The Impossible Journey (4 page)

I stared openmouthed at Igor. Something about Igor's courage made me confide in him. “They told me Mama has been exiled to Siberia, but they would not tell me where Papa is. Why should they not tell me?”

He gave me a pitying look. “What is your papa's name?” he asked.

“Mikhail Sergeyevich Gnedich.” My voice shook a little as I spoke the name.

“I'll see what I can find out,” he said. “I know people who have contacts in the prisons.” He began to pack up his paintings. “It will be too dark to sell pictures soon.” With that he was gone.

The early-afternoon sun began to disappear, so it was like twilight when Mr. Zotov returned. Roughly
he snatched the cup from my hand and reached for Russ's leash. He counted the coins.

“Not too bad, but you could have done better.”

“One coin is for a fish for Russ. A man gave it specially.”

“Waste a fish on that bear? Don't be a fool. Marya, I'll say nothing to my wife about your skipping school. This will be our little secret. Be here tomorrow morning and you can help me out again.”

I ran all the way to the school so I would be in time to pick up Georgi. He had a big smile, and a star was pasted on his forehead.

“I was the only one who could name five of Russia's natural resources.” He began to call them off. “Lumber,” he said, “and gold and oil and…”

I saw that for a moment he had forgotten the terrible thing that had happened to us, and I envied him.

After I had washed and dried the dinner dishes, I got out my paints. There were no cheerful cottages with flowers for me to copy. I looked about the room.
There was Russ snoozing with his muzzle between his paws. I sketched him and then took up my brush.

Mrs. Zotov watched me work. “You have that cub to the life,” she exclaimed. “We'll hang your picture on the wall.”

Hastily I said, “It's for school. It's my homework for art class.”

Mr. Zotov gave me a sly look. He knew very well there would be no school and so no homework, but we had made a bargain. All he said was, “You could get a good sum for that paint set.”

The next day, clutching my little painting, I took Georgi to school and hurried on to the spot where Igor had been, anxious to hear if he had any word of Papa. Mr. Zotov was expecting me. At once he handed me Russ's leash. “Don't forget to rattle the cup,” he said, “and pull the bear's leash to make him dance.” He hurried toward the warmth of the café.

A few minutes later the student appeared. I hesitated for a moment and then brought out my picture
of Russ. He smiled.
“Molodyets!”
he said. “Well done! Put it with mine. No one will buy pictures from a child. If it sells, you will have the money.”

I was angry at being called a child, but I put my picture with his. Minutes later a man came by and studied first Russ and then the painting of the cub. “How much do you want for that?” he asked Igor.

“Two rubles,” Igor said.

I wanted to say that that was too much. The man would walk away. Instead the man offered half the amount. Back and forth they bargained. At last the man left with the picture. Igor handed me a hundred and fifty kopecks.

“I'm keeping twenty kopecks as my commission,” he said.

“You're welcome to them,” I told him. “I would never have asked for so much.”

“Then you would have been a fool.”

“Have you found anything out about my papa?” I asked.

“Tell me his name again.”

“Mikhail Sergeyevich Gnedich, the same as yesterday.”

He nodded. “I just wanted to be sure. Since Kirov's assassination they have no rules, no trials.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means they do as they please.” He paused. “From what I hear, your papa has been sentenced to hard labor and sent to a camp somewhere in Siberia where the prisoners mine coal.” When he saw my expression, he took me gently by the shoulders and, looking into my face, said, “It could be worse. There were twenty-five executions yesterday.”

By the end of December the newspapers announced that Kirov's assassin had been found guilty. He had been executed and, along with him, his friends and many of his relatives. I had never told the Zotovs what had happened to Mama and Papa, letting them think my parents were still in Leningrad and might return for us at any time. As the days wore on, I saw that Mrs. Zotov was beginning to resent the food she put on our plates.

Each day was the same. I took Georgi to school and stood all day with Russ on a leash, listening to Igor's bitter words. In the afternoon I hurried home
with Georgi, praying for a letter from Mama and Papa.

I did one bad thing. Each day I kept a few coins from the cup. At first I had asked Mr. Zotov if he would pay me a wage for taking his place.

“What?” he said. “We give you and your brother a warm bed and feed you, and you want money besides?”

After that I kept the coins, buying only a little watercolor paper and hiding the rest of the coins among my stockings, where I hid the locket and my earnings from the paintings I had sold with Igor's help.

Christmas came with no presents and no celebration. When we awoke on Christmas morning, we eagerly dressed for church, but church was not allowed.

Mrs. Zotov said, “They have spies who write down the names of everyone who goes into the church. If you go, it will get us in trouble.”

Georgi and I were so angry, we spent the morning
singing Christmas carols at the top of our voices:

When our voices gave out, we went outside and found a branch of a tree, which we brought inside. I painted pictures of Father Christmas and his reindeer. Georgi cut the pictures out, and together we hung them on the twigs of the branch. Georgi was happy with it, but it looked so sad to me that I resolved that by next Christmas I would find Mama and Papa.

Russ was growing. When he became too large to handle, I knew, Mr. Zotov would sell him to a circus
and buy a new cub. I was already having trouble hanging on to Russ; still, I hated the thought of seeing him go. We had become friends. I had taught him to dance by rewarding him with bits of fish from the table. Mrs. Zotov scolded me for my extravagance, but Mr. Zotov took my side, for he could see there were more coins in the cup when the bear performed.

“Let her teach him to dance. Besides, the bear must have a treat now and then,” he said to his wife.

“Why should the bear have a treat when we have hardly enough for the pot?” she asked.

“Because,” her husband answered with a wink at me, “a clever bear brings in more money.”

In the winter evenings Georgi and I curled up beside Russ, enjoying the bear's warmth, for it was always cold in the Zotovs' apartment. While Russ snoozed, I painted a picture, always telling Mrs. Zotov that it was homework. Sometimes I painted Georgi, sometimes the rooftops I saw from the window.

Georgi pleaded, “Paint Mama and Papa.”

It took me several days, and I earned no kopecks on those days. When I had finished the portraits, Georgi said, “You aren't going to take those to school?”

“No, Georgi. We'll keep them.”

I began another painting of Russ, who was my most popular subject, always selling when the rooftops often did not. There were several pictures of rooftops on the Zotovs' walls.

Mrs. Zotov insisted, “Marya, now you must do pictures of Mr. Zotov and me, and you must tell your teacher to let you bring them home like you brought home all the rooftops.”

I didn't want to waste time on something I could not sell, but I didn't dare anger Mrs. Zotov, so I set to work.

I had bragged to Igor that paintings need not be dishonest, but now I made two dishonest paintings, for how could I let the Zotovs see how greedy and dishonest I thought them?

Winter passed quietly, but no letter came from Mama. The ice began to melt on the Neva. One morning I saw ducks swimming in open water. People no longer wrapped themselves from head to toe. Feather beds were given their spring airing. Porch stoops were cleared of their winter grime.

There were mild days when the sun was warm and the breezes gentle. It was almost pleasant standing on the prospekt now. When he saw the pleasure I took in the mild days and the street sights that meant spring, Igor laughed at me.

“Have you forgotten already why you are standing here, Marya?”

Of course I had not forgotten. No minute of the day went by without my thinking of Mama and Papa and praying for some word from them. Still, when you were miserable, spring was better than winter. Certainly it was warmer.

Igor's paintings were getting more and more cheerful. The peasants' smiles grew wider, the geese
got fatter, the trees had more green leaves. As the pictures became happier, Igor grew more and more glum and more careless with his words. “I've heard stories of the camps in Siberia where they force the prisoners to mine coal in freezing weather with no shoes or gloves. They don't care. For every prisoner who dies, there are a hundred more arrested to take his place.”

When he saw the frightened look on my face, he apologized. “Never mind, Marya. Your father will be one of the lucky ones who will come back.”

His words did nothing to reassure me. I could not get the picture of the miserable prisoners out of my head. The next day Igor did not appear. I had to sell my own paintings, and since I was too shy to bargain, I got only half of what Igor would have. When I asked one of the other students where Igor was, he shook his head. When I pressed him, he looked around carefully. “Igor talked too much. I heard he was arrested yesterday.”

After that I began to give up hope. The final blow came at the end of April, when Mr. Zotov brought
home a tiny, scrawny cub at the end of the leash where Russ should have been.

I had no heart for the new cub. I stood all day, too miserable to rattle the cup. The new bear was either too stupid or too young to learn to dance. At the end of the day there was so little money in the cup, I was afraid to take even a kopeck for myself.

Just when I thought I could not get through another day, the letter came. Mrs. Zotov was holding it in her hand when I arrived home. Though it was addressed to Georgi and me, she had opened it. Now she held it out, a worried look on her face. It was all I could do to keep from snatching it from her hand. I wanted to take it someplace where I could read it by myself, but there was no place to go. At last, with shaking hands and with Georgi trying to see the words over my shoulder, I read the letter.

Three years! I would be sixteen, and Georgi ten. Mrs. Zotov was thinking the same thing, for she said, “Three years is a very long time.” I could tell from the pinched expression on her face that she was considering all the breakfasts and dinners she would have to give us. Mama and Papa's few possessions would never pay for all that. Of course she did not know I was doing her husband's work for him.

I wrote at once to Mama. In my letter I tried to sound cheerful, so that I would not add to her worries,
but from the first moment I had seen the address on the letter, I had determined to go to Mama. I had no plan. I did not care how far it was or how long it took. All I knew was that I must start out. Anything would be better than standing on the street hanging on to a bear and putting up with Mrs. Zotov's resentful looks at every morsel of food Georgi and I put into our mouths. I was sure she would have been rid of us long since if it hadn't been for Mr. Zotov, who was quick to take our part, for I was making it possible for him to spend his days in the café.

I still had my schoolbooks. As soon as I had a minute to myself, I opened my geography book to a map of Siberia. It took up a double page and stretched for thousands of miles. I did not know where Papa was, but I found Dudinka. Dudinka. The name had the sound of a stone dropped into the water. You could even hear the little splash at the end. It was a name that could only be far away. Dudinka was near the mouth of the great Yenisey River, close to where
the river emptied into the Arctic Ocean. There was a railway that went from Leningrad across Russia and over the Ural Mountains to the Yenisey River. I began to trace a path. The railway journey would take several days. I figured that the distance from the railway stop to Dudinka was at least a thousand miles. An impossible distance! I carefully tore out the map. Even that small act made me feel as if I had started the journey.

I would have to find money to get a railway ticket and a steamship ticket. The railway would take me to the Yenisey River. Once I reached the river, I could take a steamship as Mama had.

Though he was lying beside me, I did not think of taking Georgi. How could I afford two railway tickets and two steamship tickets and food for two people on the journey? Georgi would be safe with the Zotovs. Surely they could find food enough for one small child. I put out of my mind Mama's words, “You must take care of Georgi.” All I could think of was finding Mama.

The next morning I left Georgi off at school and hurried to the rail ticket office off the prospekt. A ticket from Leningrad to the town of Krasnoyarsk on the Yenisey River would cost every ruble I had, leaving no money for food or a steamer ticket. I walked sadly away, thinking I would have to wait a year. The new cub was growing, and I could teach him to dance. I would paint more pictures and save every kopeck I could.

Mr. Zotov was waiting impatiently for me. “Where have you been? You have kept me here an hour. As it is, I am going to be late for my appointment. If I lose the opportunity, it will be your fault.” With that he flung the cub's leash at me and stalked off.

I was so intent on my plans, I thought no more of Mr. Zotov's “opportunity” until that afternoon, when he came to relieve me of the bear.

“Well, Marya, my luck has turned. Here are a few kopecks for you to buy a sweet or two. Your days of standing here are over.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. I tried not to show my alarm.

“The circus where I sell my cubs is looking for someone to care for the animals—feed them and clean up and such. They're taking me on. No more standing on the street rattling a cup. It will be rubles, not kopecks, from now on. Run along, but say nothing to my wife. I want to surprise her.”

When she heard the news from her husband that evening, Mrs. Zotov could not stop smiling. “More money, and we get rid of the bear. At last the apartment will no longer smell like a zoo.” She looked at Georgi and me as if we too were making the apartment smell like a zoo. “Sometimes, Marya,” she said, “I think you and Georgi might be happier where there are other children your age.”

I saw the calculating look on her face. She wanted to put us into an orphanage. This time Mr. Zotov said nothing in our favor. The bear cub was to be sold the next day, and he would begin his work at the circus.
He no longer needed me.

I had enough money for a single railroad ticket, but I knew I could not leave Georgi behind to be sent to an orphanage. There had to be some way to get money for Georgi's ticket. After everyone was asleep, I took my little store of coins from my chest and counted them in the dark, for I knew each coin by feel. I hoped that somehow they had increased like a brood of rabbits, but it was only the same meager amount. As I hid them away among my stockings, I felt the locket in its flannel.

In the morning I hurried to the pawnshop where Papa had pawned his fur hat and the last bits of Mama's jewelry. I had gone there once with Papa, and I recognized the man behind the counter. He was always friendly to Papa, for he was happy to have the things Papa brought. Now he gave me a quizzical look.

“What brings you here, young lady? Has someone sent you with something for me? I hope it isn't a watch.
I must have every watch in Leningrad. I don't see how people tell the time.”

I hesitated, wondering if I could trust the man. I remembered Comrade Tikonov's fury when she saw the locket. Perhaps the man would call the authorities and have me arrested as an enemy of the people. I looked about. We were alone in the store. I took the locket carefully from its flannel and laid it upon the counter.

The man smiled. I could see he liked the locket. He examined it closely. “A treasure made by the great jeweler Fabergé,” he said. He opened it. “No pictures?” he asked. I shook my head. The pictures of the four girls were in my pocket.