Эльвира Барякина - Russian Treasures

Nina put the envelope into her muff. “Thank you.”

They reached Blagoveschenskaya Square in silence. Nina didn’t know what to say. In her experience, men usually tried to settle their scores with the women who rejected them. She never thought Klim would display such magnanimity.

Military trucks drove past and columns of soldiers marched by.

“Tripe for sale—fried, steamed, or buttered!” a street seller shouted at the top of her voice. The corners of her checkered headscarf billowed over her head in the wind.

It was dark and quiet in the Kremlin fortress. Only the windows of the Governor’s Palace shone with a bright electric light. Nina noticed a long red cloth hanging from the railings in front of the arsenal—“All power to the Congress of Soviets of Workers, Soldiers, and Peasants!”

Nina walked up the porch steps. “Well—goodbye,” she whispered, her voice faltering.

She felt keenly that her words didn’t do justice to either the gift she had just been given or the fact that she and Klim were about to say goodbye to each other forever.

Droplets of rain shimmered on the fibers of his overcoat. He was clean-shaven and smelled of cologne. He didn’t fit into this benighted country; he belonged on the other side of the world where it was spring now with the purple jacarandas in bloom.

Klim took off his hat and kissed Nina’s hand. “Farewell.”

There were no guards or visitors in the corridors of the Governor’s Palace, and Nina made her way slowly across the entry hall and opened the door that was smudged with muddy footprints. The smell of burning paper hung heavy in the air.

I don’t suppose I’ll ever see Klim again, she thought, and the very idea seemed outrageous to her.

How could she just let him disappear like that? It would be a mockery of everything that had been between them and even common sense itself.

Nina turned to run back after Klim and almost collided with Fomin.

“Follow me!” he ordered, his voice like a prison guard’s.

Grabbing her by the hand, he dragged her into his office. The floor inside was covered with ashes. The inkwell on his desk was overturned, and there were pens and pencils scattered everywhere.

“Listen to me carefully,” Fomin said, standing close to Nina and looking at her with troubled eyes. “Tens of thousands of soldiers have gathered in Petrograd. They’ve been doing nothing but robbing, drinking, and gambling. The Provisional Government tried to send them to the front, but now, they’ve mutinied.” He grasped Nina’s shoulders. “We have to leave immediately! These gangs of armed, hungry deserters will soon be in charge of the country.”

Nina gasped. “What about the Bolsheviks? After all, they’re the ones who have seized power.”

Fomin roared with coarse laughter. “And do you have any idea who these Bolsheviks are? They’re a small group of emigrants and political convicts who have accidentally found themselves at the head of a spontaneous rebellion. It’s the deserters who are propping up the Bolsheviks because they are promising them immediate peace with Germany.

“Now, who do you think is going to feed and clothe our hungry, threadbare, gray-coated heroes? We have three infantry regiments of them in Nizhny Novgorod alone, and these guys have spent up to three years at the front. They have gotten out of the habit of working and become rather accustomed to making a living by slitting throats. Mark my words—they won’t hesitate to loot your house just as they did the Tsar’s Winter Palace.”

“Lord, help us!” Nina whispered.

“They burst into the Palace, broke everything they could lay their hands on, opened up the wine cellars, and now, the whole of Petrograd has been carousing for the third day running.”

“Maybe the rebellion won’t get as far as Nizhny Novgorod—”

“Don’t be a fool! I have it on reliable intelligence that the Bolsheviks will try to seize the Nizhny Novgorod Kremlin tonight.”

Nina stepped back from him in alarm. “I won’t go with you—”

“Then who will you go with? Your gentleman from Argentina whom I just met outside on the street?”

The telephone rang, and Fomin snatched the receiver. “Yes… yes… arrested? All right, I’ll be there.” He closed his eyes for a moment and then turned to Nina. “Wait for me here.”

“I told you. I’m not going with you!”

She made a dash for the door, but he yanked her hand so hard that she almost fell over. “Stay here, I said!”

Fomin left the office, and the next moment there was a sudden clatter of footsteps thudding down the corridor and the sound of male voices cursing crudely. Then there came the unmistakable crack of gunfire.

Terrified, Nina shrank back against the wall. “Lord, have mercy on us,” she kept repeating.

She parted the curtains, opened the window, and threw her legs over the side of the windowsill.

“Be careful. There’s broken glass on the ground here,” Nina heard Klim’s voice say.

Without asking her any questions, he helped her out of the window.

“Now, run!” he whispered.

They ran, holding hands, splashing through the icy puddles in the darkness. Next to the Kremlin gates, they almost collided with a group of soldiers and hid in the shadow of the wall, waiting for them to pass. One of the soldiers struck a match to light his cigarette, and its flame illuminated his bearded face and gleamed in the polished blade of his bayonet. Barely daring to breathe, Klim and Nina listened to the sound of footsteps and the creaking of machine-gun wheels bumping along the paving stones.

As they got to Blagoveschenskaya Square, they saw people hunched into the upturned collars of their coats, darting in and out between the two main city cathedrals.

Nina glanced at Klim. “Where now?”

“To my house—just in case Fomin comes looking for you at Crest Hill.”

“But what about your train?”

Klim gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Who cares?”

They were stopped three times on their way home by the patrols. Men in padded jackets and cartridge belts slung over their shoulders demanded to see Klim and Nina’s documents. However, on each occasion, a five-ruble banknote had sufficed to keep them happy.

All the way home, Klim kept a fast hold on Nina’s hand, his heart pounding and his thoughts scattered to the four winds. I suppose my train must have left already, he thought. But it didn’t matter. Something huge and awe-inspiring was manifesting itself; something that he felt he had been waiting for all his life.

“Why did you come back for me?” Nina asked.

“I heard the gunshots,” Klim answered and smiled at his own thoughts. The truth was he hadn’t been planning on going to Moscow anyway. The moment he had seen Nina that night, the matter had been settled in his heart forever.

The electricity was down on Ilinskaya Street, and all the houses looked abandoned. Klim walked up to the porch of his house, unlocked the front door, and conducted Nina to his room.

It was empty except for a bed, a sanctuary lamp that flickered under the icon in the corner, and a portrait of Nicholas II that no one had wanted to buy.

Klim and Nina shed their coats on the bed and sat on the floor, leaning their backs against the hot tiles of a stove.

“The stove is perhaps mankind’s most important invention,” said Nina as she pulled off her wet stockings.

Klim nodded. He felt the tension growing in every fiber of his body.

Nina reached for her muff and took out the envelope with the promissory note. “I won’t take it,” she said.

“Why?”

“I don’t want you thinking that I’m only here to take advantage of you.”

“What else should you do? Of course, you should take advantage of me.” Klim flung the promissory note into the stove.

Nina moved closer and leaned her head against his chest. “Your heart is pounding.”

“I’m not surprised.”

He put his arms around her and kissed the nape of her neck, the side of her face, and the corners of her mouth. Once again, he fell into a world of dreams, luxuriating in it joyfully and losing all sense of place and time. “Nina… darling—”

She sprang to her feet, put her hands on the back of her head, and took out her hairpins one by one. Then she undid the fastenings of her black mourning dress and let it drop to the floor.

“Come here,” she said to Klim. She looked different now, sitting on the bed in her white undershirt and drawers.

He went up to her, untied his necktie, and unbuttoned his shirt.

The creaking of the floorboards in the corridor made them jump. A candlelight flickered in the crack under the door.

“He must have forgotten to turn off the electric light,” Marisha grumbled to herself. “He’ll run up such a bill that he’ll never be able to pay it off.” She tried the bolted door. “Hey, I thought you’d already left!”

“I’m sleeping,” Klim said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

“How come? Did they cancel your train?”

“Marisha, I’m sleeping!”

“All right, all right—tell me all about it in the morning.” Marisha sighed and shuffled off.

Inflamed by the possibility that she and Klim might have been discovered, Nina pulled her undershirt over her head. She looked at Klim triumphantly, brushing the curls away from her heaving breast.

My love, I’ll never leave you, he thought, pressing her to his chest.

The light in the bathroom suddenly turned back on as the electricity was restored. Marisha was right: Klim had forgotten to switch it off.

Nina lay quite still on her back, her eyes closed and her fingers grasping the sheet. Klim pressed his forehead against her shoulder.