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stick out like a mountain peak wherever I went. Of course, my parents had been very careful to keep us out of the public eye. The only photographs taken of us were for family albums, except the occasional official portrait. And for those, we were so dressed up and posed that none of us looked like ourselves.
    Of course, in those days when status and rank mattered so much, no one looked very far beyond clothes. Dressed as I was in Varenka’s simple skirt and blouse, a mere glance was all it took to label me insignificant. And since my basket was empty, I didn’t have to worry that anyone would approach me to buy eggs.
    I did attract a few whistles as I walked by the military barracks, however. I was well aware that, clothes or not, women and girls could be the object of unwanted attention. The whistling told me right away that these were not the elite guards to which Sasha had been attached in peacetime. His note had said: “I’m with Thirteen Corps now. You won’t believe what’s happening. I can’t get away. If you want to see me you must come to me.”
    I realized from his tone that more than his location had changed, but I was unprepared for what I found. It was almost like the makeshift campground for the poor, only here were all men, mostly peasants, some younger than Sasha, some who looked too old to fight. The only things that made them look like soldiers were their coats and boots, and the fact that they all cradled rifles in their arms or leaned on them like pitchforks. It was still early. Most of them were scooping porridge into their mouths, and a man with a wooden leg passed among them, distributing rations consisting mainly of hardtack.
    “Excuse me, I’m looking for Junior Officer Alexander Mikhailovich Galliapin,” I said to the man with the rations.
    “Over there.” He jerked his head in the direction of a tent. Its flap was closed, but I walked over until I could hear what was going on inside.
    “You’ve had your training. All you have to do is receive orders and follow them.” It was the voice of an older man, and it sounded stern, reproachful.
    “But I never intended to be an officer!” It was Sasha. His voice was tearful and if I did not know him I would have thought he was little more than a boy.
    “There are not enough trained officers to manage our army. Everyone with experience is being called upon to head a platoon. Count yourself fortunate to have only one. The officers with real training get several.”
    Sasha was to command a platoon? He had been a mere private soldier, the lowest of the low, in the Semyonovsky. I glanced back at the motley crowd behind me. They looked as if they had been called up in the midst of plowing their fields or building something. What kind of army were we sending into battle?
    The tent flap flew open then and startled me out of my thoughts. A man wearing the uniform of a sergeant swept out. He looked right through me, and I might have thought he hadn’t seen me except that he swerved neatly to avoid crashing into me.
    “Sasha!” I whispered hoarsely as soon as the sergeant had vanished behind a supply wagon.
    “You might as well come in. I’m not ready to come out just yet.”
    I didn’t like the bitterness I heard. Still less appealing was the sight I beheld when I stepped beneath the flap of the tent. Items of clothing were littered around. A kit bag had fallen open and its contents—including a safety razor—tipped out onto the dirt. Sasha himself sat upon a camp bed. He looked like a soldier from the waist down with his smart trousers and polished boots, but like a frightened animal from the waist up. He wore only his undershirt, exposing his thin, pale arms, and his long neck looked vulnerable without the stiff, military collar he normally wore. Above that, contrasting with the boyishness, his unshaven cheeks were dark with a few days’ growth.
    “Sasha!” I cried. “What does this mean?”
    “They have promoted me,” he answered,