3

Sofia Karlovna and Anna Evgenievna lived in what had once been the cook’s room with a window half-buried in the ground. The mansion had been turned into a barracks, and now, there were three-tier bunk beds in the princess’ former apartments.

One corner of the old ladies’ room was hung with icons, and another with portraits of sons killed in the war.

Anna Evgenievna looked ill, her neck puffy and her body swollen with dropsy.

“Pleased to meet you,” she said, bowing to Klim.

The old countess lit the gas lamp.

“Fortunately, the temperature here never drops below fifteen,” she said. “Our neighbor’s oven is right next to our wall. He’s a senior quartermaster of the Red Army. As you can imagine, he’s not very happy that we get his heat for free, but he can’t help it.”

The old ladies earned their living mending and patching the Red Army soldiers’ clothes.

The pair barely ever went out, so their only source of food and news were their new “tenants.” Surprisingly, the ladies had retained the elegant standards of former days and kept their room spotless. The floor looked swept, the door handles polished, and their room was fresh with the scent of pine essence.

Once Klim had laughed at Sofia Karlovna and her old-fashioned ways. Now, he saw that her exacting standards allowed her and her friend to maintain their sense of dignity.

Klim brought a log from the yard and helped saw it up so that the old ladies could heat water and do their laundry.

“Thank you so much!” Sofia Karlovna said. “It’s very difficult for us to manage a saw.”

She went to see Klim off to the gate. The city was lit up starkly black and white under a full moon, and the snow crunched beneath their feet.

“I’m glad I ran into you,” the old countess said quietly. “Anna Evgenievna is dying, you know. These days, I look at the people as I walk around, and I have a feeling that all of us are heading toward death. I went to the cemetery yesterday and saw so many familiar names on the grave crosses! The cream of Nizhny Novgorod society is gradually making its way to the Peter and Paul Cemetery, leaving nothing behind—no descendants and no property. We’re not simply dying. We’re disappearing without a trace. How old are you, may I ask?”

“Twenty-nine,” Klim answered.

“And I’m sixty-five. I’ve lost everything—my husband, my son, and my house. I shall never have any grandchildren. I am quite destitute, and my life is passing me by. But I want to live! Tell me, what are you going to do next?”

“We’re going to leave the country this spring,” Klim said. “Nina, Dr. Sablin, and I.”

“Where to?”

“We don’t know yet.”

“You need to go to Novorossiysk,” Sofia Karlovna whispered excitedly. “I’ve heard from the senior quartermaster that the Allies’ ships are in the harbor there. If you take me with you, we can go to France from there.”

Klim was embarrassed. “We don’t have any money for the journey,” he explained. “And to be honest, I haven’t the slightest idea where we are going to get any.”

Sofia Karlovna took a small velvet bag out of her pocket and put it into Klim’s hand. “These diamond earrings were my mother’s wedding gift. I think you can get a lot of money for them.”

“But how can I—”

It was unbelievable: the old countess had never been fond of Klim, and now, she was entrusting him with the last of her possessions.

“Just take them,” she said. “I don’t need any oaths or promises from you. I still don’t approve of how you live your life, but you haven’t deserted Nina, and I can tell that you belong to the nobler class of person.”

4

The day was a fortunate one indeed—the electricity was still on after seven that evening.

“There’s no call for rejoicing,” Marisha said gloomily. “All it means is that the Cheka wants to search somebody’s house.”

But Klim, Nina, and Sablin weren’t listening to her. They were too excited by the news of the old countess.

“I wonder how she managed to hide these earrings?” Nina asked, turning over the glittering diamonds. “And she told me she had nothing left.”

Lubochka called them to dinner.

At home, Uncle Anton didn’t lecture anyone about “team spirit” as he did at the office. He even allowed himself to criticize the government.

“Do you think that forced labor and food requisitions were invented by the Bolsheviks?” he asked as he poured sour cream sauce over his potatoes. “Nothing of the kind. That’s exactly how the grand dukes of Moscow used to tax their subjects in the Middle Ages. It was the territory rather than the individual that was responsible for paying tax, and the local authorities had to work out who would do the work and what to pay. Back then, the only way to avoid paying taxes was by serving the grand duke. Now, being a member of the Bolshevik Party works the same way.”

“Papa, please eat up,” Lubochka said. “Your food will get cold.”

Klim was irritated by their chatter. He couldn’t wait to go to his room and think about how to sell the diamond earrings. Where could he find a buyer, and how much could he get for them? And how could he keep himself safe from the Cheka agents who were out to trap people selling gold and precious stones on the black market?

Suddenly, they heard the sound of footsteps in the street and a loud knock at the front door. Klim froze at the sound. It must be a search!

His first thought was how to hide the earrings. He stood up, but Lubochka stopped him. “Sit down, please. Marisha, go see who it is.”

Klim passed one of the earrings under the table to Nina. If the Cheka found one of them, perhaps they could save the other? Nina put the earring into her stocking.

Klim’s nerves were strained to breaking point. Marisha rattled the door bolts, and then he heard a deep male voice and the creak of footsteps on the floorboards.

“What’s going on in here? Some sort of party?” asked a red-faced man, appearing at the door of the dining room.

It was Petrovich, the military man who had been Klim’s partner at the card table.

“Osip!” Lubochka cried and threw her arms around the newcomer’s neck.

5

After dinner, Osip and Lubochka went to their room and talked for a long time. Nina tiptoed to their door several times and returned to the dining room pale and anxious. “I can’t hear a thing.”

Marisha had cleared away the dishes, and Anton Emilievich had gone to his room, but Nina, Klim, and Sablin were still sitting at the table.

Klim remembered the Russian folk tale about a little house that stood in the middle of a field. A mouse, a frog, and several other animals lived in the house, but one day, a bear stopped by, and all of the inhabitants of the little house froze in horror at the intruder. Would the bear destroy everything, or let them live happily ever after? The story ended with the bear trying to get into the little house and pulling it down.

Klim tossed the salt cellar from hand to hand. Who would have thought that Osip and Petrovich were the same person? And how on earth could Lubochka have fallen in love with such a character?

The doctor looked as though he had been slapped in the face. Klim imagined himself in Sablin’s shoes, and the very idea of being betrayed by his wife—the dearest person of all—made him feel sick. Up until now, whenever he had seen marriages and affairs come to an end, he had always thought that it was simply a part of life. But now—looking at his friend crushed with sorrow—his blood ran cold.

Finally, Lubochka stepped into the dining room. “Klim, come here, please.”

Just as she spoke, the electricity went out.

6

Osip’s tired face glimmered in the light of a single church candle. Lubochka stood behind him looking at Klim and smiling.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Osip said. “Lubochka tells me you’re her cousin.”

“I am,” Klim said warily.

“She also mentioned that you’re a journalist, and you’re good with people.”

“That’s about right.”

“And she tells me you’re well-traveled. Which countries have you been to?”

“Persia, China, and Argentina. And I did a tour of Europe when I was a child.”

“I hear your wife escaped arrest,” Osip said, his blue eyes piercing Klim. “Is that true?”

Klim flinched and shot a glance at Lubochka. Why had she told Osip about that?

Osip ran his hand through his close-cropped gray hair. “Lubochka told me the Cheka wanted to arrest your wife because of her brother,” he said. “The devil knows what to do with the pair of you. If your wife is innocent and we put her in jail, she’ll be a burden on the state. But if we allow her to remain at liberty, she won’t forgive us killing her brother. And she’ll try to sabotage us—”

Lubochka put her hands on Osip’s shoulders. “If you arrest people just to be on the safe side, the whole city will be in jail in no time,” she said softly. Then she turned to Klim. “Look, we have a proposition for you. There are two thousand sailors in the city, and they have nothing to do all winter. The Regional Executive Committee is going to open a special university for the sailors, but we need very special professors who can deal with—well, you know—general populace.”

“What do you want me to teach them?” Klim asked, surprised.

“We want you to keep them busy,” Lubochka said. “You can tell them about faraway countries and teach them to wash their hands before eating.”

“It’s very important work,” Osip said. “Comrade Lenin has told us it’s essential to raise the cultural level of our troops. If you agree, you’ll be given the highest category of food ration. After you’ve completed a trial period, of course.”