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Page 36.
Berna giggled. “Or two women with one husband.”
Madame Didier shrugged, feeling as always the fatalistic weight of the unchangeable past. “There are still so many puzzling details, but I know for certain that the NKGB or GRU kidnapped my mother right out of her residence on Nob Hill in San Francisco when she was pregnant with me, and that’s how I ended up in the Soviet Union.”
“A dreadful fate,” the old man said, pursing his lips as he no doubt reviewed a thousand painful memories of his own.
“Yes. My poor mother. She ended up marrying a man in Siberia who drank heavily and was mean to her, but he brought home a small paycheck and that kept us from starving to death. Those were hard years. I’m told he fell off a fishing boat in the North Pacific in 1947 and drowned. My mother never married again. Not that she had much time, because she died the next year.”
There was a silence as they all digested this information from the chaotic aftermath of the world war.
“Where do you go next?” Berna said.
Outside, the wind blew a long veil of snow across the slate rooftops.
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