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Perhaps it was a coincidence. Or the American could just be stirring up trouble.
All the same Volodya was reeling with shock.
He returned home at his usual time. He and Zoya were rising fast and had been given an apartment in Government House, the luxury block where his parents lived. Grigori and Katerina came to the apartment at Kotya's suppertime, as they did most evenings. Katerina bathed her grandson, then Grigori sang to him and told him Russian fairy tales. Kotya was nine months old and not yet talking, but he seemed to like bedtime stories just the same.
Volodya followed the evening routine as if sleepwalking. He tried to behave normally, but he found he could hardly speak to either of his parents. He did not believe Greg's story, but he could not stop thinking about it.
When Kotya was asleep, and the grandparents were about to leave, Grigori said to Volodya: "Have I got a boil on my nose?"
"No."
"Then why have you been staring at me all evening?"
Volodya decided to tell the truth. "I met a man called Greg Peshkov. He's part of the American delegation. He thinks we're related."
"It's possible." Grigori's tone was light, as if it did not much matter, but Volodya saw that his neck had reddened, a giveaway sign of suppressed emotion in his father. "I last saw my brother in 1919. Since then I haven't heard from him."
"Greg's father is called Lev, and Lev had a brother called Grigori."
"Then Greg could be your cousin."
"He said brother."
Grigori's blush deepened and he said nothing.
Zoya put in: "How could that be?"
Volodya said: "According to this American Peshkov, Lev had a pregnant girlfriend in St. Petersburg who married his brother."
Grigori said: "Ridiculous!"
Volodya looked at Katerina. "You haven't said anything, Mother."
There was a long pause. That in itself was significant. What did they have to think about, if there was no truth in Greg's story? A weird coldness descended on Volodya like a freezing fog.
At last his mother said: "I was a flighty girl." She looked at Zoya. "Not sensible, like your wife." She sighed deeply. "Grigori Peshkov fell in love with me, more or less at first sight, poor idiot." She smiled fondly at her husband. "But his brother, Lev, had fancy clothes, cigarettes, money for vodka, gangster friends. I liked Lev better. More fool me."
Volodya said amazedly: "So it's true?" Part of him still hoped desperately for a denial.
"Lev did what such men always do," Katerina said. "He made me pregnant, then left me."
"So Lev is my father." Volodya looked at Grigori. "And you're just my uncle!" He felt as if he might fall over. The ground under his feet had shifted. It was like an earthquake.
Zoya stood beside Volodya's chair and put her hand on his shoulder, as if to calm him, or perhaps restrain him.
Katerina went on: "And Grigori did what men such as Grigori always do: he took care of me. He loved me, he married me, and he provided for me and my children." Sitting on the couch next to Grigori, she took his hand. "I didn't want him, and I certainly didn't deserve him, but God gave him to me anyway."
Grigori said: "I have dreaded this day. Ever since you were born I have dreaded it."
Volodya said: "Then why did you keep the secret? Why didn't you just speak the truth?"
Grigori was choked up, and spoke with difficulty. "I couldn't bear to tell you that I wasn't your father," he managed to say. "I loved you too much."
Katerina said: "Let me tell you something, my beloved son. Listen to me, now, and I don't care if you never listen to your mother again, but hear this. Forget the stranger in America who once seduced a foolish girl. Look at the man sitting in front of you with tears in his eyes."
Volodya looked at Grigori and saw a pleading expression that tugged at his heart.
Katerina went on: "This man has fed you and clothed you and loved you unfailingly for three decades. If the word father means anything at all, this is your father."
