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Anton leaned across the table looking down unto the city with me from our crow's nest nearly a thousand feet in the sky. "Can you see the Kremlin?" she asked. "Can you see where the snow has been cleared away for public skating?"
I nodded. I could see a small area where the river had been cleared, creating a perfect place for skating. I couldn't make out any people. I could only make out the lanterns that lit up the area. The lanterns blended into the sea of countless other lights that lay below us.
"We have quite a view from up here, don't we?" I remarked. "Maybe after we're done here we should join the skating down there," I said in a soft voice leaning closer to her. "Or better still, we should really go dancing somewhere, and not just mentally. Maybe there is a dance floor right here in the restaurant."
She didn't respond to the suggestion. Instead she kept on pointing out some more of the landmarks. Not far from us were the floodlit buildings that skirted the famous Red Square. She pointed out the Lenin Mausoleum and the Savior's Tower, the one with the red glowing star on top. The star was barely recognizable. I could easily recognize the famous St.Basil's Cathedral with its unique and colorful onion spires that had long become synonymous with Moscow. Anton guided me to find the red star with the cathedral as a reference point. She leaned ever closer across the table pointing out the landmarks to me, one by one.
The cathedral far below us was a marvelous sight, I agreed, although it didn't compare with the splendor right across the table from me, especially when were close to one-another, close enough to kiss, though neither of us dared.
A kind of magic unfolded in this closeness with a sense of grace that seemed to have been taken directly from an old Russian fairy tale that was suddenly unfolding right in the middle of Moscow. It was as though the tale of the Nutcracker was beginning anew and that I was becoming the prince in the tale. I told Anton that she was the princess and that the fairy tale was coming true by the magic of her grace.
She grinned, embarrassed. "No, this is not a fairy tale," she protested. "Grace is something real, even though it's hard to live up to and much harder to step even higher into the land of joy. Nor am I alone in this predicament. I suppose that this universal hurtle might be the reason why society tells fairy tales to each other so that at least we can talk about something that is real without being forced to become too deeply committed to the challenge involved, which we might not have the strength to see through to the end, supposing that there is an end to this tunnel."
We left late that night, arm in arm, and as we did, she allowed me graciously to invite her for yet another dinner at this place a thousand feet in the sky. I said that the place was a perfect metaphor for the high-level explorations that we had started, though it seems that I had so far done most of the talking. I suggested that we should meet in two days as I had a date with Ushi planned for the next evening. Of course she made the arrangements again.
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