Authors: Dan Smith
Aware of Tanya’s eyes on me, I asked the rest of the men to step forward one at a time and introduce themselves. I recognised some of the faces, but like Ryzhkov, they were strangers to me.
‘What about the others?’ I asked.
‘Gone,’ Ryzhkov said.
‘Following me?’
‘Some.’ He didn’t pretend to be surprised that I knew about them, but he didn’t offer any more information than he had to and I realised I had already told him more about what I knew than I should. I decided to keep everything else I had seen and heard to myself.
‘They volunteered?’ I asked. He already knew I was aware of my hunters, so it was in my interest to gather as much information as I could.
‘Some of them, Comrade Commander. Others were ordered.’ He gave me no names and I asked for none.
‘So Krukov took over right away.’ It was more a thought spoken aloud than a question. Krukov was a serious man of few words and capable of acting without any display of emotion. He’d been a reliable comrade to have at my side, had fought with me and Alek at Grivino. Alek never liked him much, but I had always thought I could trust him. This war, though, it had taught me new things about conviction in others. Now I couldn’t tell the truth from lies anymore.
‘Yes, as soon as you were gone. He had enough loyal men, and anyone who questioned his orders . . .’ He shook his head. ‘The only way to stay alive was to do what he said.’
‘You didn’t think about reporting this?’
‘To who? There’s no one to tell. Other units do the same thing. I’ve seen . . .’ Once again he let his words trail away.
I remembered what Stanislav had told me at the train before he died – that I had created Koschei – and now I understood what he meant. When Alek and I had left, we had given Krukov free rein to command the unit. We had made it possible for him to carry out our new directive in as efficient and brutal a manner as he could. We had unleashed Koschei, and in his rampage across the country, he had found Belev.
My head spun with the implications. If Alek and I hadn’t run, the medic, Nevsky, might have saved his life. My brother might be alive, and I would still be in command of my unit. And if I were still in charge of my unit, Marianna would be at home. My
boys
would still be at home. I would have been able to protect them better as commander of a Cheka unit than as a miserable fugitive hiding in the forest, fleeing from those who hunted him. My mistake in deserting was monumental, almost too much for me to bear.
Galina driven to insanity; flayed hands and branded stars; my brother, cold and dead in the grave; Lev, lying broken on the forest floor; Anna left fatherless. All these things would have been undone if I had stayed with my unit. Everything was my fault. I had caused it all, and now the faces of the dead filled my mind.
And that thought.
He likes to drown the women
. That thought was ever present, always echoing.
‘Kolya.’ Tanya’s voice breaking through the clutter. ‘Kolya.’ An arm on my shoulder. ‘Kolya.’
‘What?’
‘What do we do now?’ Tanya asked, lowering her voice. ‘You still want to leave?’
I tried to show no sign of my confusion as I concentrated on one thing only. I had to be single-minded. Hard. Cold. Cruel. I needed to be the soldier now. The Chekist commander. It was the father who had sparked this terrible chain of events, so now it was time for the other part of me to take control.
‘You say he’s coming here?’ I asked Ryzhkov. ‘Tomorrow?’
‘Maybe tomorrow, maybe later. I can’t be sure.’
‘But he took prisoners? Children?’
‘Boys of fighting age.’ There was a hint of indignation in his voice. He would have had to vindicate his actions to himself, just as I had always done, and when you tell yourself enough times that something is justified, you begin to believe it.
‘And women?’ I asked. ‘There were women too?’
‘Some.’ I didn’t ask about Marianna, didn’t even try to get any intimation that she was still alive. Partly because I didn’t want to know right now – I wanted to maintain enough hope to keep me going – but also because I didn’t want him to know about Marianna and the boys. And I wanted to keep my knowledge of Belev to myself.
‘But he told you to guard this house? These people?’
‘Yes.’
There was only one reason why he would have done that. Krukov had done the one thing I should have done, and I finally understood his reason for pushing north.
His family lived here.
He had been coming here. Not just north, but
here
, to this farm, to protect his own family from the Red Terror that gripped the country. He came here to shelter them from men like himself.
I beckoned Tanya closer and whispered in her ear. ‘Krukov’s coming. I think we should prepare to meet him.’
Tanya called Lyudmila from the
izba
and ordered her to return the horses to the barn, but she was reluctant to go. She didn’t want to leave Tanya alone with me or the other soldiers.
‘Don’t do this,’ she said, coming close to Tanya and speaking with some urgency. ‘Don’t trust him. Don’t make me leave you alone with him.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Tanya told her.
‘He’s one of them.’ She glared at me with disgust and there was poison in her words. It was Tanya who had lost her family at the hands of Bolsheviks, but she was prepared to work with me. Lyudmila, on the other hand, was not so forgiving. Something had happened to give her unwavering hatred, but I doubted I would ever know what it was. We all had our secrets, and we all told our lies. Such a web of deceit was spun round us that it was impossible to see the world as it really was.
‘Get the horses, Lyuda, please. Put them in the barn. When Krukov comes, we don’t want him to know we’re here.’
Lyudmila backed away a few paces, making her disapproval clear before she turned and trudged into the darkness, leaving a line of prints in her wake.
Tanya returned to the
izba
, ensured the weapons were secure in the second room, and when she was ready, she called to me and I told the men to go inside.
Once Oksana and I were alone in the yard, I released her, taking the pistol away from her throat. My arms were stiff, my hands aching.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
She didn’t look me in the eye. She hung her head and rubbed at her neck.
‘You have nothing to be ashamed of,’ I said.
‘Can I go back to my children now?’
Of course she wanted to see them. It was the most natural thing in the world. I wanted to see mine. ‘No,’ I said. ‘I want you to stay with me.’ If something were to happen tonight, I wanted to be sure that Oksana was close to me. As callous as it felt, I had a suspicion I might be able to use her as protection.
I stood for a moment, Oksana breathing heavily beside me, trying to find some calm in the quietness of the night, but there was none to be had. I let my breath steam around me, and I tipped back my head to look at the sky. The snow had thinned, the flakes becoming smaller and smaller so they were tiny flecks spiralling and dancing in the air. The grey clouds had dissipated, revealing the outline of the moon; a silvery spectre, more than half grown, trying to spill its light on a sombre land. It was quite beautiful, the kind of night Marianna would have loved.
‘Come in,’ Tanya called, interrupting my thoughts. ‘We’re all waiting for you.’
‘You first,’ I told Oksana, and suddenly I wanted to be inside, to see Anna.
They had lit more lamps, filling the room with light, and they must have fed the oven because as I moved closer, I felt the warmth spilling from the room. I glanced in the direction Lyudmila had gone, seeing glimpses of her in the moonlight as she rounded up the horses, then I followed Oksana over the threshold and closed the door.
The table was no longer overturned but stood in its original position in the centre of the room, and now Ryzhkov and the other soldiers were sitting at it. Tanya had instructed them to pull the chairs as close to the table as possible, so the soldiers were wedged in place, making any sudden movement difficult. They sat with their hands on the tabletop, fingers laced together.
Tanya stood by the door to the second room in the house – the place where she had stored their weapons out of reach. Her own rifle was over her shoulder, her pistol in her hand. She did not trust the men, and was wise to keep them under watch.
The old woman and Sergei had hardly moved – they remained on the chairs at the side of the
pich
– and neither of them spoke when they saw me. Sergei only looked down at his feet, while the old woman, who was watching the men at the table, glared at me as if she wished it would boil my blood.
As soon as I was inside, I allowed Oksana to go to the back of the room. She hurried straight to the ladder and spoke to her children. Their worried faces appeared at the edge of the berth over the
pich
and Oksana reached up to touch each of them. She whispered reassuring words, and as I watched, I felt the wickedness of my actions. Instead of Oksana, I saw Marianna, and I knew how I would feel if such a thing had happened to her. What I was doing was monstrous – using women and children as a shield to get what I wanted – and the only way to crush the guilt was to tell myself I had no choice. It was the only option left open to me.
Oksana looked back at me with hate in her eyes, an expression that warned me not to underestimate her. She had expected the surrender of the soldiers to result in her freedom from me, but I wasn’t going to release her just yet. That would have to wait until tomorrow, until I had finally confronted Krukov and learned the whereabouts of my family. While I waited, I would have to contend with not just the soldiers, but also an angry and desperate mother.
Anna had retreated to the far corner of the room, the only place where the light did not fully reach. She must have sought refuge there when the men righted the table, and she sat on the floor, arms hugging her knees. As soon as our eyes met, there was a noticeable change in her demeanour. She sat straighter, raising her head, widening her eyes in a more hopeful attitude. She changed from a frightened child to a more confident, expectant one. She was a spirited and resilient girl.
I went to her, crouching beside her so that I was facing into the room. I didn’t want to display too much affection or she might be seen as my weakness, so I resisted the urge to put my arm around her, just as I had resisted the urge to hurry to her when I entered the house. With my back to the others, though, my left hand was out of sight, and I let it brush against hers in an act of reassurance.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked, whispering so the Chekists would not hear my concern.
‘Yes.’ Anna responded to my attempt to comfort her by pinching my fingertips in her own. She held them lightly, as if she understood that I wanted to conceal it, and turned her face to look up at me. ‘Are
you
?’
I was warmed by seeing her face. Looking into her eyes like that made me feel less cruel. More justified.
‘I’m fine,’ I told her, feeling a vague smile cross my lips. It was such a simple thing, for her to ask me if I was all right, but it meant so much. No one had asked me that in a long time and it made me feel good. ‘Thank you for asking.’
She smiled back, but it was not a natural smile – it was an expression of support and communication, and I couldn’t help but reach out and put my hand on the back of her head. It was instinctive and felt right, but as soon as I realised I had done it, that I was about to take off her cap and kiss the top of her head, I took my hand away and glanced at the soldiers sitting at the table.
Ryzhkov was facing us, watching us like a snake, and he nodded once in acknowledgement.
‘No one hurt you or said anything to you?’ I asked, eyes still on Ryzhkov.
Anna shook her head.
‘Did you see what happened outside?’
‘No.’
‘And did you hear anything we said?’
‘Not really. Some. Who are those men?’
‘Soldiers.’
‘I can see that.’
Again, I felt myself smile and I looked down at her. ‘I think they might be able to help me find my family.’
‘Marianna,’ she said. ‘That’s good.’ Then her face fell as though she was thinking about something serious.
‘What is it?’
‘When you find them . . . will you still . . . ? What will happen to me? Will you still want me?’
I felt a fist tighten round my heart for this poor, lonely child. ‘Of course I will. There’s no question about that. You’re my daughter now.’
Anna turned her eyes to the floor and nodded to herself as if arranging her thoughts. She was tough, but she was young and saw the world in a different way. She didn’t understand the conflicts of adults. She knew right from wrong, good from bad, but the shades of the many colours that lay between were difficult for her to fathom. Experience told her that adults could lie; that they could do awful things.
‘I’m telling you the truth, you know that, right?’
‘Yes. I know,’ she said.
There was movement by the
pich
and I glanced up, seeing the children’s faces still at the edge of the berth. Just below them, Oksana was looking in my direction, watching Anna and me. Her expression had changed now; it was no longer laced with hatred. There was something else there instead, but I wasn’t sure what it was. It might have been pity or even sadness, but there was also a trace of what looked like guilt. The same expression that had been on Sergei’s face.
There was still something I was missing. Something was happening here that I hadn’t understood.
‘Why is he staring like that?’ Anna whispered.
‘Hmm? Who?’
‘That man,’ she said, leaning in to me. ‘The soldier.’
I turned my attention to the main part of the room and saw right away what she was talking about.
The men at the table said nothing. They sat with their hands on the surface, as Tanya had instructed, and they each had their faces turned to Ryzhkov. They waited for him.
But he was watching us.