chairs, as Francis makes something fancy and terribly French in the kitchen.

"Uncle Francis said he'd watch us so you could go home," Lara informs her grandfather as Aubert climbs from Vanya's lap to Nika's so that she'll play with his hair. "He watches us all the time and we've yet to starve, so I think you can trust us with him."

"But can he make good Russian food?" and the girls laugh.

"No one makes good Russian food like you do Déduška," Nika starts, "but that might be since he's not Russia, you are."

"That is an interesting argument," Vanya concedes. The roar of laughter from the balcony disturbs some of the Parisians walking by on the street below.

Francis and Vanya are the only ones left on the balcony: the girls are unpacking, Aubert taking a nap after having been woken so early.

"I will watch them," Francis murmurs, "if you want to head home. You don't have to stay."

"Believe me when I say," Vanya sighs, "I'd much rather stay here." Francis nods knowingly.

"How's Erzsi?"

"She's doing well. We're going to visit Feliciano next month, you should come."

"Perhaps," and light blue eyes sweep over the capital before them.

"If you want me to go, leave France," Vanya starts but his friend is already shaking his head.

"Non, non, non, you should never feel as if you have to leave my dearest Russian. You are always welcome here, you must know that."

"I still feel guilty," Vanya chuckles.

"That is your nature," Francis concedes. "Have you at least enjoyed this trip? I know you normally come when your daughter is here."

"Well I like spending time with the grandkids alone. I'm very much aware of how any time I can spend with them I should, because it's all precious." Deep blue eyes take him in. "What?" Vanya asks, feeling uncomfortable under that look.

"Sometimes I forget how much you've changed since Erzsi came into your life. How being a father is like you finally finding your place. Anya never stopped talking about you," Francis admits. "No day was complete without here telling me, Papa does this at home, or, Papa used to say. Oh," he sighs, "I miss those days."

"Hmm." As the sun goes low Vanya finally admits, "I'm afraid of her dying."

"You wouldn't be her father if you weren't."

"The only consolation is knowing she'll live on through her children."

Francis lays back, soaking in the last of the sun's ray. "And your memory."

"Hmm?"

"She'll live on in you, forever. Your love is eternal Ivan Braginski," Francis says. "Perhaps your love is the only eternal thing in the world."

The sun finally dips below the skyline, an orange-purple glow painting the sky. "Never thought about it like that."

"I figured," and his friend laughs, standing and going back inside.