War and Peace

She was Natasha Rostova. Her age varied between thirteen and twenty-nine, and her moods from an uncommon wonder of life to the suicidal depths of depression. It all depended on which page was being read. The first chapters revealed a girl hiding her face while divulging innermost thoughts to a beloved doll. Towards the end of the book, the mother of four appeared with a spirit dampened by maternal cares and the momentous events she had lived through.

Susan began 'War and Peace' one summer afternoon. Grey clouds were unloading their moisture with such enthusiasm that she was forced to run into the town library. When the sun made an appearance, she stayed and did not move from her seat until the librarian coughed to indicate closing time. For the rest of that summer, she remained imprisoned by the book's words, unable to raise her eyes from the page or rouse her body to enjoy the sunshine.

Tears were shed as the last page was turned. This was not just the end of a story but a farewell to characters into whose lives she had been immersed for sixteen years. Within the weighty novel were triumphs, battles, political intrigue, love, and disaster performed on Russia's sweeping stage. Philosophical discourse pitted against the foolishness of war and the naivety of childhood dreams contrasted the sophisticated yet absurd reality of adult life. There were many she had loved through its myriad subplots, but the greatest amongst these was Natasha Rostova.

She returned the book to the library but felt so abandoned, bought her own copy immediately afterward. She read this, then read it again and again. She read with anticipation, although she knew what was coming next. She read with hope and was never disappointed at the new insights that sprung from its pages. She read with passion, enriching acquaintances so that their joys and sadness were experienced with ever greater intensity. She read obsessively until the book absorbed her life and she became Natasha.

She was with her sister Sonya at the Rostov estate of Otradnoe, looking out at a fresh still night brightened by a full moon. A row of pollard trees reflected silvery light on one side of their trunks, whilst white stems and leaves emerged from bushy vegetation as they caught the lunar radiance. Natasha tried to describe its beauty, though words couldn't do justice to what she felt. It was a night so wondrous she had to be dissuaded from jumping out of her bedroom window so convinced was she that the ether would embrace her with love.

Sonya struggled to understand her sister, but Prince Andrew was staying in the room below and knew what she meant. He felt a stirring inside a battle-scarred and beaten down spirit that had long lain dormant. That was the seed of their love, a love which would endure a terrible trial until he passed away in her arms. Natasha sensed the moment when his fight against death was over, just as he sensed the quintessence of the moonlit evening. He went to sleep that night with Natasha's words ringing in his ears with a quiet persistence, "Oh God, Oh God, what does it all mean?"

Susan was at the hospital with her Prince Andrew, namely her husband, Dave. The doctors said there was no hope, but she maintained a vigil by his bedside just as Natasha had done. What precious moments would they share as the enormity of death approached and they became conscious of something far more significant than themselves? He was losing his mind but could still speak. Perhaps he would describe the comforting white light advancing, a childhood memory playing in a sun-dappled clearing in the woods, or the couple's first kiss.

"Pretty little Mary," the words were quiet and slurred but clearly distinguishable. "Pretty little Mary, come here, little Mary." Susan was disappointed that the name mentioned was not hers but that of her younger sister.

As she drove home that evening, she wasn't able to dismiss a sense of unease. The ravings of delirium could mean anything: there was more than one Mary in the world, and so what if he considered her sister pretty? Maybe in his disoriented state, he had even confused the two sisters. Rationalisation can be a powerful tool, but it can never entirely overwhelm a troubled heart. However foolish she thought it, a germ of disquiet had been planted within her.

Mary was six years younger, and the one imagined to be Sonya. Like Sonya and Natasha, the two had shared sisterly confidences and had once been close. That changed after Susan married Dave, and life had not worked out well for Mary. One disastrous relationship followed another, and steady employment had proved elusive. Just when it seemed things couldn't become any worse, her family received the news that she was taking drugs.

Natasha's children were destined to mix with Russian nobility, and her son was in line to inherit the title of Count Bezukhov. Susan imagined him growing tall and handsome as befitted a man of such wealth and status. Attending the high society balls in a stylish suit or the bejewelled uniform of a soldier, no doubt the young ladies of St Petersburg would be determinedly pursuing him for marriage and he would be well known to the Tsar.

Susan's son Steven offered no greeting as she entered the house. Neither would she go to his room as any distraction from the computer screen would attract his anger. Steven had once been a pleasant and loving son, but during the teenage years, something had changed. He stopped caring about the outside world and only found true purpose in virtual reality. The long hours of solitude were a concern, but his mother clung to the hope that it was all just a passing phase. She dreamed of the time when she could walk into town proudly with him by her side as she had some years before. She entered the living room and picked up a copy of 'War and Peace.'

Her least favourite parts were the descriptions of battles. Imagining formations of soldiers lined up to accomplish maximum slaughter was not at all appealing. There was, however, one scene from the battle of Austerlitz she had read many times. Prince Andrew was lying close to death on the battlefield as Napoleon was surveying the scene of his victory and admiring the handsome soldier at his feet who he considered to have concluded his life with a fine death.

All Prince Andrew noticed was the lofty infinite sky above the insignificant creature standing over him. Looking at the clouds drifting across the expanse of blue, he was struck by how beautiful life was as he now understood it differently. Summoning all his strength, he managed to utter a weak groan so that the Emperor commanded he be lifted and attended to in the dressing station. Susan thought it a beautifully written piece showing the inconsequential nature of man within a much more significant but barely understandable reality.

Sunday morning was when she visited Mary. These visits were made more out of a sense of duty than a desire to share company. After introducing herself via the intercom, she walked along a familiar carpeted corridor before letting herself into Mary's room. On turning the key, she hoped for calmness, though would still feel frustration at being unable to get through to the person she believed still lurked behind the façade created by medication.

Susan had foregone her inheritance to pay for her sister's comfortable accommodation. Dave had not even objected to the sacrifice, and she felt pleased with the noble gesture they had both made. The worries of the last years of her mother's life had been alleviated by her eldest daughter's assurances that she would take care of Mary.

Mary looked at her visitor with the uncomprehending eyes Susan hated but seemed at least to be in a good mood and was even able to register a smile.

"How are you, Mary?" The predictable question received just as predictable a reply.

"Oh, I'm fine."

Susan gave updates on the minutiae of her life. She played down the seriousness of her husband's state of health and tried hard to say something positive about Steven. The conversation was one way as nothing worthy of comment happened in Mary's life, and she showed little interest in what was happening outside her one-bedroomed apartment.

The Rostovs had a relative known to all the children by the name 'Uncle' who owned a small wooden house in the village of Mikhaylovna. He enjoyed hunting with dogs and lived simply with a stout housekeeper. He played the balalaika with skill, causing Natasha to throw off her shawl and dance on one visit. These were not the steps taught by her French governess but those of the Russian populace. 'Uncle' marvelled at how the cultured young countess expertly expressed all that was in every Russian man and woman as if she had breathed in that spirit from the air. Even the stout housekeeper had a tear in her eye as she watched the beautiful slim young lady perform with such unaffected spontaneity and artistry.

Susan felt she had to make at least one attempt to penetrate through to the girl she had shared so much of her childhood.

"Do you remember the time we visited Uncle Daniel's on New Year's Eve?" Mary looked blankly at her. "Remember we stuffed ourselves on mince pies and were allowed some of his homemade cider at midnight."

"I remember that," said Mary though no spark of the recollection crossed her face.

"We danced until 1.30am. Do you remember your favourite song?"

"I don't remember," she replied.

Susan was informed that Dave's condition had worsened. His skin seemed a shade paler, and his eyes were closed. She sat in the chair at the side of his bed and took his hand. There was a twinge of recognition as his fingers exerted a faint pressure.

"Put your hand down there, Mary," again there was the worrying use of her sister's name, "Don't resist, or I'll tell your sister." The fog of incomprehension was beginning to clear, and the words that followed would dispel that fog completely. "Susan doesn't have to know; it's our little secret."

Had a crueler blow been struck at the Battle of Borodino or during the sacking of Moscow? No sword wielded by a stranger could cut as painfully as the betrayal of the one closest to her. This was no time, however, for anger and she controlled her emotions to try and find out what the 'little secret' was.

Susan whispered in her husband's ear.

"It's me, Mary. Can I do anything for you?"

"That's a good girl," he said slowly. "I knew you would agree. Your sister won't be back so take off your school uniform."

There are some stories you don't want to hear and some books that should remain on the shelf. No work of fiction, however, can produce stronger emotions than reality, and Susan had heard enough.

What should she read that evening? Perhaps the account of Natasha's first grand ball where she had captivated the nobility of St Petersburg, dancing under the gaze of men in military uniforms whose brass buttons glinted under the light of the chandeliers. Natasha had rejoiced in every aspect of the experience and Susan had shared in her delight, hoping that no suitor would ever diminish that flame within her. Dave had courted her with rather less style, but she had still felt that inexpressible joy on discovering a love for the first time.

Had it all been a lie though? Mary was a sixteen-year-old bridesmaid on their wedding day, but it was shortly afterward when her problems began. She remembered how her sister had started to avoid visiting and how her mother recalled one occasion walking in on Dave and Mary sitting at a table and laughing in a strangely familiar manner. The self-harm, the mood swings, the strange clothes, and stranger company all started. She felt like a fool for failing to recognise what was in front of her eyes.

Then she thought of Dave and the many hours spent out of the house. There was always a good reason, and she had believed them without question year after year. She glanced at the family photo that had pride of place in the living room. She felt sickened to see his smiling face with an arm on both her and Steven's shoulder but also angry upon seeing her own features looking admiringly at his.

Not every person in War and Peace is a noble character. The Kuragin family held a special seat of contempt in Susan's heart. The beautiful Helene Kuragina entrapped the wealthy Pierre Bezukhov in a loveless marriage while using countless other men to satisfy her sexual appetite. The more unforgivable crime, however, was to encourage her brother Anatole to seduce Natasha. The unhealthy infatuation led to attempted elopement and a suicide attempt by the countess Rostova. Susan had never quite understood how her hero could have been led astray by such an unworthy suitor but, upon considering her own situation, now had a greater appreciation of how women can be deceived by men.

The following morning the doorbell rang, and two policemen stood asking to see Steven. Her son showed little surprise when called for, and everything proceeded in a low-key manner as he was led away to the waiting car. No explanation was offered by the arresting officers, who merely gave her the card of someone more senior who could be contacted.

The house's calm seemed unreal when compared to the seriousness of what had just taken place and the inner turmoil Susan was feeling. She felt truly alone, but action was necessary since inaction was unbearable.

Hours of anxious waiting followed in the corridors of a police station until she was shown to a small room where a Superintendent introduced himself.

"Good afternoon Maam," the policeman's tone was courteous though businesslike.

"Good afternoon, can you please tell me what is going on?"

"What do you know of your son's activity on his laptop?"

"I know nothing. He locks himself in his room and refuses to answer my questions."

"I see; well, it is my unpleasant duty to inform you he has been arrested in connection with online grooming of young girls."

Susan sat in her chair, shocked and unbelieving. "No, not my Steven, he would never do anything like that; he hasn't even had a girlfriend."

The superintendent raised an eyebrow. "Why do you say he's not capable?"

Susan could not come up with any defence beyond a mother's heartfelt character reference. The policeman had heard this all too often and knew it could be disregarded. The facts were then presented: the emails, the chat groups, the images on his laptop, and the girls affected. As the weight of evidence piled up, she could feel her spirit sinking.

The hospital called to say that Dave did not have much time left. Susan sat beside his bed but did not hold his hand. She had resolved that he deserved no peaceful exit and was determined he know the scales had eventually fallen off her eyes. If he was to face a time of reckoning, it would not be with a smug expression on his face.

"I know what you did to Mary, and you disgust me. I have no love left for you and wish you enter a special place in hell. You neglected your obligations as a father. Steven is going to prison, and Mary is in a home because of you. But you know what? I am still alive, and I will put things right. You are just going to die and will be missed by no one."

Before going to the hospital, Susan walked by the river along a raised footpath that had once been a railway line now grassed over and commanding pleasant views. She remembered swimming in the river as a girl with Mary and pushing Steven in his pram along the route the summer after he was born. She thought of the trains that used to pass there and how she wished she had seen one.

The vision of a steam train transported her to another book. It contained a heroine cast out from polite society through a forbidden love, who only saw an escape in the magnificent engine approaching her. Anna Karenina threw herself under the iron wheels to become Tolstoy's most tragic leading lady.

She walked a few more paces but knew that was not her story. Her narrative lay in the words of War and Peace. Prince Andrew once passed through a birch forest where new growth and greenery were everywhere. He saw a massive oak with ungainly branches from which no leaves had yet emerged. The tree seemed to be standing in opposition to the charm of spring as if saying there was no sun or happiness and the cycle of the seasons was nothing more than a meaningless fraud.

On his return journey, he kept an eye out for the lifeless oak. It had been transformed, spreading out a canopy of dark green foliage that trembled in the rays of the evening sun. No old scars were visible, and leaves had even sprouted through the hard century-old bark. It made him feel as if life still had hope and was not to be lived for himself alone but should be reflected in others.

Susan knew it was time to put her copy of War and Peace back on the shelf and start to improve the lives of her sister and son. It would not be easy, but had the potential to be the most important story ever told.