Эльвира Барякина - Russian Treasures

There was no other choice but to watch the boxcars full of recruits roll by. The sides of the cars were painted with slogans: “All forces join the fight against General Denikin!” Soldiers sat in the open doorways with row upon row of heads behind them.

“Cannon fodder,” Sablin whispered under his breath.

The “propagandists” arrived in Moscow the following week only to learn that the Whites under General Denikin had taken Poltava, Kremenchug, and Ekaterinoslav and launched an offensive against Kiev and Odessa.

It took them three weeks to receive passes from the Central Office of Military Communications. Unfortunately, by that time, the papers issued by Osip had expired. The Bolshevik officials were scared witless and claimed to have no idea what was going on at the front. The situation was changing every day, and communications with Kursk were sporadic.

Finally, all permissions were granted.

7

The “propagandists” boarded another special service train. This time, the neighboring compartment was occupied by a group of Red Army officers newly graduated from military school. Sablin gazed at the peasant boys. They were neatly dressed, polite, and modest, and their heads were filled with Bolshevik propaganda, nationalism, and flag-waving. They were clearly proud of the fact that the important folk in Moscow had such high expectations of them.

With no watches or calendars, the passengers could only guess at how much time was passing. They ate what the cook sent from the dining car and washed using the services of women who came to the station platforms with soap, towels, and buckets of water.

During the first days of their journey, Sablin was still having trouble taking in the enormity of what he had done. Every second took him closer to the frontline, and the only thing he knew for certain was that there was no way back.

He had not imagined how unbearable it would be to live in one compartment with Klim and Nina. She cut up an apple, stood on her bed, and passed the pieces one by one to Klim as he lay on the upper berth. Then instead of sitting down, she remained standing there whispering in Klim’s ear and laughing softly, making Sablin feel awkward, unwanted, and in the way.

The old countess sat playing patience, and Sablin thought longingly of Lubochka and the look she had given him when he had waved her goodbye. Really, when all was said and done, they had repaid her kindness very poorly.

I should have stayed in Nizhny Novgorod with her, Sablin thought for the hundredth time. I don’t care if she’s having another man’s baby. I love her.

But still, he had been right to leave his hometown. The past was dead and buried, and now, he had to learn how to live again just as he had learned to walk again after being wounded in the leg. And while he had no idea how things would turn out, he felt in his bones that soon he would be able to talk, think, and work without idiotic government controls and degrading permits. It wouldn’t be long now.

In the night, when the “propagandists” were sitting in the neighboring compartment talking to the young officers, they heard the distant rumble of cannons.

“It sounds as though we’re close to the frontline,” Klim said, his eyes shining with anxiety.

One of the young men raised his hand as though he were about to smooth his hair and quickly crossed himself. The other officers did the same.

1

The “propagandists” were up half of the night whispering and trying to work out how to get across the frontline.

Sablin knew that it was useless to discuss it at this point—they needed to get to Kursk first of all and see how the land lay—but he still found himself arguing with Klim. “We mustn’t take on any guides. They might lure us into a trap and kill us, or they’ll give us away to the Reds.”

“First of all, we need a map,” Nina insisted. “If we had a good map, we could figure it out.”

Sablin could hardly contain himself. “If they search us and find a map, they’ll know exactly what we’re up to.”

Sofia Karlovna couldn’t offer any advice but sat fretting silently and swallowing the sedative drops she had brought with her.

At last, quite worn out, they climbed into their berths. Sablin listened to the drumming of the wheels on the track. A single thought went around and around in his head: Will we get through? He folded his arms behind his head and caught the smell of sweat from the underarms of his dirty tunic, the smell of a live body. Still alive.

The window curtains fluttered, and an enamel cup on the table tinkled softly.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. “Get up! Show your documents!”

Sablin sat up suddenly and hit his head on the luggage rack. The old countess lit a candle in a tin.

“What’s going on?” asked Klim.

“I don’t know—” Sofia Karlovna said. “I suppose they’re looking for deserters again.”

People were stirring in the next-door compartment. The guard was walking down the corridor crying, “Look lively there, comrades!”

Sablin climbed down and sat next to Sofia Karlovna. She had covered herself with her overcoat—she always shivered during searches.

Klim opened the door and peered out. “It seems there’s a whole congress of soldiers’ deputies here,” he said. “Dr. Sablin, give me the documents.”

Sablin shoved the tattered papers into Klim’s hand.

“Here are our propagandists, sir,” the guard said respectfully to someone standing in the corridor with a crowd of Red Army soldiers and other passengers behind his back.

“Goodnight, comrades. Sorry to disturb you.”

Klim yawned into his fist. “That’s fine.”

The guard looked over his shoulder again, the soldiers stepped aside, and Osip Drugov entered the compartment.

In a flash, he understood everything. Sablin sat speechless with his heart thumping in his ears. That’s it. We’re done for, he thought in horror. But Osip wasn’t looking at him.

“So, you took Nina with you, did you?” he asked, glaring at Klim. “Weren’t you afraid she’d be killed?”

Klim bit his lip and said nothing. Osip snatched the documents from his hand, took a flashlight from his pocket, and carefully scanned the papers. Then he tore them all to pieces—permits, identity cards, and even Klim’s Argentine passport.

His face contorted by a nervous grimace, Osip directed the flashlight into Klim’s eyes. “When they told me you were in the fourth car, I immediately made up my mind to come. I was hoping to see a friend. I hoped we’d go to the front together.” Osip turned to the soldiers. “These traitors are making their way to the Whites—as a family, so to speak. So, Dr. Sablin, you’re going to join General Denikin too, are you? You decided to leave Lubochka behind?”

Sablin tugged at the collar of his tunic as though it were choking him.

“Search the place,” Osip ordered the soldiers. “Check their clothing. They might have jewels hidden anywhere—in pencils, candles, or bread. They might have coins in the soles of their shoes or covered with cloth and sewn on instead of buttons. As for you,” he turned to Klim, “you come with me.”

Nina rushed to Osip and clung to his arm. “No! Please—don’t!”

Osip pushed her away so hard that she fell against the table.

“Good God, are you out of your mind?” Sofia Karlovna shrieked.

The soldiers dragged Klim out of the compartment.

“Wait!” cried Sablin. Elbowing his way through the soldiers, he rushed into the corridor and then along to the rattling gangway at the end of the car.

“Open the door,” Osip told the terrified guard, “unless you want to clean up the blood from the floor.”

The door clanked open. A gust of cold air filled the gangway, and the sound of the wheels grew louder. The early morning sky glowed pale behind the surging mass of the dark forest.

The soldiers put Klim against the door. Osip gave his flashlight to the guard—“Point this at him!”—and pulled his revolver out of its holster.

“Osip, don’t you dare!” Sablin shouted, grabbing him by the arm.

A gunshot rang out, and Klim fell from the car. A woman’s desperate shriek echoed inside the compartment.

Osip fastened his holster slowly and carefully. Then without warning, he slammed his fist hard into the doctor’s head. Sablin fell facedown on the spittle-covered floor.

“Comrade Drugov, they have a box full of spirits,” a soldier shouted from the compartment.

Trembling all over, the guard gazed pleadingly at Osip. “Believe me, I didn’t know they were deserters.”

“You should have been more careful,” Osip said through his teeth and strode away.

2

The Red Army soldiers took Sablin, Nina, and Sofia Karlovna off the train at an unnamed station and brought them to a military checkpoint in a requisitioned grain elevator. Grain lay scattered all over the ground. People trampled it into the mud, and cavalry horses strained their necks to reach it with their lips.

From time to time, artillery fire boomed in the distance.

The prisoners were all put into a large hall, men and women together. There were two guards at the door: one was in a soldier’s uniform with a revolver in his hand, and the other was wearing torn trousers and a sailor’s cap with a handwritten inscription: “Red Terror.” His only weapon was an ax.

“Is the Red Terror the name of your ship?” Sablin asked.

“It’s the name of our campaign,” the guard answered grimly.

Sofia Karlovna was fussing around Nina. “Do you want me to see if I can get you some water?”