“I think so, Daddy. They will put Mommy in a wood box, dig a hole, and put her in the hole, and then they’ll put dirt back into the hole. And then there’s a stone that goes there.”
Vostov nodded. “We’ll take Mommy to a big church first, where they will say some things about Mommy’s life, and there will be lots of people there, people who loved Mommy and lots of them who love you too, and we’ll all be together, we’ll all be sad together. And we’ll take Mommy in her coffin to a cemetery, which is a very pretty place where we put the people we love after they die. But you have to know that Mommy is not really in that box, sweetheart. Mommy is still alive, she’s just alive in Heaven. In the afterlife. Did Mommy ever tell you about Heaven?”
Anya nodded seriously. “She said it was a beautiful place where people go after they die, like my bunny rabbit. Do you think Mommy is there with Bunny?”
Vostov nodded, reaching to the side table for a tissue. He wiped the tears from his cheeks and blew his nose. This was much more difficult than he’d imagined it. But through it all, he noticed, he didn’t feel the slightest amount of guilt. Which was strange. He must still be in shock, he thought.
The rest of the morning was something out of a blurred fever dream. Nanny Roksana knocked and brought in a selection of dresses for Anya. One was white, another black, a third a pattern of primary colors. Vostov sank to one knee and asked Anya which one she wanted to wear, but told her, before she chose, that everyone at the funeral would be wearing black, because that was a sad color and a way to show sadness. Anya looked up him, her eyes filled with tears, and said, “Daddy, Mommy would want me to wear bright happy colors, because Mommy always hated it whenever I was sad.” Vostov nodded at Roksana, feeling a stabbing pain in his chest.
The next thing he knew, he was in the gleaming black presidential Aurus stretch limo, with Anya, Roksana, and Tonya Pasternak. He avoided eye contact with them and simply stared at the floor, only looking up when Tonya reached into the minibar and poured him a double vodka. He downed it in one gulp. Tonya lifted an eyebrow to see if he wanted a refill, but he shook his head.
The limo stopped in front of the newly built Cathedral of Christ the Savior. New, he supposed, in the timeline of cathedrals, the final touches put on the gold-plated domes in 2000, the year Putin had come to power. He walked in, Anya’s small warm hand in his. They walked by what seemed a hundred rows of grieving well-wishers and dignitaries from around the world. He tried mightily to keep his eyes dry, but when he’d hear Anya sniff, it seemed the wetness came anew.
The front pew was reserved for him, Anya, and Nanny Roksana. He waved Pasternak to join them. She’d pinned her hair back in a prim bun and wore an especially frumpy black dress and flat shoes, making her seem forty years older, which was a good thing. He didn’t need anyone thinking his beautiful aide was an affair partner. Not that she ever would be, he thought. With his troubles with potency in the last decade, it would be something of a relief not to be expected to perform sexually. He’d heard about pharmaceuticals that could help with the problem, but that seemed absurd, to take a pill in order to make love to a woman.
When he realized his mind had drifted inappropriately to sex, he bit his lip and forced himself to look up at the massive white and gold coffin made for Larisa, surrounded by flowers piled high around it, a huge portrait of her hanging in the background, the photo one of the few Larisa’s extreme vanity would allow to be published. In life, she usually thought that nineteen out of twenty photos of her made her look ugly or fat, which was insane, since she’d always been gorgeous.
His mind wandered during the eulogies and prayers. He’d be meeting with a parade of foreign dignitaries after the burial service, all having flown in to offer condolences, which he could do without, but it was all part of the pageantry of being head of state — but it was the part he hated.
He wondered who would be in the American delegation. Carlucci would never come. Vostov’s relationship with the American president had had ups and downs, and was currently at a low point after the
