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was ornate, with an enameled red star on the front. He wore wide parade shoulder boards in gray metallic lace. They looked impressive, but Tatiana had no idea what they meant. Was he a private? He was carrying his rifle. Did privates carry rifles? On the left side of his chest he wore a single silver medal trimmed in gold.
    Underneath his umber cap he was dark-haired. The youth and dark hair were to his advantage, Tatiana thought, as her shy eyes met his eyes, which were the color of caramel—one shade darker than her crème brûlée ice cream. Were they a soldier’s eyes? Were they a man’s eyes? They were peaceful and smiling.
    Tatiana and the soldier stared at each other for a moment or two, but it was a moment or two too long. Strangers looked at each other for half a nothing before averting their eyes. Tatiana felt as if she could open her mouth and say his name. She glanced away, feeling unsteady and warm.
    “Your ice cream is still melting,” the soldier repeated helpfully.
    Blushing, Tatiana said with haste, “Oh, this ice cream. I’m finished with it.” She got up and threw it emphatically in the trash, wishing she had a handkerchief to wipe her stained dress.
    Tatiana couldn’t tell if he was young like her; no, he seemed older. Like a young man, looking at her with a man’s eyes. She blushed again, continuing to stare at the pavement between her red sandals and his black army boots.
    A bus came. The soldier turned away from her and walked toward it. Tatiana watched him. Even his walk was from another world; the step was too sure, the stride too long, yet somehow it all seemed right, looked right, felt right. It was like stumbling on a book you thought you had lost. Ah, yes, there it is.
    In a minute the bus doors were going to open and he was going to hop on the bus and wave a little good-bye to her and she was never going to see him again.
Don’t go!
Tatiana shouted to him in her mind.
    As the soldier got closer to the bus, he slowed down and stopped. At the last minute he backed away, shaking his head at the bus driver, who made a frustrated motion with his hands, slammed the door shut, and peeled away from the curb.
    The soldier came back and sat on the bench.
    The rest of her day flew out of her head without even a farewell.
    Tatiana and the soldier were having a silence. How can we be having a silence? Tatiana thought. We just met. Wait. We haven’t met at all. We don’t know each other. How could we be having
anything
?
    Nervously she looked up and down the street. Suddenly it occurred to her that he might be hearing the thumping in her chest, for how could he
not
? The noise had scared away the crows from the trees behind them. The birds had flown off in a panic, their wings flapping fervently. She knew—it was her.
    Now
she needed her bus to come. Now.
    He was a soldier, yes, but she had seen soldiers before. And he was good-looking, yes, but she had seen good-looking before. Once or twice last summer she had even met good-looking soldiers. One, she forgot his name now—as she forgot most things now—had bought her an ice cream.
    It wasn’t this soldier’s uniform that affected her, and it wasn’t his looks. It was the way he had stared at her from across the street, separated from her by ten meters of concrete, a bus, and the electric wires of the tram line.
    He took a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his uniform. “Would you like one?”
    “Oh, no, no,” Tatiana replied. “I don’t smoke.”
    The soldier put the cigarettes back in his pocket. “I don’t know anyone who doesn’t smoke,” he said lightly.
    She and her grandfather were the only ones Tatiana knew who didn’t smoke. She couldn’t continue to be silent; it was too pathetic. But when Tatiana opened her mouth to speak, all the words she thought of saying sounded so stupid that she just closed her mouth and begged silently for the bus to come.
    It didn’t.
    Finally the soldier spoke again. “Are you waiting for