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TRANSLATED BY STANLEY KUNITZ, WITH MAX HAYWARD

Epilogue

2010

Her nairl A nobody

No one in Airl or the place in which she lives Her beloved Leningrad—Peter’s fa flower, still beautiful to behold but rotting from within

Not that Vera knows this yet She is just a girl, full of big dreams

Often in the suht, called by some sound she can never recall At her , she leans out, seeing all the way to the bridge In June, when the air sht is as brief as the brush of a butterfly’s wing, she can hardly sleep for excitement

It is belye nochi The tihts when darkness never falls and the streets are never quiet

I cannot help s as I close this book—my book After all these years, I have finished my journal Not a fairy tale, not a pretense; my story, as true as I can tell it My father would be proud of me I am a writer at last

It is iven so much more to me, and without them, of course, these words would still be trapped inside, poisoning me from within

Meredith is at ho and the plans are all-consuift shops her mother runs I have never seen Meredith so happy These days her schedule is full of things she loves to do, and she and Jeff are often traveling They say it is to research his novels, which are so successful, but I think they siether

Nina is upstairs with her Daniel, whom she has never married but loves more than she realizes They have followed each other around the world on one a now to leave again, but I suspect that they arelove Good for them

And Anya—I don’t care that she Americanized her name; she will always be Anya to hout the year and fill this house with laughter My eldest daughter and I spend hours together in the kitchen, talking to each other in Russian, rehosts in the room In words and looks and smiles, we honor them at last

I open the journal one last time and write, for e Then I close it and put it aside

I cannot help closingasleep comes easily to me these days, and the room is so warm on this late December day