On Friday morning, a ZIL-130 panel truck arrived and parked outside Government House, and two men in overalls began to carry Dimka’s and Nina’s possessions down in the elevator.
When the truck was almost full, they stopped for a break. Nina made them sandwiches and tea. The phone rang, and the doorman said: ‘There’s a messenger here from the Kremlin, has to deliver personally.’
‘Send him up,’ said Dimka.
Two minutes later, Natalya appeared at the door in a coat of champagne-coloured mink. With her damaged lip, she looked like a ravaged goddess.
Dimka stared at her uncomprehendingly. Then he glanced at Nina.
She caught his guilty look, and glared at Natalya. Dimka wondered if the two women would fly at one another. He got ready to intervene.
Nina folded her arms across her chest. ‘So, Dimka,’ she said, ‘I suppose this is your little typist.’
What was Dimka supposed to say? Yes? No? She’s my lover?
Natalya looked defiant. ‘I’m not a typist,’ she said.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Nina. ‘I know exactly what you are.’
That jibe was rich, Dimka thought, coming from the woman who had slept with a fat old general in order to get a dacha. But he did not say so.
Natalya looked haughty and handed him an official-looking envelope.
He tore it open. It was from Alexei Kosygin, the reforming economist. He had a strong power base so, despite his radical ideas, he had been made Chairman of the Council of Ministers in the Brezhnev government.
Dimka’s heart leaped. The letter offered him a job as aide to Kosygin – here in Moscow.
‘How did you manage this?’ he said to Natalya.
‘Long story.’
‘Well, thank you.’ He wanted to throw his arms around her and kiss her, but refrained. He turned to Nina. ‘I’m saved,’ he said. ‘I can stay in Moscow. Natalya has got me a job with Kosygin.’
The two women stared at one another, each hating the other. No one knew what to say.
After a long pause, one of the removal men said: ‘Does that mean we have to unload the truck?’
* * *
Tania flew Aeroflot to Siberia, touching down at Omsk on the way to Irkutsk. The plane was a comfortable Tupolev Tu-104 jet. The overnight flight took eight hours, and she dozed most of the way.
Officially, she was on assignment for
TASS
. Secretly, she was going to look for Vasili.
Two weeks ago, Daniil Antonov had come to her desk and discreetly handed her the typescript of
Frostbite
. ‘
New World
can’t publish this after all,’ he had said. ‘Brezhnev is clamping down. Orthodoxy is the watchword now.’
Tania had shoved the sheets of paper into a drawer. She was disappointed, but she had been half prepared for this. She said: ‘Do you remember the articles I wrote three years ago about life in Siberia?’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘It was one of the most popular series we ever did – and the government got a surge of applications from families wanting to go there.’
‘Maybe I should do a follow-up. Talk to some of the same people and ask how they’re getting on. Also interview some newcomers.’
‘Great idea.’ Daniil lowered his voice. ‘Do you know where he is?’
So he had guessed. It was not surprising. ‘No,’ she said. ‘But I can find out.’
Tania was still living at Government House. She and her mother had moved up a floor into the grandparents’ large apartment, after the death of Katerina, so that they could look after Grandfather Grigori. He claimed he did not need looking after: he had cooked and cleaned for himself and his kid brother, Lev, when they were factory workers before the First World War and living in one room in a St Petersburg slum, he said proudly. But the truth was that he was seventy-six, and he had not cooked a meal nor swept a floor since the revolution.
That evening, Tania went down in the elevator and knocked on the door of her brother’s apartment.
Nina opened up. ‘Oh,’ she said rudely. She retreated into the apartment, leaving the door open. She and Tania had never liked one another.
Tania stepped into the little hallway. Dimka appeared from the bedroom. He smiled, pleased to see her. She said: ‘A quiet word?’
He picked up his keys from a small table and led her outside, closing the apartment door. They went down in the elevator and sat on a bench in the spacious lobby. Tania said: ‘I want you to find out where Vasili is.’
He shook his head. ‘No.’
Tania almost cried. ‘Why not?’
‘I’ve just avoided being exiled to Kharkov, by the skin of my teeth. I’m in a new job. What impression will I give if I start making inquiries about a criminal dissident?’
‘I have to talk to Vasili!’
‘I don’t see why.’
‘Imagine how he must feel. He finished his sentence more than a year ago, yet he’s still there. He may fear being forced to remain there the rest of his life! I have to tell him that we haven’t forgotten about him.’
Dimka took her hand. ‘I’m sorry, Tania. I know you’re fond of him. But what good will it do to put myself at risk?’
‘On the strength of
Frostbite
, he could be a great author. And he writes about our country in a way that encapsulates everything that’s wrong. I have to tell him to write more.’
‘So what?’
‘You work in the Kremlin: you can’t change anything. Brezhnev is never going to reform Communism.’
‘I know. I’m in despair.’
‘Politics in this country is finished. Literature could be our only hope, now.’
‘Is a short story going to make any difference?’
‘Who knows? But what else can we do? Come on, Dimka. We’ve always disagreed about whether Communism should be reformed or abolished, but neither of us has ever just given up.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Check where Vasili Yenkov lives and works. Say it’s a confidential political inquiry for a report you’re working on.’
Dimka sighed. ‘You’re right, we can’t just give up.’
‘Thank you.’
He got the information two days later. Vasili had been released from the prison camp but for some reason there was no new address on file. However, he was working at a power station a few miles outside Irkutsk. The recommendation of the authorities was that he should be refused a travel visa for the foreseeable future.
Tania was met at the airport by a representative of the Siberian recruitment agency, a woman in her thirties called Irina. Tania would have preferred a man. Women were intuitive: Irina might suspect Tania’s true mission.
‘I thought we could start at the Central Department Store,’ Irina said brightly. ‘We have a lot of things you can’t easily buy in Moscow, you know!’
Tania forced enthusiasm. ‘Great!’
Irina drove her into the town in a four-wheel-drive Moskvitch 410. Tania dropped her bag at the Central Hotel, then let herself be shown around the store. Curbing her impatience, she interviewed the manager and a counter assistant.
Then she said: ‘I want to see the Chenkov power station.’
‘Oh!’ said Irina. ‘But why?’
‘I went there last time I was here.’ This was a lie, but Irina would not know that. ‘One of my themes will be how things have changed. Also, I’m hoping to re-interview people I saw last time.’
‘But the power station has not been forewarned of your visit.’
‘That’s all right. I’d prefer not to disrupt their work. We’ll look around, then I’ll talk to people during the lunch break.’
‘As you wish.’ Irina did not like it, but she was obliged to do everything possible to please an important journalist. ‘I’ll just call ahead.’
The Chenkov was an old coal-fired electricity generating station, built in the thirties when cleanliness was not a consideration. The smell of coal was in the air, and its dust coated all surfaces, turning white to grey and grey to black. They were greeted by the manager, in a suit and a dirty shirt, clearly taken by surprise.
As Tania was shown around she looked for Vasili. He should be easy to spot, a tall man with thick dark hair and movie-star looks. But she must not reveal, to Irina or anyone else nearby, that she knew him well and had come to Siberia to look for him. ‘You seem familiar,’ she would say. ‘I believe I must have interviewed you last time I was here.’ Vasili was quick-witted, and he would readily understand what was going on, but she would keep talking as long as possible, to give him time to get over his shock at seeing her.
An electrician would probably work in the control room, or on the furnace floor, she speculated; then she realized he could be fixing a power outlet or a lighting circuit anywhere in the complex.
She wondered how he might have changed in the intervening years. Presumably he still felt she was a friend: he had sent his story to her. No doubt he had a girlfriend here – perhaps several, knowing him. Would he be philosophical about his extended imprisonment, or enraged by the injustice done to him? Would he be pathetic, or rail at her for not getting him out?
She did her job thoroughly, asking workers how they and their families felt about life in Siberia. They all mentioned the high salaries and rapid promotion consequent on the shortage of skilled people. Many spoke cheerfully of the hardships: there was a spirit of pioneering camaraderie.
By midday she still had not seen Vasili. It was frustrating: he could not be far away.
Irina took her to the management dining room, but Tania insisted on having lunch in the canteen with the workers. People relaxed while they were eating, and they spoke more honestly and colourfully. Tania made notes of what they said, and kept looking around the room, choosing the next interviewee and at the same time keeping an eye out for Vasili.
However, the lunch hour went by and he did not appear. The canteen began to empty out. Irina proposed moving on to their next appointment, a visit to a school where Tania would be able to speak to young mothers. Tania could not think of a reason for refusing.
She would have to ask for him by name. She imagined saying
I seem to remember an interesting man I met last time, an electrician, I think, called Vasili . . . Vasili, um, Yenkov? Could you find out whether he still works here?
It was barely plausible. Irina would make the inquiry, but she was not stupid, and she was sure to wonder what was Tania’s special interest in this man. It would not take her long to find out that Vasili had come to Siberia as a political prisoner. Then the question would be whether Irina decided to shut up and mind her own business – often the preferred way in the Soviet Union – or to curry favour by mentioning Tania’s query to someone above her in the Communist Party hierarchy.
For years no one had known of the friendship between Tania and Vasili. That was their protection. It was why they had not been sentenced to life imprisonment for publishing a subversive magazine. After Vasili’s arrest, Tania had let one person into the secret, her twin brother. And Daniil had guessed. But now she was in danger of arousing the suspicions of a stranger.
She steeled her nerve to speak, and then Vasili appeared.
Tania clamped her hand over her mouth to stop herself screaming.
Vasili looked like an old man. He was thin and bent. His hair was long and straggly and streaked with grey. His formerly fleshy, sensual face was drawn and lined. He wore a grubby overall with screwdrivers in the pockets. He dragged his feet as he walked.
Irina said: ‘Is something wrong, Comrade Tania?’
‘Toothache,’ said Tania, improvising.
‘I’m so sorry.’
Tania could not tell whether Irina believed her.
Her heart was thudding. She was overjoyed to have found Vasili, but horrified by his ravaged appearance. And she had to conceal this storm of emotions from Irina.
She stood up, letting Vasili see her. Few people were left in the canteen, so he could not miss her. She turned her face aside, not looking at him, to divert Irina’s suspicion. She picked up her bag as if to go. ‘I must see a dentist as soon as I get home,’ she said.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Vasili stop suddenly, staring at her. So that Irina would not notice, she said: ‘Tell me about the school we’re going to. What age are the pupils?’
They began walking towards the door as Irina answered her question. Tania tried to observe Vasili without looking directly at him. He remained frozen, staring, for several moments. As the two women approached him, Irina gave him a quizzical look.
Tania then looked directly at Vasili again.
His sunken face was now looking stunned. His mouth hung open and he stared unblinkingly at her. But there was something in his eyes other than shock. Tania realized it was hope – astonished, incredulous, yearning hope. He was not completely defeated: something had given this wreck of a man the strength to write that wonderful story.
She remembered the words she had prepared. ‘You look familiar – did I talk to you last time I was here, three years ago? My name is Tania Dvorkin and I work for
TASS
.’
Vasili closed his mouth and started to collect himself, but still he seemed dumbstruck.
Tania kept on talking. ‘I’m writing a follow-up to my series on emigrants to Siberia. I’m afraid I don’t remember your name, though – I’ve interviewed hundreds of people in the last three years!’
‘Yenkov,’ he said at last. ‘Vasili Yenkov.’
‘We had a most interesting talk,’ Tania said. ‘It’s coming back to me. I must interview you again.’
Irina looked at her watch. ‘We’re short of time. The schools close early here.’
Tania nodded at her and said to Vasili: ‘Could we meet this evening? Would you mind coming to the Central Hotel? Perhaps we could have a drink together.’
‘At the Central Hotel,’ Vasili repeated.
‘At six?’
‘Six o’clock at the Central Hotel.’
‘I’ll see you then,’ Tania said, and she went out.
* * *
Tania wanted to reassure Vasili that he had not been forgotten. She had done that already, but was it enough? Could she offer him any hope? She also wanted to tell him that his story was wonderful and he should write more, but again she had no encouragement to offer him:
Frostbite
could not be published and the same would probably be true of anything else he produced. She feared she might end up making him feel worse, not better.