Authors: Dan Smith
‘Where are they?’ Krukov asked.
‘In the barracks.’ The commander pointed to the building closest to the camp entrance. It looked like all the others, but instead of housing prisoners, it housed the men who could identify me as Nikolai Levitsky. Something in Donskoy’s voice, though, and in the twist at the corner of his mouth suggested that he disapproved of the men who were now his guests.
‘Doing what?’ I asked, risking a quick look at the building before pulling my cap further down on my brow and allowing Kashtan to turn so that my back was to it. If any one were to look out of the window, they would see only a man on horseback.
The commander’s eyes turned down for a fraction of a second before he spoke again. ‘They’re sleeping, Comrade Commander.’
‘Sleeping?’
‘They said your orders were to rest once the prisoners were delivered, so they’ve been drinking all day. They had some of the women in the barracks too.’
‘The women?’ I tried not to clench my fists as anger began to replace fear. ‘And you disapprove?’
The camp commander looked to one side and clenched his jaw.
‘I understand,’ I said. ‘They’re not fit to be part of my unit. Have your men arrest them.’
Donskoy could not hide his surprise.
‘Do you know who I am?’ I asked him.
‘Only by reputation, Commander Ryzhkov.’
‘Good. Because those men in there,’ I said, ‘have not only brought you the wrong prisoners, but they have taken advantage of that reputation.’
‘The wrong prisoners?’
‘Have your men arrest them, Commander. They’re to be sent to Ryazan. Perhaps a few years of hard labour will remind them how to be patriots.’
‘You don’t want them shot?’
‘Let them labour for the glory of the revolution,’ I said. ‘The motherland always needs more workers.’
‘I’ll prepare the papers.’ He looked disappointed to be denied a shooting.
‘Sign them yourself,’ I said. ‘In the meantime, I want you to give me access to the prisoners. Some of them will be leaving with me today.’
‘If you give me the names of the ones you’re looking for, I’ll have my men—’
‘If I wanted to do that, I would have done it. Do you know the names of every prisoner you have here?’
‘No, but we can—’
‘Unlock the gate.’
‘Of course, Comrade Commander.’ Donskoy took a step back, saluted and turned to summon one of the guards. He issued his orders, and when the guard hurried back to the barracks, the commander went to the gate and unlocked it, pulling it wide for us to enter.
I glanced at Krukov and dismounted, feeling my heart thumping.
Closer.
Please be here.
I had to control myself, stop myself from hurrying into the compound and calling out Marianna’s name.
Krukov and the other men also dismounted, and we stepped into the compound.
The commander came in behind us and called to the prisoners, ordering them to assemble in front of us and form a line.
Please be here.
They were a ragged bunch, shivering in clothes that were dirty and torn, many of them thin, as if they hadn’t eaten properly for a long time. They were like animals kept in a cage, thrown scraps of food and forced to sleep piled on top of one another. I remembered what Anna had said about wanting to save them all, but I couldn’t do it. No matter how wrong this was, I was one man. I would struggle even to save my own; I couldn’t begin to think about taking them all with me. A child’s world is so much simpler.
Please be here.
I saw Marianna straight away. She was unmistakeable. She stared at the ground, as if afraid to look up, and she held our sons close to her, pulling them against her almost as if they had become a part of her.
My heart stopped. My eyes took in every detail.
The shabbiness of her dress, the way she shivered without her winter coat, the split boots that barely covered her feet.
She kept my sons near, both for hopeless protection and to share their warmth. Her face was thinner than I had ever seen it, engrained with dirt, and the tangle of her hair had lost its winter-wheat shine.
Misha was hunched in his coat in a way that was unnatural for one so young, and his features, too, were sharper than I remembered them. The weeks of hunger had not been kind to him. Nor had they been kind to Pavel, who looked smaller than he was in my memories, so that his winter coat swamped him, hanging off his thin shoulders. His head was lowered so that he stared at the ground, and I longed to bring him to me, to put my face to his hair.
They were alive.
The look of despair about them was almost too much for me to bear. I wanted to cry out their names and throw my arms around them. I wanted to rage against those who had harmed them. I wanted to fall on my knees and thank God they were still alive.
But I had to be calm. I had to act the part I was playing.
Marianna looked up to see who had come; at first, she just saw a soldier with his cap pulled low, so she averted her eyes, not wanting to draw attention to herself. But she had seen something she recognised. It was clear in her expression. A widening of her eyes. A loosening of her mouth.
And when she looked up again, our eyes locked.
For a second it was as if no one else were there. We were alone.
I stared into her eyes, the colour of the summer sky, and I longed to reach out and touch her. I wanted to put my hands on the pale skin of her cheeks just to be sure it was her, that she was really alive. It took all my strength and reserve to hide my emotions as I looked at my sons, desperate to put my arms around them, hold them tight. I yearned to press my face against Misha’s, to kiss the top of Pavel’s head and breathe the scent of his hair I remembered so well.
‘Comrade Commander?’ Donskoy asked. ‘Is everything all right?’
Then the spell broke. My heart lurched and Marianna began to open her mouth, as if to speak, but I shook my head in warning, sharp and quick.
I turned away, hoping she had seen the message I was trying to send.
It took all of my strength to look away from her. Every fibre in my body ached. When I went to the first man in the line of prisoners, I risked a glance back at her, seeing her whisper to Misha and Pavel. The boys lifted their faces to look at me, but Marianna put a hand on each of their heads and turned them with a quick jerk. Even so, their eyes slid to watch me and I prayed they would say nothing.
So I fought my yearning and began to walk along the line of prisoners, looking at the face of each person I would not save. I could hardly concentrate on anything. The prisoners in front of me were a blur and I had to stop my eyes from wandering, shaking my head each time.
When I came to Marianna and the children, my mouth was dry and my hands were shaking. I had to lace my fingers together to hide their trembling as I nodded and spoke to Krukov. ‘These ones,’ I said.
‘Come forward,’ Krukov ordered, and when they stepped from the line, he ushered them out of the compound before my sons could say anything.
‘That’s all?’ Commander Donskoy said, and I could see that he wanted to ask. He wanted to know why I was taking these prisoners away.
‘Secret business,’ I said, lowering my voice. ‘Orders from Moscow.’ I looked along the line of other prisoners, thinking again about what Anna had said, but I could not help them. I had to leave them to their fate.
Donskoy straightened and stiffened his back. He put his feet together, throwing his chest out like a peacock. ‘From Moscow. Of course, Comrade Commander. I understand.’
I let him have his moment of pride, then turned to watch Krukov leading my family away. As I did, I noticed soldiers coming out of the barracks in the outer compound. They were armed with rifles, five men, and heading towards the other barracks building where Ryzhkov’s remaining men lay sleeping.
‘You want to speak to them when they are arrested?’ Donskoy asked, as we returned to the horses.
‘No.’ I put my foot into the stirrup and pushed up onto Kashtan’s back. ‘I have to leave.’
‘So quickly? Let me offer you a—’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Moscow can’t wait.’
‘Of course. I understand.’
I nudged Kashtan into a walk and directed her towards the gate. Krukov fell in beside me, while Repnin and Manarov took their positions behind us. My prisoners – my
family
– walked in front of us, waiting at the gate for the guards to pull it open.
From the barracks came the sound of shouting. A mess of voices arguing and swearing. Then a single shot was followed by the crackle of several weapons firing at once.
The guards in the towers all turned their rifles towards the barracks, and the men at the gates unslung their rifles, working the bolts and preparing to fire. The commander of the camp drew his pistol and stood waiting to see what or who was going to emerge.
Repnin and Manarov behind me had also readied their weapons, while Krukov and I had drawn our pistols.
Then there was silence.
Not a sound from the barracks.
Everyone waited, the snow falling around us, thick flakes settling on our shoulders.
And in that moment when time seemed to stand still inside the camp, I spoke to Krukov, my voice barely more than a whisper. ‘Get my family through that gate,’ I said. ‘Whatever happens.’
The door to the barracks opened and a soldier came out into the evening. He was barefoot and had his hands clasped together over his head. He was followed by a second man, then a third. Each one of them had nothing on his feet and held his hands on his head. The guards who emerged behind them organised Ryzhkov’s men into a line and ordered them to their knees.
‘What happened?’ the camp commander asked.
‘They shot Suvorov,’ said one of the guards.
‘So you killed him?’
‘We had to. He would have shot us all.’
The commander turned to look at me. ‘What do you want me to do?’
Ryzhkov’s men all looked over at me. My cap was pulled low and the day was darkening and I hoped they couldn’t see my face, but I couldn’t take the risk. I couldn’t let them identify me. I was too close now.
Too close.
‘They’re your prisoners now,’ I said, kicking Kashtan forward. ‘Do with them as you will.’
I trotted into the corral, side by side with Krukov, and when we were halfway through, the gate closed behind us and a volley of shots cracked the evening air.
When the outer gate opened, I trotted through it and felt nothing for the men who had just died. Nothing that was behind me mattered anymore – all that mattered now was ahead.
Marianna walked with one arm around each of our sons so they couldn’t look behind them and raise the suspicion of the guards. Pavel tried to turn, but Marianna held him tight.
Side by side with Krukov, I followed the tracks they left in the snow. I stared at their backs and controlled myself, but tears came to my eyes no matter how hard I tried to hold them at bay.
I wiped them away with a gloved hand and turned to Krukov to acknowledge my thanks.
‘What now?’ he asked.
I cleared my throat, taking a chance to compose myself. ‘I’m going home,’ I said. ‘I’m taking my family home.’
‘And your unit?’
‘I thought for a moment back there that you might betray me,’ I said, watching my family once more and feeling a lump rise to my throat.
‘It can be difficult to know who to trust,’ he agreed.
‘But I can trust you,’ I said.
‘Yes.’
‘Even if I told you I have no intention of commanding this unit any longer?’
Krukov nodded. ‘How could you command a unit when you’re dead?’
His words surprised me, and without thinking, I turned to him.
My hand reached for my pistol.
Krukov saw the movement and shook his head. ‘That’s not what I meant. We’re the only men who know you’re alive. Anyone who accused you of desertion is dead.
That’s
why you used Ryzhkov’s papers in there. You don’t want anyone to know that Nikolai Levitsky is alive.’
‘
You
know,’ I said. ‘And the others too.’
‘All of us loyal to you. All we know is that you’re dead. We’ll swear to it.’
And for once I believed it.
We maintained the pretence of a unit escorting prisoners until we were well out of the forest, and even then, I was afraid to believe that I had recovered my family and that no one was hurt.
When we were clear of the trees and came to the ruined town, concealed among the damaged buildings, Marianna stopped and looked back at me and I saw what was in her eyes. It was not happiness but immense relief. She had travelled here on foot, seeing the kinds of horrors I had seen. Perhaps she had witnessed Ryzhkov’s brandings and torture, and wondered how long it would be before he did the same to her or to our sons. She had been imprisoned and starved and mistreated. She was awaiting deportation to a labour camp and would have known that meant certain death.
Now that she was free, the relief was overwhelming her.
When the children turned, Pavel called out, ‘Papa!’ and ran to me as I climbed down from Kashtan, the faithful friend who had brought me so far and never let me down.
Misha ran too, keeping up with his brother, and then my sons were putting their arms around me as if to test that I was real.
‘Papa,’ they said over and over, squeezing me tight and staring up at me.
I hugged them back and kissed them, and I put my face to Pavel’s hair. And as I did it, I looked over the top of their heads at Marianna.
She was so much thinner than I remembered, but just as beautiful.
I took off my coat and held my hand out to her.
She began to cry, her face crumpling, her shoulders rising and falling with great sobs as she took my hand.
‘Marianna.’ I put my coat around her. ‘I found you.’
‘Kolya,’ she said, touching her fingers to my face and staring in quiet disbelief. ‘Kolya.’