The House by the Dvina (25 page)

The house was quiet and empty. Dedushka, Marga and Seryozha were still in Yalta. Marina had gone to Finland to visit Aunt Olga, and Yura left to stay with friends up the river. Mother went to her bedroom and, throwing herself on her bed, turned her face to the wall. The following day I noticed a change had come over her. She was withdrawn and spoke very little. She often went into town, sometimes taking Ghermosha and me to the shops or visiting her friends. On other days we played in the garden and fished for tadpoles in the pond, while she sat nearby watching us. When she went off into town on her own she brought back numerous little packages Ч brown ribbons to match my uniform, stockings, gloves, handkerchiefs and small gifts which were meant to surprise us.

About three weeks after GrandmaТs departure, Mother came in from town and presented me with a thick bar of chocolate. I vividly remember the confectionerТs name, “George Borman”, emblazoned in large gold letters on the blue wrapping. She went over to the wardrobe and, taking out my school uniform, asked me to try it on. The universal brown uniform of all gymnasiums was a plain dress with a long bodice, high neckband and pleated skirt. Over it was worn a black-lustre apron. Perhaps a little sombre, but neat and practical.

Mother fastened the dress down my back and after twisting my unruly hair into two plaits and fixing the ribbons, told me to stand back in the middle of the floor. She wanted, she explained, to see how I would look in this new outfit. I was quite pleased to do this and did a few pirouettes in front of her. To my surprise, I saw her suddenly lift her hands to her face and burst into tears. “Why are you crying, Mama?” I asked, feeling this awful tightness in my throat. “It is nothing,” she said, turning away her head, “nothing at all.”

Kapochka came in. She was holding a small bundle of broderie anglaise neckbands which had to be worn round the high neck of my uniform. “Elena Avgustovna,” she addressed my mother by her patronymic, “Nastenka has just brought them. Would you like me to sew one on?” “No, Kapochka,” Mother rejoined, “I should like to fix this one myself.” Kapochka placed the small bundle on the dressing-table and left the room. I undressed and handed over my uniform. Mother, threading a needle, sat down on the edge of the bed and began to sew with serious concentration while I changed back into my usual dress. When she finished sewing, she handed the uniform back to me to be hung in the wardrobe. As I was struggling with the coathanger, she came over to help me and, throwing her arms around me, held me close and kissed me. “You will look very pretty in this,” she said, and again I saw tears welling up in her eyes, but before I could say anything she hurried out of the room. I did not see her again, nor yet my young brother, until almost two years later.

Mother went to St Petersburg, a place she always loved, a place of happy memories. She lived with people named Sabinin, friends of long standing, the head of the family being a native of Archangel. They were close to my parents when they were living in St Petersburg and they had entertained Grandma and Uncle Henry there.

I do not know when my mother decided to go away, but I suspect it was after the departure of my grandmother and Uncle Henry. Disillusioned and bitter that my father, heedless of all advice, had embarked on a venture which ended in the destruction of their way of life, she may have hoped that her mother and Henry would provide a solution to her problem. And when one didnТt materialise, she lost heart and decided to get away Ч

perhaps for just a little while.

I do not blame Mother for leaving me the way she did. Prolonged farewells would have been more painful. She knew I was in good hands and that the plans for my education could not be changed.

What she didnТt know was that I was already absorbed into the family, the way of life, the very house itself, and would never have chosen to go to St Petersburg.

Father, having arranged an allowance for my mother, went to St Petersburg to plead with her to return, but his journey was in vain. Some six months later Babushka, who had never quarrelled with Mother, visited her before going on to Helsinki to stay with Aunt Olga. Before she left, she half-promised me that she would bring Mama and Ghermosha back with her. I dreamt a lot about this but in the end there was no Mama and no Ghermosha.

The autumns in the distant north are harsh, if brief. No Indian summers ever come to give some cheer before the winter. A moaning wind keeps beating against the windows and rushes through the plundered garden, angrily flaying the last leaves still clinging to the branches. The leaden skies are pitiless Ч a steady drizzle, never ceasing, soon transforms the gravel paths into quagmires. The days are dark and dismal. But soon the scene changes. Frosts take over, followed by the first of the snows blanking out all that was bleak and ugly.

Before the winter came, Kapochka wakened me early one morning. This was the beginning of my schooldays. She helped me to dress, braided my hair and tied the ribbons.

In the dining-room the boiling samovar was humming a cheerful song on the round table. Yura, in his immaculate black uniform, and with well-brushed hair, was already seated beside Marina. Babushka in her dressing-gown was engaged in preparing coffee over a small spirit lamp. Dedushka always took coffee with his breakfast and Babushka allowed no one else to prepare it.

Seryozha came in, half-asleep. Then, of course, there was Marga, now in her final year at school. The girls in her class were permitted to have their hair up and wear grey dresses. Our Margachka was rather vain and kept admiring herself in the mirror hanging opposite the table. She was a perfectionist in everything she did, especially for herself. She possessed beautiful hands, which were never allowed to do anything that could mar their delicate softness. Kapochka, presiding over the samovar that memorable morning, was passing round the cups, but I, in the grip of excitement, could hardly drink the tea or eat the little white rolls which were normally my favourites.

When I was ready to leave Babushka came over to bless me. “You are starting on a new road Ч God be with you,” she said. The gymnasium was only a half-an-hourТs walk from the house, but on that morning Kapochka and I set off in a small carriage on our own.

At the school I was directed to my classroom. Kapochka, after kissing me and giving a quick sign of the cross, left me. At the door of my classroom stood our headmistress, Nataliya Pavlovna. Each girl curtsied before her and she in turn had a few words of welcome to every one of us.

In the classroom, Lydiya Nikolaevna, our dame de la classe, took over. We were all formed in pairs and waited. A bell rang, shrill and loud, as a signal for us to be led out of the room along the passage and up the stair towards the hall. Other classes, one after the other, followed on our tail.

Upstairs in the big hall a narrow carpet in the middle of the floor led to an altar where stood the priest waiting to begin the service. On either side of this carpet, the classes, still in the same orderly formation, took their place. Away to the right I was able to catch a glimpse of my tall, rosy-cheeked aunt, her hair piled neatly on top of her head, standing amidst the senior girls dressed in grey. At the back of the hall stood all the teachers and the dames des classes, dressed in navy-blue dresses. At this point, the girls in the choir stepped forward and took their places on a raised dais. A short service followed, accompanied by the sweet singing of the choir, at the end of which, after a brief order, the whole school turned to face the teachers, curtsied and then, led by the senior class, marched back to their classrooms. This formal procedure was repeated every morning.

In the classroom we were allotted our desks. Each desk, divided down the centre, was shared by two pupils. My neighbour, Vanda Derboot, was a Polish girl, red-haired with fine features and a rather proud expression on her little face. We became very friendly. She was the daughter of a high-ranking officer who by some strange coincidence lived in the house which had been our home and where I was born. Thus began my schooldays.

The day at school began at eight oТclock. I remember well KapochkaТs light touch on my shoulder and hearing her saying, “It is time to get up now, Jenya.” Behind the frozen panes not a glimmer of light would be seen Ч

only the darkness as dark as pitch.

After a hurried breakfast, there followed all the preparations for our short journey. Felt boots pulled over thick stockings, a shawl crossing the cheeks and chest below a fur hat securely tied under my chin, mittens fixed to tapes and finally the heavy furlined shuba. Babushka invariably came forward to make certain that the shawl was firmly tucked around my throat Ч that, she always maintained, was the most vulnerable spot.

Outside, Mikhailo and the mare, impatiently shaking her mane, were waiting. The four of us would pile into the sledge to be dropped at the doors of our respective schools. After removing all my heavy clothing and changing into light shoes, I would join my classmates and await the ringing of the bell which summoned us for morning prayers.

There were two breaks during our lessons. During that time we were allowed to buy kalachi, the doughnut-style rolls displayed on a sideboard. There were no playgrounds, no doubt due to the climatic conditions. We strolled around the hall or sat on forms eating our rolls. At times, standing at the wide window-sills, we played “Kamushki”, meaning “Little Stones”. Five small stones were spread on the window-sill. One had to be thrown up in the air while the player gathered up one or more quickly in time to catch the stone coming down.

School finished at half-past one during my first year, including Saturday.

During the extreme frosts there was an occasional bonus when the temperature dropped to minus 22. Then, flags were hoisted on high government buildings sending out messages that all schools were closed.

Often when wakened early and having, a pleasant dream cut short, I would enquire hopefully if the flags were up, only to receive the reply, “No, Jenichka Ч it isnТt cold enough today.” Not that I disliked the school; on the contrary I likec it a lot. I was a gregarious animal, and happy to be one oi the flock. As for the teachers, I naturally preferred some to others. Our headmistress, Nataliya Pavlovna, was a respected and lovable figure. Small, plump, her white hair piled high on top of her head, always immaculate in her blue dress and neat collar, she was completely dedicated to us girls. Her eyes, kind and thoughtful, always gave the impression that she could see into the heart of each one of us and understand our griefs and failings. At the same time she stood no nonsense and expected a certain standard of behaviour.

It was her custom, every morning after prayers, to stand on the landing outside the hall. Smiling a little, she watched the procession of some three hundred girls filing past her. The eyes of Nataliya Pavlovna missed nothing Ч the soiled neckband, untidy hair, a piece of jewellery or anything that could offend the eye. A girl who broke the rules was gently reprimanded.

Discipline was strict Ч the rules laid down had to be observed. Hair was not allowed to be worn loose hanging around the shoulders. It had to be braided and if wished the braids could be placed on the crown of the head and tied together. Uniform had to be tidy and spotless. No jewellery of any kind, with the exception of a watch, was tolerated.

The relationship between the teacher and pupil was formal. When addressed by the teacher only the surname of the girl was used Ч never the first name. Vanda Derboot was just Derboot, Evgeniya Scholts Ч plain Scholts.

Physical punishment in any form was unheard of in either the girlsТ or the boysТ school. The usual punishment consisted of being kept behind after school hours for a period, depending on the misdemeanour and the mood of the teacher. The discipline at school was perhaps assisted by the parents, as each week we had to take home a kind of a diary known as the “dnevnik”

which had to be signed by a parent and returned on Monday. In this book were written comments and the marks we received in various subjects during the week. The mark on behaviour was also included. The highest mark was five, so that a minus five for behaviour was a matter for concern for the parents, followed by an enquiry, if there was no explanation written, as to what offence their offspring had committed. The only time I was afraid of my father was when I had to present this book to him. On seeing a mark less than three, such as for arithmetic, which was my weakest subject, he would mince no words and would coldly enquire if I wished to be like Nastenka, our sweet little dressmaker, who was illiterate. The marks were certainly important. A succession of less than three in one or two main subjects resulted in being kept back for another year. The name of “ftorogodnitza”, a girl in her second year in the same class, had a derogatory sound. The thought of being left behind all my classmates was quite unbearable. It spurred me on to steer a course which allowed me to move forward from class to class to the end of my time in the gymnasium.

Our French teacher, Mademoiselle Zaizeva, dressed in a blue suit, never in a dress like the others, complete with a snow-white pleated blouse, her hair arranged in a smart chignon, was a stylish lady who was fond of giving us the full benefit of her sarcasm. Against such clever witticisms the nine-year-old is helpless. The class was therefore not enamoured with her. She liked to teach us all the various phrases in French, which was only natural. I soon acquired a fine fluency in one which has remained with me ever since. It became the custom for me, soon after the class began, to stand up and with due respect say, “Permettez-moi de quitter la classe,” to which I usually got the response of, “Allez, Allez,”

accompanied by an impatient sweep of her hand towards the door.

There was no necessity at all for me to leave the class, but the ten minutesТ respite helped to shorten the lesson and brought a little enjoyment. I liked to stroll along the corridors peeping through the glass partitions of the doors into the other classrooms.

This ploy of course could not continue. One day as I stood up to say my piece, Mademoiselle Zaizeva interrupted me. “Do you not think,” she enquired in the sweetest of tones, a faint smile hovering on her lips, “that it is rather a strange coincidence that you should require the toilet each time with the commencement of my lesson?” I didnТt answer. She still allowed me to leave as, after all, how was she to know that my reason wasnТt genuine? As I went strolling along the empty corridor I paused outside the preparatory class and became engrossed watching “the little ones”, as we, now being one class above, scornfully referred to them. The door suddenly opened and I was dragged inside. “Sit down and welcome,” said the teacher pointing to a desk. “Here we have someone,” she addressed the giggling children, “who cannot bear to leave this class and wishes to start all over again.” Each lesson usually lasted for forty minutes, so that I was kept sitting and having to answer all the questions until the bell rang for the interval.