But also, besides relief and joy, at moments in her clear blue eyes there flashed an ancient, primitive, visceral anger: the anger of a wounded mother. I feared that when she unleashed that pain on me, I would be granted a one-way trip to new levels of suffering.
I did not even ask where my father was, or why he had not come. I was not ready for him yet. I would have wanted to know about my brother, Mikhail, but...
I decided to devote all the minutes I had to my children. Sasha lay down calmly to suck on her fist, and Andre spoke to me in whispers while I slowly stroked my daughter’s head with my gigantic claw-hand. He told me what had happened from the moment we separated from Johanna in Wyoming until that instant; and although there had been many events, he summed everything up very we
