but not how they calculated them.
Dimitri Lischenko had fled Russia after his brother was shot during the “Bloody Sunday” massacre of 1905, the same event that had prompted Sergei's decision to take his family out of Russia. Dimitri, a university professor, and his brother Vladimir, a doctor, had joined the Socialist Revolutionary party in 1901, shortly after it had been formed. As educated left-wing intellectuals in a country deeply split along class lines, they were despised by both the wealthy elite because they wanted to overthrow the monarchy, and by the peasants who saw them as opportunistic dilettantes who could always take refuge in privilege. Dimitri was now nearing forty, unmarried and desperately missing his motherland. He had debated going back to Russia, and many times had been on the verge of returning, but he had always backed down. Dimitri was a true intellectual, a man who lived the life of the mind. Physical courage was not part of his makeup. He was a small, nervous man with a tendency to drink, which led to occasional bouts of melancholia, during which he wrote copious amounts of solemn poetry. His eyesight was poor, his skin sallow, and his fine, light brown hair was slowly but surely receding further and further back on his wide forehead. But he had a brilliant and incisive mind, was a voracious reader and spoke excellent French and English. In other words, he was perfect for the job. Sergei knew the man could challenge Tatiana intellectually and always be ahead of her by several steps. He also knew that there was no danger that Tatiana would fall in love with Dimitri, a complication Sergei did not need.
Tatiana, however, grew very fond of Dimitri over time. Perhaps she recognized his vulnerability in the real world beyond the books he buried himself in. She felt affectionate toward him, the way she would feel about a kitten or a child. She also learned a great deal from him. Not so much factual information that she could read in books, but how to interpret the information, analyze it and decide for herself if she agreed. This was the part of the learning process she enjoyed most. It made her feel powerful, as if this were one area of life she could control, the realm of ideas. She especially enjoyed those times when her father joined in the discussions. Then things would get lively, because her father liked to play the role of devil's advocate.
“So,” he said, looking Tatiana straight in the eye, “if God created Paradise on earth, why did he let Adam and Eve destroy it by eating the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge? Wasn't he powerful enough to stop them?”
Tatiana had been reading Paradise Lost and had anticipated this question. Dimitri had discussed with her the notion of good and evil and why Eve had succumbed to the serpent's seduction.
“God gave Adam and Eve the gifts of reason and free will,” she said. “So they were free to choose to obey God or to obey Satan. They were free to choose sin.”
“Then why obey Satan instead of God? Didn't they owe their obedience to God for placing them in Paradise?”
“I suppose they did, in a way,” said Tatiana, pondering the question. “But God didn't demand obedience, and he didn't make them perfect. Eve was deceived by the serpent, but she didn't know he was trying to destroy her and Adam out of jealousy and revenge. She gave in to temptation because his words made sense to her.” She quoted from Milton:
“…in her ears the sound
Yet rung of his persuasive words, impregned
With Reason, to her seeming, and with truth…
“And then she persuaded Adam to taste the fruit and he chose to join Eve in her disobedience of God. Adam's better judgment told him it was wrong to eat the fruit, because God had told them not to, but he allowed himself to be seduced by Eve because he loved her.”
“And ever since,” smiled Sergei, “men have been led into temptation by women.”
“Papa,” said Tatiana, “that's not fair. If Satan had chosen Adam instead of Eve to eat the fruit, he probably would have found a way to persuade him. Men are just as likely to succumb to temptation as women. Then Adam would have tempted Eve, and the whole world would be different.”
Sergei laughed. “I think we are creating a suffragist, Dimitri. Your pupil is able to turn every argument into a defence of women's rights.”
“I apologize, Mr. Relnikov. I had no idea I was dealing with someone who could use reason so effectively to exert her free will.”
“Ah,” said Sergei. “Perhaps you and God both made the same mistake.”
Tatiana laughed. “You two like to think that men are superior to women and that women were created to serve men.”
“Well,” said Sergei, “weren't they? Doesn't the Bible say that Eve was created to serve Adam and God?”
“Yes. But Eve didn't want to be inferior. She wanted to be equal. She says:
‘And render me more equal, and perhaps,
A thing not understandable, sometime
Superior; for inferior who is free?
“She wanted to be free, which is what everybody wants. If God didn't want Adam and Eve to sin, why did he put the Tree of Knowledge in Paradise? Why did he put free will and temptation on the same plate?”
“It's a good question, Tatushka.” Sergei was genuinely pleased at his daughter's intellectual progress. “Why do you think he did this?”
“Perhaps God needed to provide the opportunity for mercy and forgiveness. How could he be seen as a benevolent God if nobody ever needed forgiving? Why does God even need to exist if everyone is perfect?”
“But if that is the case,” said Dimitri, “then it was in God's divine plan all along that Adam and Eve would be expelled from Paradise for succumbing to temptation. So what your father said is true. God let Adam and Eve destroy Paradise. He was powerful enough.”
Tatiana looked at Dimitri then at her father. They had brought the argument full circle, and she hadn't seen it coming.
Tatiana was still tied to Olga and Jean Paul by invisible strings, but they were beginning to chafe. Despite her interest in her studies, Sergei had begun to sense that Tatiana's desire for independence might get her into trouble, so he did not allow her to go out without a chaperone. He had even started searching for a possible husband for her, a prospect that made her nervous and irritable. She endured many lectures that year about her frequent bad moods and controlling her temper. Mostly, her family's efforts to rein her in just made Tatiana angrier and more determined to break away as soon as possible. Olga, on the other hand, could not wait to be married. Tatiana could muster no enthusiasm for such a future. She was not ready for a husband, marriage, or, God forbid, children. Her father often despaired, knowing that the day would come when he could no longer make decisions for her.
Tatiana was becoming a beautiful young woman. She was tall, like her maternal grandmother, with thick, honey-coloured hair and a fair complexion, which she enhanced by avoiding the sun and rubbing lemon juice on her skin. Tatiana had the kind of face that didn't need make-up, but she was vain about her appearance and liked to dress up and wear powder and lipstick to emphasize her features. Her grey eyes were deep-set, with slightly hooded lids, and she was learning to use them in a way that made people uncomfortable when she stared at them.
Olga resembled the women on Sergei's side of the family. She was a good five inches shorter than Tatiana, with a thick waist and sturdy legs. Her hair was darker than her father's, and so curly that it would tighten into a frizzy ball when the air was humid. She had straight, no-nonsense eyebrows and brown eyes that were almost black. This, combined with her square jaw, gave her the appearance of matronly authority. All she needed was a nun's wimple and robes and she could have been Mother Superior. When she walked with her sister in the streets of the French Concession, the young men looked at Tatiana, not Olga. Fortunately, Jean Paul, who was shorter than Tatiana but taller than Olga, balding and underweight, was devoted to Olga, and they were planning to marry as soon as he completed his army service.
The war in Europe continued, and each year more young Frenchmen were shipped home to do their duty. The few who returned brought back grim stories of something called trench warfare that made Tatiana think of the slimy gutters