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By then the Fascists had evacuated Rzhev.
Alyosha and I stood in the dim of the spring twilight, with the pale green buds around and the mud of the forest underfoot. The sun was down.
"I've heard it from other sources," he said. "They will strike for the Volga, for Grozny and Baku beyond."
"Is it enough?"
"To me, yes."
"How long must I wait?"
"Soon, Natasha," he said. "But I have more to ask of you."
Then, as he spoke, I watched the blue evening come on from the west. So long had we suffered in deathly white and grave black, that light like this put an ache in my breast. But it was night still, coming on from the direction of Germany, full of terror and silence. For now, it was just an endless blue, the promise of annihilation creeping east to Voronezh, to Izium, to Rostov, to Stalingrad, to Maikop, to Astrakhan, to Baku.
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