Princess Of Passyunk Part 12

"Who will go with me to shul this evening?" she asked.

Before the Ritual could continue, Da said, "Tonight we go to ma.s.s."

Baba looked for a moment as if the Day of Atonement had arrived unannounced. "You go to Sunday morning ma.s.s."

"This week we will go to Friday ma.s.s with Nikolai."

"Then who will go with me to temple?"

The silence was sudden and awful. Accusing glances winged between the Puzdrovsky patriarch and his wife. The children averted their eyes.

"Perhaps Ouspensky-" began Vitaly, and next to him Marija opened her mouth.

"Can't I go with her like always?" Ganady asked.

"No. We must attend ma.s.s as a family."

"Then I'll go with you tomorrow morning, Baba," Ganady told his grandmother.

The old woman's lips compressed and she gave her son-in-law such a look as might wither a lesser man...or a wiser one.

"Thank you, Ganny," she said to her grandson. "Of course, we won't know as many folks there and you will have to call Yevgeny and tell him not to come tonight."

"Yes, Baba," he said, and her eyes thanked him.

She returned to her meal with a huge sigh. Everyone else looked face down into their plates.

"May I go?"

All heads lifted as one and turned toward Marija who sat with her hands folded meekly in her lap, blinking at this sudden sharp regard.

"Go?" asked Da.

"To shul. Tomorrow. With Baba and Ganny."

"Why?"

"Because I must be in bed asleep when Ganny and Baba go to shul on Friday night. On Sat.u.r.day, there's no staying up late, so I could go."

It was a statement of fact-quiet and sure-and it did not answer Da's real question.

Ganny caught the sudden spark in his grandmother's eyes, the slow smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Well," said Vitaly.

Marija turned to her natural ally. "Mama? Can't I go?"

"Well," said Vitaly again. "It's only that I'm afraid you might be confused."

"Confused?"

"Well, the Jews revere Moses and-"

"Catholics revere Moses," observed Marija.

"Well... But we don't... They don't... It's not... That is to say..."

The senior Puzdrovsky looked to his wife for guidance or support, but she would only shrug.

He echoed the shrug. "I suppose, as long as you also go to ma.s.s."

Marija granted him a brilliant smile. "Thank you, Da!"

She went immediately back to her meal before something else might be said about the matter.

Ganady wondered if Marija would now be included in Armin the Opshprekher's yearly prayers and spells.

oOo From the sidewalk in front of Saint Stan's it seemed to Ganady that the aging cathedral was a box of captive stars and suns. Light burst from every aperture, shooting into the night air and spilling out over sidewalk and street.

The opening of the great doors was a revelation; stepping into the narthex in a flood of golden light, he thought that all ma.s.ses should be held at night when the glow of candle and lamp transported it nearer to the Glory of G.o.d.

Baba's synagogue was as holy, if not nearly as grand, and both houses of worship had the same warm smell of beeswax, wood polish, and incense. Perhaps, Ganady thought as his family made its way to an empty pew, that was the very scent of holiness, and all such places had it.

Being that they were newcomers to Friday night ma.s.s (except for Nick), much of the congregation turned to look at them. This was exactly what Vitaly Puzdrovsky had in mind, of course, for they were almost late in arriving and Deacon Markov made much of their coming.

"Well, here are the Puzdrovskys! Two ma.s.ses in one week! You set a fine example," he added in a stage whisper.

"Ah, well..." was all Da could say before the good deacon hurried away to his duties.

As fate or the will of G.o.d would have it, the Guercinos occupied a pew across the central aisle and a row or two behind where the Puzdrovskys sat. So, they were able to see the cordial greetings accorded the Puzdrovskys by friends and neighbors.

As they pa.s.sed the Guercinos, Da nodded politely at their patriarch; the two mothers exchanged amiable nods; Antonia smiled shyly at Nikolai while beside her, her brother glared.

After that, it was ma.s.s as usual. Ganady found it difficult to concentrate on the ritual. Overcome by light and warmth, he drifted in almost a dream state, intoning where it was called for, but never really feeling as if he were there.

He wondered if that was the way one was supposed to feel in a house of G.o.d-slightly elevated, faraway, absorbing more sensation than sense. It was certainly how he felt at shul.

Nikolai stole glances at his princess all during the service. By the time they reached the Sanctus the two were sharing long, meaningful looks. This was not lost on Stefano, who continued to glower at Nick like a dog separated from a cat by a windowpane.

After Deacon Markov sang the dismissal, after the recitation of the Last Gospel, after the procession had returned to the sacristy, the pews emptied into the aisles and the congregants merged.

Antonia Guercino managed to lag behind her family enough to afford Nick a shy nod and a murmured "h.e.l.lo." She turned her attention next to Rebecca Puzdrovsky, smiling sweetly and saying "Good evening, Mrs. Puzdrovsky."

"Such a good girl!" exclaimed Rebecca. "See how polite, Vitaly. Didn't I tell you what a sweet, thoughtful girl she is. You know those wonderful little cookies with the almond paste we had at Tuesday dinner? She brought those."

"Delicious," said Vitaly, on cue.

"Mother taught me how to make them," Antonia murmured.

Rebecca turned the full effects of her charm on the Guercino Mama, who had turned back to overhear the conversation. "Such a recipe," she said. "I'd love to have it. Do you think I might?"

Mrs. Guercino-Francesca by name-smiled and nodded, casting her frowning husband a sideways glance.

Before the commingled group of Guercinos and Puzdrovskys had migrated down the aisle to the narthex, the two women and their daughters were happily exchanging recipes while Vitaly and Sergio Guercino had introduced themselves and were talking sports. Nikolai hung on the edge of the group between Annie and her mother.

Ganady watched wide-eyed. At this rate, they would be fast friends by the time they reached the sidewalk. He shot a look back over his shoulder.

Stefano Guercino lagged behind them in the aisle, a look of stupefaction on his face.

oOo Ganady decided he must have been much impressed with Saint Stanislaus at night, for he went back to it in his dreams. One moment he was settling into his pillow, and the next he was strolling up Fitzwater toward Saint Stan's.

At the bottom of the sanctuary steps he paused to make sure he wasn't wearing his pajamas, and to wonder if in the realm of dreams the cathedral existed inside his head or if he existed here in front of the church as a phantom.

He supposed he was to enter, so he climbed the steps to find that it was as warm and mellowly bright as it had been in reality. But now there were no worshippers, no choir, and no priests. The pews were empty; the only sound the whisper of a thousand tongues of flame.

No, not quite empty, Ganady realized, for someone sat in the first row before the altar. It was a woman or girl, her hair covered with a black lace scarf.

Antonia, he thought, and glanced about, expecting to see his big brother. Nick was nowhere in sight.

Ganady made his way down the main aisle, wondering what he might have to say to his brother's beloved. He hesitated at the end of the first row, not wanting to interrupt her prayers. She didn't seem to have noticed him. Perhaps phantoms did not make noises other phantoms could hear. Or perhaps she was really here, saying prayers of thanksgiving for the miracle G.o.d, with a little help from Rebecca Puzdrovsky and Annie herself, had wrought this evening.

Ganady glanced up at the altar with its old-country crucifix, recalling with embarra.s.sing clarity his comment about Jesus winking. Which did not stop him from wondering if He might have winked when Nikki came here with Antonia.

"h.e.l.lo, Ganny."

He turned to find Antonia watching him.

Except that it wasn't Antonia after all. It was the girl from another dream-Svetlana. The scarf was gone and her hair gleamed a pale, rose gold in the candlelight.

He moved with dreamer's grace and ease to slide into the pew beside her, marveling at how much the same she was: the twilight eyes, the pale hair, the delicate Slavic features. Everything about her was the same. That seemed remarkable to Ganady, who took for granted the changeability of dreamscapes.

"I thought you were Antonia," he told her. "We saw her tonight at ma.s.s, so I guess I thought..."

"It made sense to dream about her."

"I guess."

"So how's that going, do you think? Your brother and Antonia, I mean."

"Oh. Pretty good, I guess. I mean, the families have met." He shrugged.

"And the womenfolk talked recipes?"

"Yeah. Antonia brought us these little cookies. Mama asked for the recipe."

Svetlana nodded. "That's all right, then. Nikki should be happy." She hesitated a moment, then said, "You know, I can bake cookies, too. And babka and cruschiki. But I'm best at meat dishes."

Ganny could only stare at her. "Why am I dreaming about you?"

The question was directed at himself; he didn't really expect an answer.

She didn't give one. "Do you mind? Dreaming about me, I mean."

"Well, no. Of course not. I like it."

"Good. I like being dreamed about."

A striking thought. He turned to look at her and noticed again the color of her hair in the candlelight. He noticed that it was long-cascading down her back to her waist. It almost reminded him of something...a tickle of the mind that did not quite generate a sneeze.

"What does it feel like to be dreamed about?" he asked.

She smiled. "How do you feel?"

"Me? I feel..." He paused to consider this. "I feel warm. Safe."

"Happy?"

"Happy."

"Well, I guess that's what it feels like to be dreamed about."

"But dreaming about yourself doesn't count, does it?"

Her smile deepened. "That's not what I meant."

"You mean you're dreaming me while I'm dreaming you?"

She gave him a mysterious look that made him feel as if those blue-gray eyes contained magnets. Then she blushed and glanced away.

"At least I think that's the way this works," she murmured.

"Then...you're real? Are you real?"

The mysterious smile was back. "What do you think?"

"I think I'm dreaming you."

"Uh-huh."

"I mean, I thought I made you up."

"Does that mean I made you up?" she asked in return. "Are you real, Ganady Puzdrovsky?"

Ganady was completely unmanned. This was in the realm of Armin the Opshprekher. He struggled mutely with the idea of his own reality before hazarding an answer.

"I think I'm real," he said at last.

"Only real people dream, right?"