Chapter 27
News of Vronsky’s sequel quickly spread amongst the characters.
They wanted to know what Aurelia planned to write, whether she would tell Vronsky or keep it a secret, and whether her writing would keep her away at night.
Without giving it much thought, Aurelia told them that she would write at night so that Vronsky could have a say in shaping his own future.
When someone asked how she planned to start, she realized she already had, really; her ideas were scribbled throughout her notebook.
It was just like she’d told Oliver—she’d been letting the pieces of Vronsky’s new story come to her and now, apparently, it was time to put them together.
Throughout the next day, Aurelia’s mood shifted from excitement to nervousness and back again. It was a huge project to take on, but there was no way for her to back out now.
Just before midnight, as she walked through the living room in search of her notebook, Aurelia passed the coffee table with its collection of her copies of each of the novels from the Recommended Reads table.
She paused when she spotted Anna Karenina.
It was a dog-eared paperback that looked like it’d been through the wars; she’d read it at least three times and it was her favorite edition.
She grabbed it along with her notebook, which was partially hidden under Fezz on the sofa, and brought them downstairs.
Once the characters had appeared and said their hellos, they left Aurelia and Vronsky to their work. Aurelia’s nervousness doubled as she felt many eyes watching her expectantly, but Vronsky’s eagerness brought her back to the task at hand. She took a breath and reminded herself: you can do this.
As Vronsky finished a conversation with Laurie, Aurelia sat down at her desk and began flipping through her copy of Anna Karenina to find his final scene. She thought it would be helpful to start by reminding herself what, exactly, had happened to him at the end of his novel.
She didn’t notice that he was standing behind her until she heard his sharp intake of breath.
“What is that?” he asked, scandalized.
Aurelia held it up, flipping to the front cover to show him.
“It’s a copy of your novel.”
“That is my book? What on earth have you done to it?”
“I’ve read it!”
“Reading involves turning pages, perusing each word. This looks like you dropped it into a lake, let a dog masticate it, and then threw it across a room.”
He reached out as if to touch the book, then pulled his hand back as if he were afraid of being contaminated by it. She was starting to feel self-conscious. It really was looking worse for wear, but wasn’t that a sign of a much-loved book?
“Well… I’ve read it a few times. And I like carrying a book in my bag or reading it over a meal or a cup of tea.”
“Yes, I believe I see evidence of tea.” He pointed to a dark stain along the bottom edge of the book. “And was a lake involved in this?” He pointed to a chunk of pages toward the front of the book that was rippled and raised.
“No, not a lake—just a bathtub.”
Vronsky quirked an eyebrow. “I generally prefer reading a newspaper in the bath for that very reason. It preserves one’s books should there be an accidental slip of the hand.”
“I’ll have to remember that,” Aurelia said drily as she continued paging through the book.
Vronsky thrust out his hand again, pointing to the tops of the pages.
“What have you done there? Why have you folded the corners of those pages?”
“I do that when there’s a phrase or a description I like. Let me see.”
Aurelia paused on one of the dog-eared pages and scanned it.
“Here it is. This is about Levin. ‘He became aware of something new in his soul, and took pleasure in testing this new thing, without yet knowing what it was.’” Aurelia looked up. “Isn’t that beautiful?”
Vronsky wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Levin is an odd figure. I find it difficult to imagine him doing anything one might describe as ‘beautiful.’”
“He’s a wonderful character—or person,” Aurelia corrected herself. “He’s shy and unsure of himself in social situations—very unlike you—but he’s got a big heart.”
“Perhaps. I have only met him a few times, though I did like him a bit better when I met him in Moscow at the club.”
“You might like him more if you spent more time with him. He’s interested in improving the land and the lives of the laborers, and he loves Kitty very much.”
“I know he married her—does he really love her, then?”
His curiosity confused her until she remembered that, unlike readers of his book, Vronsky didn’t know anything about Levin’s inner life.
“The novel is half his and Kitty’s story, and half yours and Anna’s. I thought you might know about his chapters, but… Do you not know the whole story?”
“I know what happened to me—that seems to me to be the whole story. Are you telling me that Tolstoy wasted half the book on Levin?”
“‘Wasted’ isn’t a fair description,” Aurelia said peevishly. She liked Levin, even if she, too, thought was a little foolish at times. “Levin’s story balances yours. Your stories are like two different sides of a coin.”
“Hmm… Perhaps he would be a good foil for me. We are rather opposite ends of a spectrum.” He gave her a stern look and added, “I am on the upper end of the spectrum, obviously.”
“Oh yes, obviously.” Aurelia gave him a teasing smile, which Vronsky returned.
“Then I would like to read my book. I should like to know what makes Levin so fascinating.”
Vronsky walked closer to the book and reached for it, forgetting that his hand would, as it did then, pass through it.
“That is inconvenient,” he mused. “Well, then, you must read it to me, since I cannot hold the book. Or perhaps you might simply turn the pages and I can read it myself.”
He looked at her expectantly, as if she would help him to start reading immediately.
“I… I don’t think we have time for that tonight, Alexei.”
She bit the inside of her cheek, hoping he’d accept her dodge. There were passages he would undoubtedly find difficult, particularly toward the end, when Anna spun into depression and jealousy. Some things might help—moments of Anna loving him and thinking fondly of him—but others might break him.
“I’ve set us off course. Where were we?” Aurelia said as she flipped through the pages of the book again and found the last chapter where Vronsky made an appearance.
“Okay, here it is. You were on a train, heading off to fight in the Serbian War, which”—she flipped to the very last pages of the book—“based on an endnote, took place around 1876. Does that ring a bell?”
“Yes, that is right.”
“So: what do you remember?”
Aurelia held her breath, hoping her attempt to distract him would work.
“I am traveling with my mother, and we are surrounded by volunteer infantrymen and well-wishers. I remember speaking with Sergey Ivanovich on the platform before continuing on my journey.”
She let out a relieved breath. Looking at the final pages, she saw that he had a heartfelt conversation with Ivanovich, where he reflected on having lost Anna just two months earlier. Seeming to sense her thoughts, or perhaps just recalling the events from his own memory, Vronsky grew still.
“It is a trying time for me.”
Aurelia waited a beat in respectful silence before asking, “And you don’t remember actually fighting in the war?”
He thought for a moment and then shook his head.
“I remember seeing the countryside rushing past the windows of our train, and nothing more.”
“Right, then. I’ve been thinking,” Aurelia said as she opened her notebook and began flipping through its pages. “What if there’s a problem with your train? What if you never make it to Serbia and instead you go somewhere else?”
“I do not understand. What do you mean by ‘somewhere else’?”
“What if your train stops in… I don’t know… Budapest, and you decide to just live there for a while, start over with a new life?”
“What kind of life would it be if I had run from my obligations to my country, to my men? How could I fail to serve with my army in a time of need?”
“We’re writing you a new story—we can make your life whatever you want it to be. Why put you at the frontlines of a war?”
Vronsky stiffened at her words.
“I could never disregard my duty. I studied at the Corps and trained as a cavalryman. I have soldiers waiting for me to lead them into battle—I would not abandon them to ‘start over’ and live a life of frivolity whilst they put themselves in harm’s way.”
Aurelia remembered how devoted Vronsky had been to the men who served under him and to his career in the army. She respected his patriotism, but still, she’d grown fond of him and—despite the fact that she’d be writing his story and could keep him safe—she hoped he’d reconsider.
“War is a terrible thing, Alexei. You’d see your friends killed, or injured and suffering… No one would think less of you if you didn’t want to experience that. Don’t you want to consider some alternatives?”
“There are no alternatives,” he said tightly. “Ask me again in a week or a month or a year, and my resolve will not waver.”
“Alright,” she said at last, giving a sigh. “You go to Serbia. I’ll need to research how long the war lasted since I’m not well-versed in the Serbian War of 1876.”
She tried to keep the sarcasm in her voice to a minimum, but it wasn’t easy.
“Just for tonight, then, let’s start after the war. What would be the first thing you’d want to do?”
“I would want to tend to my men, ensure they were properly cared for and their wounds were treated.” His face suddenly brightened. “Anna and I built a magnificent hospital near my home. Perhaps I could accompany them there?”
“Would you really want to go back to Russia?”
Aurelia was caught off guard. She’d thought he would want to get a fresh start somewhere else, far from memories of Anna or awkward conversations with friends who’d known about their relationship.
“It is my home,” he said simply.
“Think big, Vronsky,” Aurelia teased him. “This is your chance to do anything, go anywhere, be anything! Well, you don’t have any medical training, so we couldn’t write that you’re suddenly performing surgeries. But if you want to go to medical school, we could write it.”
Vronsky made a face. “Surgery is not in my line.”
“For now, then, let’s say you return to Russia. You bring your men to your hospital, make sure they get the treatment they need, and then?” She put down her pen and began paging through her notebook again. “What about Italy?”
“What about Italy?” Vronsky asked blankly.
“You liked Italy, didn’t you? You and Anna lived there for a few months and you seemed to like painting and living the artistic life there.”
“I did enjoy Italy. Next you’ll suggest I raise a stable of racehorses there,” he said with a laugh.
“Alexei, you can do anything you like! Just imagine it and I’ll write it.”