Эльвира Барякина - Russian Treasures

The newspaper was printed at night and went on sale at seven o’clock local time. Klim knew that it was ridiculous to expect any response in the morning. Even if someone were going to take the trouble to come, it was highly unlikely that they would rush into the editorial office immediately after reading the announcement.

You’re just fooling yourself, Klim told himself again and again. A thousand copies in an overcrowded city like this—it’s no more than a drop in the ocean.

Nevertheless, he told everyone in the newspaper office that if anyone should ask for a Klim Rogov, he would be at Froiman’s desk right behind the filing cabinet. Meanwhile, Jacob went off to the art department to oversee the illustration of a commercial for breath-freshening peppermint drops. It was a very popular product with the ladies, who were all hoping to entice an influential official and get evacuated with him to Constantinople.

Klim picked up a pencil and balanced it on the pyramid-shaped inkwell on Jacob’s desk. It looked like a little set of scales, and he began to place paper clips and drawing pins on the two ends of the pencil to make it balance. But he couldn’t get it to work, and the whole thing kept falling down.

He heard footsteps behind the filing cabinet, looked up, and froze.

“How are you, Mr. Argentinean?” Fomin said without offering his hand to Klim. He slumped down on Jacob’s rickety stool, which creaked under his weight.

For a few seconds, the two men stared at one another.

Klim was the first to break the silence. “Do you know where Nina is?”

Fomin didn’t answer. His left eyelid trembled, and he bared his large teeth in a scowl.

“How did you manage to lose her, a woman like that?” Fomin said. “You should have looked after her better once you had the good fortune to get her. Where are you staying?”

“At the Froimans’.”

“I see. As I understand it, your situation is desperate—you’ve no money, and dinner in the Czechoslovak canteen costs a hundred and fifty rubles. You can’t even afford to get a shave because that costs another hundred. What do you intend to do, taking into account the storm brewing here? No evacuation for you, I suppose.”

“What do you want?” Klim asked, frowning.

Jacob thrust his nose from behind the file cabinet but backed off, seeing Fomin.

Fomin beckoned him. “Come in, you Jewish scum. What are you afraid of? I must say, it’s very interesting—I asked the cashier about the payment received from this man for an announcement that he put in my newspaper. It seems he didn’t pay a thing.”

Suddenly, crimson with rage, Fomin jumped to his feet. “I didn’t grant you permission to sit in my office, Mr. Argentinean. Get out!”

4

Sofia Karlovna had come back from her errand.

“Nina,” she said. “I’ve got my French passport, and I have a visa for you. But the French have rejected Mr. Fomin’s application—they only take families of their fellow-citizens on board. I don’t know how to break the news to him.”

Nina rushed to the telephone. His secretary told her that Fomin had called from his newspaper office and said that he wouldn’t be back until evening. Nina knew that something was wrong. During the last weeks, Fomin had not bothered to visit the editorial office at all, claiming that all of the White newspapers were obsolete now. There were no reliable sources of information, and the only people who still cared about appeals to patriotism and poems were the writers desperate to earn money.

Nina remembered that Fomin had been upset that morning but had refused to tell her what had happened.

“Sofia Karlovna, I’m going up to the editorial office,” Nina cried as she ran downstairs. “Shushunov, come with me to Serebryakovskaya Street.”

The bodyguard put on his cap. “Very good.”

Shushunov considered it beneath him to run errands for a lady and disliked it when Nina made him do so. Huge and brawny in a gray coat with cartridge belts slung across his chest, he reminded Nina of an impassive crocodile that might lie still on a beach one minute but the next minute spring to life and sink its teeth into you.

5

They got into the open automobile, and the driver started the engine.

“Any news?” Nina asked Shushunov to make a conversation.

The bodyguard spat over the side of the automobile. “They say they’re not going to evacuate any more men except the sick and wounded.”

Nina smiled bitterly. The big bosses liked to make grand gestures that looked good in the newspapers. In practice, this new rule would mean several thousand deaths. It was almost impossible to evacuate hospitals in all of the confusion with no transportation on hand. All that this new decree would do would be to cause delay and another round of corruption and trade in medical certificates.

Furiously honking, their automobile sped down the street.

Sofia Karlovna had said that she and Nina now had permission to board the French dreadnought the Waldeck-Rousseau. But how could they leave Fomin behind? After all, he had helped them so much by giving them food, shelter, and everything they needed.

If Fomin doesn’t leave this town, he’ll die, Nina thought.

There was nowhere to go from Novorossiysk with the Greens inundating the mountains and the Sukhumi Highway about to be cut off at any minute. Once the Bolsheviks came into town after long days on the march and desperate battles, they were bound to commit atrocities, massacring any men who had not managed to escape.

Outside of the editorial office, an excited crowd had gathered. A man at the center of the mob was being viciously beaten to the sound of jeers and catcalls.

Shushunov told the driver to stop the engine and got up on his seat to take a better view.

“It looks like they’ve caught another Bolshevik,” he said.

Nina also stood up to take a look, and the street swam before her eyes.

The angry mob was attacking the dark-haired man in a pack, hammering at him with their fists and kicking him, screaming like apes. The man, wearing a bloodstained British uniform, kept trying to get on his feet only to be forced back down to the ground.

Beside herself, Nina dug in her purse, took the small ladies’ pistol she had received as a gift from Fomin, and fired it into the air. The crowd froze.

“Shushunov,” Nina moaned, “for God’s sake—save that man! I’ll give you all I have.”

The bodyguard gave her a quizzical look, his cigarette between his teeth. He leaped to the ground and made his way through the hushed rabble with a businesslike air.

“Who’s this?”

“A Bolshevik,” someone said. “He was distributing leaflets.”

Shushunov glanced toward the driver. “Let’s take him to the counterintelligence office.”

Together, they threw Klim into the back seat.

Shushunov propped his foot on the running board of the automobile. “No rough justice, is that clear?” he barked, addressing the crowd. “If you catch a Bolshevik, bring him in for questioning. We know you’d like to kill him, but what if he has important information? Let him tell us who had sent him and why.” Shushunov got into the front seat and ordered to the driver, “Let’s go.”

1

All this time, Nina had felt as though she were trapped under the ice, and now, suddenly, she had been pulled into the sun. Her whole body trembling and her breath coming in gasps, she stared dumbstruck at Klim. He was here alive! Beaten black and blue but safe.

He had come to his senses and was gazing at Nina as though he couldn’t believe his eyes. He reached out to touch her, but she shook her head in fear. Shushunov and the driver must not find out whom they had just rescued.

Klim smiled knowingly.

“Alive—” Nina breathed with tears in her eyes.

The automobile pulled up to a shabby two-story building on Morskaya Street.

“Did you want to come here, ma’am?” the driver asked as he turned to Nina.

Only then did she realize that he really had taken her and Klim to the counterintelligence office. There was a guard at the door of the building and a long line of people waiting for news of imprisoned relatives. A Russian Imperial flag torn by the wind into three colored strips fluttered on the roof.

Nina tried to take money from her wallet, but her fingers refused to obey her. She thrust the wallet toward Shushunov. “Here, take it. You can share it between the two of you.”

Shushunov silently tucked her wallet into his chest pocket.

Nina leaned over to Klim. “Can you walk?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Don’t tell anyone about what happened,” Nina said to Shushunov. “This man is my friend—I never expected to see him again in such circumstances. Leave us now, please.”

Wincing from pain, Klim got out, Nina slammed the door, and the automobile disappeared around the corner.

There was a tang of salt in the air, and they could see the blue-black waves with white crests behind the leafless trees on the embankment.

Nina glanced at Klim. “Let’s find a place to sit down.”

2

Nina was speechless. She wanted to say something, but all she could do was weep.

As usual, Klim made light of their miseries and even tried to joke. “Who were you aiming at when you fired into the air?” he asked. “Were you angry with the Almighty? I have to say that I was annoyed at Him too. Why is it that every time we see each other after a long separation, He tries to kill one of us?”