Authors: Paul Dowswell
Misha realised how hungry he was as his stomach gurgled loudly when the food was placed in front of him. As they ate, she told them what she was going to do.
‘I have to make a phone call and a friend of mine will come to see you.’
Valya and Misha looked at each other.
‘Don’t look so startled. He will help you. You’ll need papers, false identities, travel permits.’
‘Why are you helping us?’ asked Valya. She tried to keep the suspicion from her voice.
Baba Nina gave a sweet little smile, and dabbed the corner of her mouth with a handkerchief.
‘
Devotchka
, I am eighty-two, I am ill with something nasty, and I am not long for this world. I have ceased to care whether the NKVD knock on my door or not. I don’t even care if they beat me up – that will finish me off, and that would be better than taking six months to die from this illness. But I do care about what happens to you and people like you. You are the future of our country. When my husband was taken by the NKVD, along with great men like our General Tukhachevsky, I knew that we were being dragged to hell by beggars on horseback. And we were to blame for it. We had supported Lenin and Stalin in all their cruelties. I was there at the All Union Communist Party Congress where we let Stalin take the reins. We thought we were building a new world and anything was justifiable. Well, we’ve made a terrible mess of it. I want to make sure I do some good things before I die.’
It was a convincing speech.
‘What can we do?’ said Valya. ‘We have been sentenced to death as enemies of the people. I can’t even remember the ridiculous crimes I confessed to.’
Baba Nina put a hand on hers and smiled. ‘You must go east, to one of the new towns where they are rebuilding the Moscow factories. You will need new names but that is simple.’
‘Have either of you been to Kiev?’
Misha nodded. He had been to visit his brother a few times in the summer holidays.
‘Good. Kiev is in German hands now and no one will be able to check your records. There are few enough records anyway as most were destroyed in the Civil War.’ She winked. ‘A lot of people come from Kiev. Especially people like you. And I’m sure the Germans will destroy the civic records again when they leave.’
‘Do you think we’ll ever drive them out?’ asked Misha.
‘My dear, of course we will,’ said Nina. ‘Are you a student of history?’
Misha nodded. Valya shook her head. ‘She’s a scientist,’ said Misha.
Baba Nina snorted. ‘Scientists. They know how everything works! Everyone should learn from history. Hitler is no historian either or, if he is, he is a very stupid one.’ She laughed. ‘Look at Napoleon. Do you know the Nazis invaded on almost the very same day he did in 1812. Not a very good omen, is it? The same thing will happen to the Germans. I know because we’re Russians. And we don’t tolerate invaders.
‘Here, I’ll tell you a story. My brother worked for three years overseeing the construction of the Kharkov Tractor Factory. They raised it up from a muddy field. In fifteen months they built the steelworks, the machinery, then the tractors. Thousands of them. All this from peasant workers who had only known a horse and cart before the Revolution. My brother worked shoulder to shoulder with them. When they were behind schedule, they had “storm nights” where they worked till dawn and the factory brass band played to help them along. The Nazis haven’t got a chance against people like that. We’ll win all right, but a lot of blood will be shed.’ She stood up. ‘Now I must make a phone call.’
She went out and closed the door. They heard her muffled voice for a moment.
‘Do you think we can trust her?’ asked Valya.
Misha shrugged. ‘Why would we not?’
Valya shook her head slowly. ‘We have been around the NKVD for long enough to know they have all sorts of tricks and all sorts of agents.’
Misha nodded and said, ‘What else can we do?’
Baba Nina returned. ‘I have good news. My friend will be arriving in an hour or so. You can rest if you like. You both look very tired. If you want to wash, I will boil a kettle.’
They needed no further prompting. Misha and Valya both fell asleep immediately, resting on each other’s shoulders on Baba Nina’s plush sofa. She looked at them both with an indulgent smile, covered them with a blanket and switched off the light.
Misha woke with a start as Valya slept on beside him. There were voices in the hall. The door opened and he blinked as light flooded into the living room. There in the doorway stood a tall figure in the unmistakable uniform of the NKVD.
Baba Nina seemed unperturbed. She bumbled in behind him. ‘This is my friend, Vladimir. I think you can call him that too, is that all right, Vladimir?’
The man smiled and removed his hat, revealing the most brutal cropped haircut. He spoke in a low, deep voice. ‘You, young fellow, wake your friend.’
Valya then woke with a start and she too recoiled at the sight of the NKVD man.
They both sat there wondering what was to come next.
‘It’s fairly simple, what we’re going to do,’ said Baba Nina. She reminded Misha of a doctor explaining an forthcoming operation to a patient. Maybe she had been a doctor before she retired?
‘You will both need passes and travel documents,’ said the man. ‘I think we shall send you to Lysva – it’s a new town not far from Perm. That’s far enough away for you to make a fresh start. You both need to make up a new name for yourself. Tell me one that’s going to be easy to remember, then I will do the rest.’
They both looked completely blank.
Nina patted Misha on the hand. ‘Vladimir speaks good sense. They’ve just moved a tank factory there and the whole town is full of people who have been displaced by all this terrible business. You will be able to travel there by train in a couple of days, maybe more, and you will be able to find work at the factory.’
She looked at Valya. ‘With you, you can work there too, or teach perhaps.’
Misha said, ‘I teach a lot already. I could do that too.’
She shook her head. Vladimir explained. ‘Boys your age are already volunteering for the partisans. It’s a death sentence, sending boys that young into such a brutal war. They won’t allow you to teach but we can get you a work permit for the tank factory. Now, quickly, I need some names.’
Valya whispered impatiently. ‘Misha, we must do whatever these good people say. We can’t quibble about what we’re going to do.’
They racked their brains for names.
‘Alexander Markov,’ Misha said.
‘Katerina Markov. We can be brother and sister. That would be sensible, wouldn’t it?’
Vladimir nodded. ‘As you wish.’ Then he picked up his bag and went to the door. Misha and Valya could not hear what he said to Baba Nina but he bent down to kiss her tenderly on the cheek and Valya whispered, ‘Do you think he’s her son?’
In that instant, Misha had an extraordinary idea. ‘Comrade Vladimir, I have a request. Please can I ask you and if it is impossible I will understand. My mother was arrested last year and I know she has been sent to Noyabrsk. It’s beyond the Ural Mountains. I understand there is an aeroplane instruments factory being rebuilt there. If there is any possibility of sending us to Noyabrsk, I would be very grateful.’
Vladimir wrote down the location and said he would see what he could do.
When the door clicked shut, Nina came back to talk. ‘You must sleep. As long as you like. Here. I have a room for guests.’ She opened a door and indicated to a double bed.
Misha fell asleep immediately. When he woke, he did not realise exactly where he was and half expected to be in a cell at the Lubyanka. But the room felt much warmer than that and he opened his eyes to see Valya a foot away from him. There were the salt traces of tears around her eyes, and he felt such tenderness for her. She was his sister now, he remembered. He looked at the angle of the sun through a gap in the thick curtains and guessed it was already mid-afternoon.
Baba Nina prepared him a little breakfast. ‘She is not your girlfriend, is she?’ Misha felt himself reddening and shook his head. ‘I thought not.’
When Valya woke soon after, the three of them sat at the kitchen table and Nina said, ‘Vladimir will be back tonight or perhaps tomorrow evening and then you must be prepared to go as soon as he says.’
Yegor Petrov sat in the ruins of his life. This apartment which had promised so much had become his tomb. He had spent his entire Rest Day alone and now it was late in the evening. The solitude was killing him. Here, Anna used to walk through the door loaded with provisions, or greet him with a kiss when he returned after a long day working with the
Vozhd
. His three children had played board games on the floor of their spacious living room. Now there was no one. He thought again of asking his mother if she would like to move in with him. But he knew how much she liked to live on her own. He even began to realise, with some surprise, that he would welcome a visit from Aunt Mila.
The grandfather clock ticked ominously in the corner. Outside, snow slid off the roof, muffling the sound of feet crunching through the square below. But when the snow settled Yegor became aware of the measured step of a squad of soldiers. They were coming closer. Then he heard footsteps on the stairs. He was sure they were coming for him and when he heard an insistent knocking at the door he knew he was right.
So this is it. He took one last look around his home and tried to keep down the racking sob that welled up in his throat. He opened the door carefully. He had fixed it himself and had done a less than perfect job. There was an NKVD colonel with three of his men. ‘Comrade Petrov, the
Vozhd
demands to see you.’
Yegor was taken aback. He thought he was going straight to the Lubyanka in a Black Raven. He wondered if he was going to get a proper police car or one of the green ones with
Bread
written incongruously on the side.
‘What should I bring?’ he blurted out.
The Colonel ignored his question. ‘Come,’ he demanded.
Stalin’s office in the Little Corner was a minute or two’s walk away. Now they were there in the ante-room, dense with cigarette smoke. It was all so familiar, and it was often Yegor who showed the anxious visitor into the presence of the
Vozhd
here.
Stalin did not keep him waiting. He opened the door himself and ushered him in.
‘Yegor, I have heard your boy Mikhail has disappeared, along with the girl, Golovkin’s daughter.’
‘Comrade Stalin, I cannot tell you how full of shame I am.’
Stalin poured Yegor a shot of vodka from his decanter and offered him a cigarette. Despite his anguish, and fear, Yegor noticed they were Chesterfields rather than his usual Belomor brand. The
Vozhd
had obviously been visited by some high-ranking Americans. He remembered scheduling the meeting. They were here to discuss arms shipments.
Yegor took a cigarette and failed to light it with his shaking hand. Stalin took his lighter and held it steady for him. The
Vozhd
had been drinking again. Yegor could smell it in his sweat and hear it in the slight slur in his voice.
‘You and I have been comrades for twenty years, Yegor. I know the shame you feel when children disgrace you. When Yakov was captured alive, I had to arrest his wife and children because I could not be seen to spare my own family when I insisted on such harsh measures for the rest of our fighting men and women. But this is not a battlefront disgrace. This is a wilful child and we have all suffered wilful children. I want you to stay in your job, you are too useful to me, and I want you to stop worrying about the NKVD. I know you had nothing to do with Mikhail’s behaviour.’
He stopped and filled his vodka glass. After a few moments of reflection, he said, ‘I also know the shock and shame of losing a wife. Don’t worry about that either. When things settle down here, we will find you a new one.’ There was a long pause. Yegor wondered if this was his cue to go.
The
Vozhd
started speaking again. ‘Now, go back to your quarters. Rest. And be ready for work tomorrow morning. We have a mountain to climb. I hear from sources in Tokyo that the Japanese will not be attacking our eastern territories. The Nazis may have a formidable army, but they have weak allies who do not act alongside them. This at least we can do with our British friends. And, if we are lucky, the Americans, if they are drawn into the war, which I suspect they will be. So now they are no longer needed against the Japanese we can bring up all our Far Eastern divisions to repulse the Hitlerites. Tens of thousands of fresh men, Yegor, and hard too. They are used to fighting in snow. We were right to stay in Moscow. The Nazi advance is slowing. They are not prepared for our winter.’
When the
Vozhd
stopped talking, Yegor Petrov rose to leave.
Stalin said, ‘You must forget about Mikhail. Who knows what will happen to him? Who knows where he is?’ He stopped and sighed. ‘Svetlana liked him very much, you know. But he is gone, just as surely as Yakov has gone. We both know the grief of losing a child and we both know the grief of losing a wife. But you must not concern yourself with your own future.’