The Four Winds of Heaven (64 page)

“But I do!” Gino cried. “My sister has written of you.” He turned now to Nadia, and bent politely over her sinewy hand. But it was the young girl who captivated his attention. His brown eyes looked her over from top to bottom, with obvious delight. “Friends…” he murmured. “I cannot believe it. After all those days and nights, I am home, and there are friends. But you have not heard—the Bolsheviks in Petrograd have disbanded the Constituent Assembly. Can you believe that it is now January 20, and that I left the army before the New Year? A week's journey has taken me three times that long.”

As he spoke, his weariness giving way to a hysterical energy, Sonia brought him hot soup, and bread, and tea. He paid no further attention to protocol, but bit into the bread with relish, and even slurped his soup. His mother sat beside him, her large sapphire eyes full of mist. Sonia stood behind him, her hands upon his sturdy shoulders, and Olga Arkadievna sat on the floor, by his feet, casting her hazel eyes onto his animated, virile face. It was Nadia Pomerantz who turned the lights back on, one by one, in the Gunzburg house.

T
he Ashkenasys
of Odessa had always been the most important Jewish family of that city, which opened onto the Black Sea and was separated from Rumania by the Dniester River. They lived in a two-story house on the Boulevard, which was a large avenue bordered by tall trees and a park, and they had been renowned not only for their wealth but for centuries of eccentricities. Their house, a veritable manor, was the first building on the Boulevard, and it was there that Ossip and Stepan were given lodgings when they arrived, hungry and out of money, from Petrograd. Siegfried Ashkenasy owned a bank and was related to the Gunzburg family through his wife, a cousin to Baron David. As the Bolsheviks had not taken over Odessa, the Ashkenasy bank was still operating as an independent enterprise, and Ossip was given a position as assistant to his cousin Siegfried.

Odessa was actually the most southwest part of all the Russias, and one of the last regions to be reached by the Red Army. In March, Trotsky had signed a separate peace agreement with the Central Powers at Brest-Litovsk, and not long after that the Bolsheviks had begun to call themselves the Communist Party. Yet there were many groups that did not adhere to it. A volunteer army, the White Army, was gaining strength in the south. The independent Cossacks of the Don and Kuban areas opposed communist domination, and General Kornilov's most faithful officers were entirely dissatisfied with the peace terms of Brest-Litovsk; many former members of the disbanded Constituent Assembly, mostly Social Revolutionaries, felt that they had been illegally shunted aside when in fact the national electorate had actually selected them to rule the country. It was from these three groups that the White Army drew most of its fighting force. The ineffectual last months of the Romanov dynasty had shaken the faith of most Russians; they looked, rather, to a strong parliamentary system.

The Red Army encountered other difficulties apart from the resistance of the Whites. The peasants, it appeared, were not altogether pleased with communism either. Only the poorest found benefits to the new system, for the others did not want to give their hard-reaped produce and their livestock to city dwellers. The Red Army was not in a position to pay these wealthier peasants for their bounty; and so, frequently, to obtain food for the urban communities, the communists were forced to send the Cheka to the villages to collect meat and vegetables, fruit and grain. And nobody liked the Cheka, which murdered to obtain what it claimed to need.

By spring of 1918, therefore, the communists, who were also moving the nation's capital from Petrograd to Moscow, had many matters to deal with, and had been delayed in spreading their power all the way to their southwest border. But at the time when the thaws occurred, when buds began to appear on the trees facing the Ashkenasy manor on the Boulevard, a perceptible shiver began to ripple westward, so that the residents of Odessa looked with sudden fear over their shoulders, and started to pack their bags. One morning, Siegfried Ashkenasy appeared in Ossip's office at the bank and announced that he, his wife, and their children had booked passage to Marseilles on a French ship, and were departing the next day. The young man regarded Siegfried with astonishment. No, I must not be surprised, he told himself. Why should they think of me, when they have never considered anyone outside their immediate family? Why should it occur to them to take me with them? They have already let me into their house, and they have offered me a paid position in their own establishment. So, courteously, Ossip wished his cousin a safe voyage, and thanked him for his generosity. He watched Siegfried withdraw all the Ashkenasy savings from the bank, and fill a deep trunk. Then his cousin said, “Take good care of our house, my boy. It's the best in town.” Ossip thought: Yes, and that is why you feel so conspicuous in it, for if the Reds come, they will loot it first.

Ossip was very annoyed, and also frightened. He was a baron, and the house which he occupied now, alone with Stepan, was magnificent. The bank was all but dismantled, and the Ashkenasys had taken everything of value. The Reds would march into Odessa, head for the first house on the Boulevard, find there the older son of Baron David de Gunzburg, and not believe that he was nearly penniless. They would murder him in cold blood, especially if it was known that he had killed two members of the Petrograd garrison in his father's house. But what could he do? Where could he and Stepan go?

Ossip had learned that the most savage fighting was occurring between Red and White forces in the Ukraine, just midway between Odessa and Feodosia, where his mother and sister had taken refuge. He could not reach them or even get a message to them. Maybe they, too, have managed to escape to France, he said to himself. And what about Gino? Would he have joined them, or would he have thrown in his lot with the White Army? There was no way to know. Ossip felt totally disheartened. What had happened to Natasha? Was he alone, left to die at the hands of the Reds, with only Stepan as his friend? It is useless to hope, he thought. All that we had is gone. My family, my country, my wealth, my position—and most of all, my love. In his agony, he sat down and wept, his head in his hands.

Stepan had recovered, and was serving him, as always. It never occurred to the maître d'hôtel to ask any question whatsoever. He especially did not ask when and if he would be paid. Ossip accepted his sevices, but once or twice, in despair, he broke their unspoken pact of decorum and said, “I own nothing, Stepan. Please bear with me, if you can. But if you can find better…” He had not continued. Stepan's eyes, so proud and dignified, had quelled his words in his throat. He is a gentleman in his heart and in his manner, Ossip thought, whereas Siegfried, for all his wealth and status, was a boor.

Shortly after the departure of the Ashkenasys, Stepan appeared in the doorway of the immense hall where Ossip, alone, was drinking his morning coffee. “There is someone here to see you, Ossip Davidovitch,” the maître d'hôtel said. “I beg your pardon, but although he did not give me a name, he regarded me in the most peculiar way, as if he knew me. And I felt certain that I had seen him before. But it is most bewildering. He asked for Siegfried Evgenievitch, and told me he came from the Provisional Government in Samara on the Volga.”

“Those are mostly the representatives of the disbanded Constituent Assembly, who have set up some kind of headquarters there, I believe,” Ossip commented. “But I know none of these men. Perhaps one of them knew Papa, when Milyukov was in charge of Foreign Affairs…”

“Shall I ask the gentleman to come in?” Stepan asked.

Ossip shrugged. “Why not?”

The man who entered the room took but one look at Ossip, and his face brightened at once. He was clothed modestly, not fashionably, but his hair was very fair and his eyes so green that they seemed to reach right inside Ossip's memory, so that he too sprang from his chair with a cry of recognition. “Vanya!” Ossip exclaimed. And the other said, “Ossip! What are you doing in Odessa?”

Stepan, in the process of respectfully removing himself, stopped, and regarded the newcomer with raised eyebrows. “Ivan Aronovitch Berson?” he asked softly.

“Indeed!” the green-eyed man stated. “Then… you are Stepan! I thought so, but…”

“I shall fetch you some tea, sir,” the maître d'hôtel declared. “Or coffee? Ossip Davidovitch is having his morning coffee.”

“I'll take whichever is already made. Coffee would be wonderful, Stepan.”

The two young men sat next to each other at the table, and Ossip lit cigarettes for them both. Leaning forward, Ivan Berson said, “You know, I had no idea you were related to the Ashkenasys. I had come to ask your cousin to lend our organization some financial support. I've been sent to prepare the people of Odessa for the arrival of the Red Army, and to obtain what reinforcements I can get. Did you know that I had been elected to the Constituent Assembly, and would be serving now, if…” His sentence died in midair. “I saw Gino, a while back, at the front,” he added.

“I didn't know! How did he look? Tell me, Vanya. I haven't seen my brother for so long.”

“Gino was a fierce fighter, and well liked,” Ivan replied. “He's a man! To me, this was amazing. Little Gino. But this was before the peace. The peace must have infuriated him. By the way, he didn't approve of me in the least. I don't know if he ever liked me, but he certainly didn't enjoy the commissars sent by Kerensky, and I was one of them. But—I liked him. He is a true Russian, as—”

“As Annushka was,” Ossip said softly.

Ivan Berson flicked an ash away, and drank some coffee. “Yes,” he said tersely.

“I haven't seen Anna in nearly as many years as you have,” Ossip said, in the same gentle tone of voice. “And you know how apolitical I've always been... But I'm sure of one thing: she'd be proud of what you are doing.”

“Perhaps. I wonder sometimes if we're not going to die as the Texans did in that fort, the Alamo—in a horrid way, but for a noble cause... You should leave, Ossip. If I knew you any less well, I'd ask you to join us. But, as you say, politics have never appealed to you. And with your back, you can't fight. Take the first ship out of here, my friend. In this house, you're offering yourself to those bastards for murder.”

Ossip smiled. “I haven't a kopeck, Vanya. Stepan and I will leave, but not until I can find a way of getting some passage money. What do you say to a destitute Gunzburg? Probably, if I were you, I'd laugh. Serve ‘em right! I'm sure you haven't wasted any love upon our family, after what they... we... did to you.”

“I don't have time to hate,” Ivan Berson said shortly. “But you were not a part of that affair. I never hated you.”

They remained quiet for several minutes, smoking and sipping coffee. Then Berson said, “At least you escaped from Petrograd. It was dreadful there. A great many wealthy families were slaughtered. I'm sorry—I heard about your father, and I know how badly you must feel. I also heard that my dear parents and sisters went to Paris. I don't much care.”

“Vanya—there is a family I'm concerned about in Petrograd.” Ossip's bright blue eyes suddenly bored into Ivan's green ones.

“Go on—I'll tell you what I know, if I know. Who were you going to ask about? Old friends?”

“Yes... the Tagantsevs. Count and Countess Nicolai Tagantsev, and their children. Their second son, Volodia, was a schoolmate of mine, and my dearest friend. He was killed, years ago, in Persia.”

“I don't think I ever met him, but I knew he was your friend. I didn't realize you'd kept up with the family.”

Ossip's eyes shone with insistent fervor. “Well?” he whispered. “Have you heard anything? Count Tagantsev was a well-known man. Surely someone must have heard something. His son-in-law was a general under Kornilov—”

“A Prince Andrei Kurdukov.” Now Ivan tapped lightly on the table and looked toward the window. “I'm sorry, Ossip. The Tagantsevs are dead. Kurdukov is with us, heading up a White regiment. I know that the other son, the one who was a senator, was killed in Petrograd.”

“And the daughter, Princess Kurdukova?”

“I don't see how she could have escaped. The palace was burned, the family decimated. We can't be certain, Ossip, for it's harder to keep track of women, people are always bringing news of men, the ones with whose names they are familiar—”

“But you say that her husband is alive. Couldn't she have joined him?”

Ivan turned back to Ossip, and sighed. He said nothing, but Ossip's bright blue gaze held him, mesmerized him, until all at once he was embarrassed by this naked vulnerability, by this silent grief. “Ossip,” he began, but gave up and shook his head. “In this country, these days... Don't rely too heavily on what I say. Rumors are only that—not facts.”

Ossip clasped his hands together, unseeing, his face white. He could picture the Count dead, even Maria Efimovna, who was a good woman. He made an effort to visualize little Lara, dismembered, but at the thought his features contracted in sorrow. He dared not think of
her.
“No,” he said, and there was the wonder of a child in this statement. Ivan Berson twisted in his seat, not knowing what to do. Where had Stepan vanished? Ossip bit his lower lip, and repeated, “No.” Then, oblivious of Ivan's presence, he rose and went to the window. At first he stood, perfectly still, a statue peering out toward the park below. Then he bent over, as if in pain, and rocked back and forth upon his haunches, moaning. Ivan could not help but stare at him, overwhelmed with compassion and helplessness. He called out: “Stepan! Stepan!”

It was the manservant who picked up Ossip, who literally dragged him to a sofa, who laid him down and brought compresses for his forehead. “I did not know he would take it so badly,” Ivan said. “The Tagantsev boy died such a long time ago...” He searched through his pockets, thrust some bills into Stepan's hands. “Get yourselves out of here, on a ship to France or England,” he said quickly. “Get him out of here! The Red Army is sure to come, and...”

“God be with you, Ivan Aronovitch.” Stepan did not escort him to the door, but watched him walk rapidly away. Stepan remained with Ossip, and made a sign of the cross above his head. He counted the bills, and sighed. He thought of Anna, and of Natalia Tagantseva. They did not know, he thought, these two young men, how much they had in common... But Ivan Aronovitch is a survivor. If only I could be so sure about Ossip Davidovitch. Only God can help him now, though he does not believe in His bounty... And Stepan remembered the elegant little apartment where he had recuperated from his wound, and the voice of the Princess, so strong and lovely. It was no wonder that his master had loved her. He also remembered her as a young girl, when she and her mother had visited the Baroness. What a fine young woman she had been! No less fine, thought Stepan stubbornly, regarding the bills anew, than Anna Davidovna's young man.