Under a Blood Red Sky (34 page)

The pillars. Her eyes were drawn to them, instead of to the pad on her lap. Bone-white pillars. Tall and graceful, like pine trees stripped of bark. She couldn’t keep her eyes off them. Each one made her think of Anna, still out there in the forest, her blade slicing through the flesh of a tree. Don’t stop, dear Anna. Breathe, my friend, breathe. She swallowed the rage that rose in her throat at the injustice of it, but she must have made some noise because in the next seat Alanya Sirova turned and studied her.

‘Are you all right?’ Alanya asked.

‘I’m fine.’

Still Alanya stared at her. ‘You haven’t written down anything for the last half an hour.’ She nodded at Sofia’s blank page.

Sofia turned her head to look into the suspicious brown eyes. The two women’s communication had so far been stilted, despite sharing a bedroom at night and being seated next to each other for the last six hours in the conference hall. Sofia could feel Alanya’s curiosity like something palpable crouched between them, and was amused by her sudden show of concern.

‘Comrade Sirova,’ she said in a muted tone, giving it just the right touch of condescension, ‘I am listening. This delegate on the platform,’ she gestured to the bearded man in the shabby brown suit speaking so passionately in favour of engineering expansion, ‘is telling us something that is crucial to our understanding of how the Levitsky factory can be moved forward, step by step, until it is able to surpass even our Great Leader’s targets of technological development and progression. It is essential to think things through first and write afterwards.’ She narrowed her gaze. ‘Do you understand me?’

‘Yes, comrade, yes, I do.’ The sleek brown head nodded eagerly.

‘And,’ Sofia continued, ‘I advise you to bear that in mind – if you want to progress further than a lowly secretary. I’m sure you have the ability to do so.’

Alanya’s ambitious eyes gleamed behind the thick lenses of her spectacles and her sallow cheeks took on a pinkish tinge. ‘
Spasibo
, comrade. I promise I will in future.’

Sofia allowed herself a faint smile. That was Comrade Sirova dealt with. She turned back to the pillars, to the pine trees.

It was out among the pine trees one hot mosquito-ridden afternoon that Sofia had learned from Anna about her visit to Maria, the woman who had been her governess. Maria who, during all those years when Anna was living with a distant cousin in a village hundreds of miles away near Kazan, had never come for her. Never once wrote. Never got in touch. Nothing. As though Anna had ceased to exist. Anna had waited and waited, had pinched her own skin to make sure she was still real, always believing that one day Maria would come. Her lonely young heart clung to Maria’s words: ‘I promise I’ll come for you.’

But she didn’t come.

Now in the damp forests of a Siberian Work Zone, Anna shook her head sadly. ‘I was foolish. I wouldn’t let it go. So when the woman who had taken me in suddenly died – she was trampled by a bull when I was twenty-one – I spent a time grieving for the stern old vixen. Then I took the small amount of money she left me in her will, bought myself a train ticket and travel permit and went in search of Maria. It took me months to get a seat on a train, but finally I travelled back to Leningrad.’

Sofia was honing Anna’s axe, squatting down among the wood-chippings with a flat stone in front of her, keeping down below the eyeline of the guards. Anna was leaning back against a tree trunk, each breath wheezing as she spoke.

‘Don’t talk, Anna. Rest your poor lungs.’

‘No, you must know this. For when you go.’

She didn’t say where, just go. It wasn’t something they talked about, but they both knew it would be soon.

‘Very well, tell me,’ Sofia said, one eye on the nearest guard. His back was turned to them for the time being.

Anna sighed with satisfaction. ‘I found the house.’

She stopped as if that were enough, and when Sofia looked up she saw Anna’s eyes had closed, her thin chest struggling. Her lips were turning blue. Quickly Sofia drew from her pocket her last small scrap of black bread, crushed with the pulp of pine seeds from the forest floor.

‘Here, chew on this.’ She pushed it between her friend’s lips.

Anna took it and chewed, until eventually she dragged a shallow breath into her lungs and then another. Slowly the rhythm returned.

‘I found the house in Liteiny district,’ Anna whispered, ‘the one where Maria’s brother, Sergei Myskov, and his wife, Irina, lived. It was only round the corner from the tap factory.’ She paused, resting a moment, her sunken blue eyes on Sofia’s face. ‘I remembered the iron staircase and the
kolodets
, a courtyard with a well at its centre. And there was a lion’s head carved above the archway. It frightened me when I was young.’

‘You two!’ The guard had caught sight of them. ‘Get back to work.’

‘
Da,
’ Sofia called out, ‘right away.’ She started to move, as if to do as ordered, and the guard turned away.

‘Anna, there’s no time now and you’re not-’

But Anna seized Sofia’s wrist. Her grip was still strong. ‘Listen to me. It’s important. You must remember this, Sofia. It will help you.’

Sofia lifted her hand to wipe the sweat from her friend’s gaunt face, but Anna swept it aside impatiently. The flash in her blue eyes reminded Sofia of the old Anna.

‘I’m fine,’ Anna hissed. ‘Just listen.’

Sofia laid aside the axe and crouched beside her, attentive.

‘By the time I found the apartment building it was raining. I was wet through but I barely noticed, I was so excited at the prospect of seeing Maria again after nine years. When I knocked, the door to the apartment on the first floor was opened by a youth with wavy brown hair and ears that stuck out like a baby elephant’s. I recognised him at once.

‘“Sasha?” I gasped. It was Sasha, Irina’s son. He was about eleven then. “I’m a friend of your Aunt Maria.”

‘“
Tiotya
Maria doesn’t have friends.”

‘What did he mean? Why didn’t Maria have friends?

‘“Where does she live now, Sasha?”

‘“Here.”

‘“Here?” This was too easy. “May I come in and see her?”

‘He stepped back and called over his shoulder, “
Tiotya
Maria, a visitor for you.”

‘“Who is it, Sasha?”

‘It was Maria’s voice. I rushed into the room and a pale-faced woman with white hair was sitting in a chair by the window. It was a much older Maria, but still my dearest governess.

‘“Maria,” I breathed, “it’s me.”

‘A tremor ran through the silent figure, then tears started to slide down her cheeks.

‘“My Anna,” she sobbed, and the fingers of one hand clawed at the air to draw me to her chair.

‘I clasped my arms around her neck, while she touched my wet hair and murmured soft words against my cold skin.

‘“Why didn’t you come?” I whispered the words. “I waited for you.”

‘Maria placed a shaky hand over her eyes. “I couldn’t.”

‘“Why didn’t you write?”

‘“Aunt Maria had a stroke.” It was Sasha’s voice. I had forgotten he was even still in the room. “It happened when she was tortured.”

‘My thoughts beat panicked wings in my head. White hair? Maria could not be more than forty. Why white hair? Her eyes were still beautiful, still luminous brown, but over them hung a veil, gossamer-fine, and behind it lay a world of bafflement and confusion. And she hadn’t risen to her feet to greet me. It all made agonising sense.

‘“Oh Maria, my poor dearest Maria. Why didn’t you ask your brother Sergei to write to me? I’d have come…”

‘Maria’s eyebrows gathered in a lopsided frown and she murmured, “Hush.” She glanced quickly in Sasha’s direction and then back again to my face. “It’s not important.”

‘“Of course it’s important. I would have taken care of-”

‘“No, no, not you, Anna Fedorina,” Sasha interrupted roughly. “My parents would never have written to you or wanted you in this house.” He stood with his hands on his hips and his chin jutting forward. “Aunt Maria suffered the stroke when she was tortured on account of her connection with
your
family, with you and your father and your father’s friends. I grew up on the story of how her hair turned white overnight in the prison cells. Your father was declared a Class Enemy and-”

‘“Shut up!” I shouted.

‘“Leave us, Sasha,” Maria moaned. “Please.”

‘He glared at me for a long moment before marching out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Quiet settled after that. Maria dismissed my apologies for what she’d suffered, so instead I kissed her, told her I loved her and would take care of her now that I had found her again. I made us tea from the samovar in the corner of the cramped room, then I pulled up a stool and told tales of my long years in Kazan. As the daylight started to fade from the room, I risked the question that burned inside me.

‘“Did you ever hear what happened to Vasily?”

‘Maria laughed, soft and low like in the old days. “How you worshipped that boy! You used to trail round after him like a little shadow. Do you recall how you used to make him dance with you? Or maybe you’ve forgotten that.”

‘“No, I haven’t forgotten.”

‘“And he adored you.” She chuckled again. “He came looking for you, you know.”

‘“When? When did he come?”

‘“I’m not sure, I can’t… Think, stupid brain, think.” Maria rapped her knuckles against her own forehead. “I forget everything now.”

‘I stroked the skin soothingly. “It’s all right, there’s no rush. Take your time. Can you remember what he looked like?”

‘The crooked mouth smiled its crooked smile. “Oh yes, he was tall. Grown into a man.”

‘“And still as handsome?”

‘“Yes, still as handsome. He came twice and told me he’d changed his name for safety.”

‘“To what?”

‘Again the look of bewilderment.

‘“Did you tell him where I was, Maria?”

‘“No, my love, I’m sorry. I couldn’t remember where you were.”

‘“Was he… disappointed?”

‘“Oh yes. That’s why he came twice. To see if I had remembered.” Tears filled her eyes. “But I couldn’t.”

‘I hugged her close and whispered without hope, “Where is he living now?”

‘To my surprise Maria nodded. “He wrote it down.”

‘From a large battered canvas bag that lay at her feet she withdrew a bible, its cover well-worn to a faded black. Tucked inside its pages was a scrap of grey envelope and on it printed in black letters: Mikhail Pashin, Levitsky Factory, Dagorsk. Home: Tivil Village, near Dagorsk. But just as I was holding the piece of paper in my hand, the door to the room crashed open and uniforms marched into the small space, their leather boots and broad shoulders swallowing up the air around us. Five stern faces turned on me. Behind them, with the sternest face of all, stood eleven-year-old Sasha.

‘“Anna Fedorina?” The officer had a black Cossack moustache that seemed to bristle and threaten, but his eyes were calm. “You are Anna Fedorina, daughter of
Doktor
Nikolai Fedorin who has been declared an Enemy of the People.”

‘“But that was years ago.”

‘The officer gave me a smile that was not a smile. “We don’t forget. Or forgive.”

‘Strong hands seized my arms and dragged me off my feet.

‘“Anna!” Maria screamed, with all the power of her frail lungs, her one good hand clawing the air again. “Let me kiss her, let me kiss my Anna goodbye.”

The soldiers hesitated, then thrust me at Maria’s chair. Maria clamped her arm fiercely round my neck and buried her face in my hair, kissing my cheek, my jaw, my ear, all the time whispering, whispering, whispering. So that when the rough hands stole me from Maria’s grasp, I was aware of nothing but those words:

‘“His mother’s jewels. In a box. He’s buried them in the church under St Peter’s feet. He told me. In the village where he lives.”’

‘Where are you going, Comrade Morozova?’

Sofia had risen to her feet in the conference hall. She couldn’t bear it inside this hothouse of lies and paranoia a moment longer. All the promises of quotas impossible to achieve, and the incessant ranting against wreckers and saboteurs – it set off a griping pain in her stomach, as though rats were chewing in there.

Alanya Sirova’s expression was poised halfway between curiosity and suspicion. ‘Are you leaving?’

‘
Da.
Yes, I have work to do.’

‘But I thought-’

‘While Comrade Direktor Pashin and Comrade Boriskin are away reporting to the Committee,’ Sofia tossed her pad and pen on the lap of Alanya’s navy blue suit, ‘I want you to take notes of everything that goes on here.’

The secretary’s cheeks glowed pink with pleasure. ‘
Spasibo
, comrade. I won’t let you down, I promise.’

It made Sofia want to cry.

The streets of Leningrad had changed. As Sofia walked their pavements she began to wish she hadn’t come back. The tall pastel-painted houses with ornate window frames and wrought iron balconies, houses she had once thought so smart and elegant, had been transformed into sooty drab buildings crammed full of sooty drab people who scurried to the bread queues and the candle queues and the kerosene queues, where they waited for hours like sheep in a slaughter house. Their clothes were shabby and their chins tucked tight to their chests. Against the cool breeze that skimmed off the canals? Or against the expression in other people’s eyes? Suspicion was so strong in the air, she could smell it.

As she hurried down Nevsky the trams rattled past her, packed with grey empty faces. The new factories pumped a thick filth into the air that settled like widows’ weeds over the buildings. When Sofia leaned eagerly over the bridge, as she had as a child to catch sight of the Fontanka, the stench that drifted up from it caught at her throat and made her eyes water. What were they dumping in there?