“If your god did exist, he would be coincidental, just happening to align with your own innate goodness. This god appeals to you because he exemplifies your idea of good, the same good your boys possessed, not because god created the idea. You create an external cause, god, when the whole time the cause was within you. You passed your own goodness onto your boys, and they in turn passed it on to others.”
The woman, whose hand had remained aloft the whole time, lowered it, a motion like a collapsing building.
“I don’t even have a painting of my boys,” she said. “Since they took down Stalin’s portrait, there are no paintings on the farm at all.”
“Perhaps there should be,” said Nadya.
As soon as she uttered the last word, Ignatius was there, snatching away the microphone. Ignatius thanked the crowd and explained that Nadya and Leonid had been traveling all day and needed to retire. The crowd applauded, a subdued wave of sound cresting from front to back. In the silence that followed, a little girl at the telescope asked, “How many moons does Saturn have?”
“We’ve discovered nine so far,” said the astronomer, “though there are likely quite a few more. Look hard, and maybe you’ll be the one to find them.”
THE SUN HAD NOT yet found a way to creep through the narrow lane and into the hotel window when a knock came on Leonid’s door. He lay in bed hoping it would not come again but knowing that it would. Knock knock knock knock.
He rolled onto his back and shucked off the sheets. His legs were pale, the muscles soft. There had been no training since before the launch. While he had always rued the morning runs on the dorm’s treadmill, seeing how quickly his body lost its shape made him appreciate them. Maybe he would run this morning. Knock knock knock knock. Dropping his legs over the side of the high bed, Leonid slid to a standing position. No, there would be no running.
The old armoire stood in the corner of the room, overlapping part of the window. Pocks and dings speckled the dark wood, scratches like streaking meteors. The hinges chirped as Leonid opened the door. Inside, his uniform draped over the rod. The note from the Americans, with the address in Odessa, had slipped halfway out of the uniform’s inside pocket. He didn’t know why he had kept it or why he hid it in a place so close to his heart. There would never be a chance for him to go, but it felt like a possibility, an alternative in a life that had never before presented him with alternatives. He pushed the note all the way back into the pocket. Dangling next to the uniform was a robe, dingy white with pink trim, a color Leonid suspected had once been crimson. He slipped the robe off the rod, in the process spilling his tie to the floor. He pushed the tail of the tie back inside with his big toe and shut the armoire. The hinges chirped.
Leonid opened the door to the hallway, still cinching the robe around him. Ignatius leaned against the frame, dressed in casual clothes, a pair of sunglasses on the top of her head like a tiara.
“Did I wake you?” she said.
“I thought we didn’t leave until this afternoon. Unless I slept all night and through the morning.”
Ignatius crouched down and tugged at the hem of Leonid’s robe, closing an open V that revealed his thigh almost all the way up to the hip.
“Can you try not to be half-naked when you answer the door?” said Ignatius.
“What time is it?”
“The clock in my room doesn’t work.”
“You wear a watch.”
She held up her arm and inspected it. A large watch, one designed for a man, always took up the whole of her wrist. A blue face set in a silver frame, red star at the top and the white outline of a submarine at the bottom. It was the naval version of a watch Leonid had seen many of the army officers wear at Star City. Leonid doubted that Ignatius had ever seen the inside of a submarine.
“It’s six,” said Ignatius.
Leonid inspected her clothes, a blouse of provincial style, similar to what the women wore to the planetarium last night. Her hair was pulled up and secured with pins. Her eyeliner, usually dark and flared at the corners, had been applied in a more subdued fashion.
Leonid scratched his head. The hair stuck out in all directions. Ignatius grinned.
“What do you want?” asked Leonid.
“I’m here for what you want.”
“You don’t seem to have breakfast with you.”
“I thought we might tour the city. See what dogs there are to see.”
Leonid felt the grogginess flow from his face like a blush in reverse.
“Dogs?”
“A city like this is sure to have quite a variety.”
“I’ll get dressed,” said Leonid.
“Perhaps a bit of bathing first. We’ve been traveling for two days.”
Leonid pinched a lock of his hair and rubbed it between thumb and finger. It was slick with grease.
“And don’t wear your uniform,” said Ignatius.
“It’s all I brought with me.”
“Check the top drawer of the dresser.”
Leonid stepped back into the room and opened the dresser, a piece of furniture in no way matching the armoire except in the damage to its surface. A change of clothes lay neatly folded there, plain pants and a simple shirt. A pair of worn brown boots, though worn in by whom he was not sure. Atop a brimmed hat, the kind a farmer might wear, rested a pair of sunglasses, sleek and modern and out of place with the rest of the outfit.
Leonid held the sunglasses up to Ignatius. “The sun is barely out yet.”
“But it will be,” she said.
LEONID THOUGHT THEY LOOKED a ridiculous trio, strutting down the unfamiliar streets in their unfamiliar clothes, outfits that while they looked like what the locals wore, seemed too new, too much like a costume. Nadya wore clothes almost exactly the same as Ignatius, skirt and blouse in bland colors. All three had on sunglasses, like masks meant to hide the obvious fakeness of their personas. But no one looked at them twice.
That felt strange in itself. Nadya was still among the most famous people in the world. It was impossible for her to go anywhere in public without attracting stares. In Paris, a stranger had come up to her, taken a knee, offered flowers, and proposed. Nadya had laughed, obviously not the response the man had been hoping for. Ignatius led him away, around a corner. She returned with the bouquet and carried it with her for the rest of the day.
Leonid could not decide if being ignored made him happy or disturbed. It was peaceful, yes, but also unfamiliar. The familiar, he had learned, was comfortable in a way that peace was not.
There were few people on the streets at this hour, anyway. The early risers strolled down the middle of roads, as if daring a car to come along. Nothing was open yet, so it was unclear where these people might be going. Perhaps just for a morning walk to shake off their tired, shuffled steps before the factories opened.
“What are we going to do if we actually find a dog?” asked Nadya.
Ignatius stopped. Nadya and Leonid took a few more steps before they noticed Ignatius was no longer beside them.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Ignatius.
Leonid pinched his shirt and pulled the fabric forward. “You remembered disguises, but didn’t think to bring a leash?”
“I have many responsibilities,” said Ignatius, “but until now animal care has not been among them. You two keep searching. I’ll go find something with which to secure a dog.”