Dear Professor Abramov,
I write with good news concerning our efforts. A professor from Chicago, Russell Clay, has vowed to use his own personal funds to secure equipment and mount an expedition to Russia. Riga is his target city. Bullets will not keep him away, Clay wrote in his announcement. He also shared that he hasn’t solved the equations. He’s focused solely on photographing the event. Even in the face of war…
Vanya felt a jolt. It was incredible. Fantastic news. He only knew his hands were shaking because the paper fluttered. There were thirty-nine days remaining until the eclipse. Could he still have a chance to photograph it? Surely, Eliot wouldn’t send such a letter if it weren’t true, but why hadn’t Vanya heard anything about this Professor Clay? Could the American even put together the equipment and a team in such a short time? Vanya wanted to keep reading, there was more to the letter, and a long article included, but he heard Yuri coming from around the corner. If Yuri saw it, they’d argue about America again. Like Miri, Yuri didn’t want to leave, and Vanya didn’t want to get into it. Not today.
He fumbled to put the letter back into his pocket as he heard Yuri approaching, his shoe creaking. To Vanya, Yuri had always seemed cold, but Miri said it wasn’t so. He gave affection when he meant it, not because it was expected as a part of good manners, she said. But Vanya thought his sister misunderstood. Yuri wasn’t restrained. He just wasn’t passionate the way she was—the way she deserved. Vanya was about to step forward from the shadows and greet Yuri when the letter slipped from between his fingers and fell. As he reached for it, he heard another older man approach. Another surgeon. “Dr. Rozen,” the man said. His voice was low and something in his tone told Vanya to stay back. Vanya watched from around the corner. The surgeon hobbled toward Yuri. Under his white coat, his suit was too large for his frame. He appeared to be shrinking inside the fabric. His eyes burrowed under so many wrinkles it was hard to tell if they were open or closed. Yuri himself was a vision in white, draped in a smock, with a mask loose around his neck.
“Good morning, Doctor,” Yuri said.
“Yes, yes. I want you to know, it’s a fine thing you’ve done.” The elder surgeon clapped Yuri on the shoulder. “You’re an upstanding man. You’ll make a fine officer.”
“Shh,” Yuri whispered. Vanya froze, still in the shadows.
“Why hide, Doctor? It’s an honorable thing you’ve done. None of your peers—not one of the other men in this hospital—was going to stand up to volunteer. We would have had to draw lots if not for you. An interesting condition, though, your request,” he chortled. “I know you’re in love, but tell me, truly, how can you think a woman would be up to the job?”
“I’ve watched her work for years. She’s more than capable.”
“Still, she’s a medusa who’s snared you. She may be well trained, but emotion will always cloud her judgment. She can never be as reliable as a man,” the elder doctor said. “Son, all gentlemen are ridiculous when it comes to women.”
“Please keep your voice down,” Yuri said, sounding nervous.
“You’re truly not going to tell her? You haven’t learned yet, but she’ll find out what you’ve done. Women have a way.” The elder surgeon continued, “Your sacrifice is admirable so long as she feels the same. With her ambition, who’s to say? At least the czar won’t send surgeons to the front. Only medics.”
Vanya’s hands were cold with shock. He could barely believe what he’d heard. Yuri had traded himself for Miri’s promotion. His sister would never want that. She’d think Yuri didn’t believe in her; she’d want to earn her own way—and would never dream of putting Yuri in danger. She loved him more than her career. Surely, if Yuri knew his sister at all, he must have understood that. Still, it surprised Vanya that Yuri had done this for Miri. He hadn’t expected such bravery.
Vanya could hear Yuri still trying to silence the elder surgeon, but he continued bumbling, “Of course, you, Dr. Rozen, you’re likely the only one among us who knows how to use a gun, who might survive if it comes to it.”
“I can’t believe it.” Vanya didn’t mean to say it out loud, but he did.
“Believe what?” Miri asked. She’d sneaked up behind him. He jumped and tried to force a smile. She’d changed into the same white uniform as Yuri, only she wore skirts.
Vanya kissed her hand. “It’s not important now.”
“Dr. Abramov,” Yuri called. His voice was relaxed as if nothing had passed between him and the elder surgeon. “I hear you. You’re ready? Sukovich can’t wait much longer,” he said as he turned the corner. “Ivan Davydovich?” Yuri stopped, held out his hand. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Vanya said. “I don’t miss anything, in fact.”
Yuri blinked at him, startled. Before he could say another word, Miri strode away. “We need to go. Now,” she called over her shoulder.
V
Vanya stood in the gallery of benches that lined the balcony above the operating theater and watched his sister below as she marched into the room, emanating confidence. He was filled with pride because, regardless of what Yuri had done, Vanya knew she’d earned this day, this position. She’d worked toward it ever since she saved their cousin all those years earlier. Yuri followed her with a smile as if he’d done nothing wrong. And Vanya found that as much as he wanted to be angry with Yuri for his lies, it wasn’t that simple. Yuri had given Miri the greatest gift anyone could give. It was a supreme act of generosity.
The men around Vanya, students and surgeons, were crammed together shoulder to shoulder with no room to spare. Vanya was sure his sister hadn’t expected so many people to watch, but word must have spread that Dr. Rozen’s woman would be operating for the first time on her own and they’d all come to witness the spectacle. The space filled with the smell of stale clothing and carbolic.
“She’ll kill him. Mark my words,” a man next to Vanya said.
“Of course she will. Why would they trust a woman with a man’s life?” agreed another.
But what about Sukovich himself? None of them discussed the crime or the hatred that could kill them all. Vanya kept his mouth shut and his hand in his pocket, fingering the letter from Eliot. He spotted the elder surgeon from the hallway in the front row.
Miri looked up to address the gallery, and the room went silent save for a moan from the fishmonger. Vanya knew Miri didn’t want to waste time talking, but she had to follow protocol. She introduced herself as Dr. Abramov, the lead surgeon, Yuri as her assistant, and then presented her patient, his condition, and her plans for the operation. When she turned to begin, a nurse fastened her mask for her, and the men in the balcony all leaned forward, up on tiptoes.
“I’ve heard she’s as skilled as Olevovich was at that age,” one murmured, comparing Miri to the chief of surgery.
“That’s a lie,” another disagreed. “Leave women to tend to their own.”
Vanya was tempted to challenge them, but he held his tongue, letting their criticism boil with the heat that crept into the gallery and left the voyeurs dripping. As Miri worked, Yuri stood over her and pointed to the patient, to implements. Behind his mask, Vanya was sure Yuri was whispering instructions. And he was also sure Miri wasn’t listening. Vanya knew the look in his sister’s eyes. It was pure concentration. She was doing the work on her own. Dissecting the spleen from surrounding tissues. A complicated, blood-filled procedure she was handling perfectly, it seemed.