Elvira Baryakina - The Prince of the Soviets

Hearing this, Klim felt another wave of anger at Galina. “What do you think you’re doing? Punishing a child about a Stalin postcard! Why are you so keen to fall down and worship sacred objects? You’re no better than a savage! Or were you just taking it out on Kitty because I had upset you before?”

Saying nothing more, Klim went into Kitty’s room. She was lying on the bed.

“I thought the man was Santa Claus,” she said, wiping away her tears. “He promised to give me a biscuit. And then he suddenly grabbed me and carried me off.”

Klim sat down beside her on the bed. “But he didn’t have a beard, did he?”

“I thought maybe he was a modern Santa. I thought maybe Santa shaves his beard nowadays.” Kitty sat up on the bed and looked into Klim’s eyes. “Daddy, I promise I won’t…” She did not finish and flung her arms around his neck.

They assured each other several times how frightened they had been and how good it was that everything had ended happily.

“You must promise me never to go anywhere with a stranger,” said Klim.

Kitty nodded. “I promise.”

He sent her off to wash her face. Then he went back into the living room and dug an address book out of the desk drawer.

“Klim, it wasn’t my fault,” Galina began, putting her head around the door. “I didn’t think—”

“It’s fine,” he said without looking up. “You can go home. Kapitolina will put Kitty to bed.”

He was overcome by nervous excitement. What if he was about to find Nina after all? What if he was about to experience a simple, ridiculously ordinary miracle and receive the most precious gift possible on the night before Christmas?

He stood for a long time, unsure whether to pick up the telephone and make a call. This indecision surprised even himself. What was stopping him? Addiction to the misery that had now become his lot in life? Fear of the unknown?

Plucking up his courage in the end, he lifted the receiver and asked the operator for Oscar Reich’s number.

The housekeeper answered the phone. “I’m sorry,” she said with a sing-song intonation. “Mr. Reich isn’t at home right now.”

“When will he be back?” asked Klim.

“In four months,” came the answer. “He’s leaving for Europe tonight.”

Klim’s heart gave a lurch. “What time is his train?”

“At ten. If it’s something urgent, you might still catch him at the station.”

It was already five to nine—there was almost no time left.

Klim could not simply approach Reich empty-handed and ask him about Nina because that might attract unwanted attention. He picked up a few postcards from the floor, put them into an envelope, and wrote on it the first thing he could think of: “Central Post Office, London, for collection by Mr. Smith.”

I’ll say that I need to send this letter in a hurry, Klim thought, and ask Reich to post it in the first post box he finds abroad.

Galina appeared again in the doorway. “Please don’t be angry with me—”

Klim rushed past her and began to pull on his coat. “I’ll be back soon.”

The sleigh was running along the busy Boulevard Ring. Snow was falling, soft, thick and gentle, covering the road and pavements under the bright light of the streetlamps.

“Come on. Hurry up!” pleaded Klim under his breath. But the driver seemed to dawdle deliberately, barely moving the reins.

At the crossroads, a street vendor had scattered his goods across the road, bringing traffic to a standstill.

“Hurry up, damn you!” Klim begged silently.

Chains of carts carrying firewood made their way slowly along Tverskaya Street with its magnificent buildings from the prerevolutionary era. The dray horses plodded on gravely, lifting great shaggy hooves caked in ice.

 “Here we are!” the driver shouted, stopping the sleigh opposite the elegant tower of the station.

Klim paid the fare and dashed off through the crowds to the lacquered doors.

The train to Warsaw that took foreigners out of the country was still standing at the platform. The crew had not even begun to get up steam.

Klim made his way back to the station entrance. He needed to take a breath, to calm down. Oscar Reich still hadn’t left Moscow, and all Klim had to do was just wait for him.

Traders from the countryside who had come into the city for the day were hurrying to catch trains out of town. Little boys ran about selling spare buttons, playing cards, and wire brushes for cleaning kerosene stoves.

At last, Klim saw Reich’s dark green Chevrolet—the only one of its kind in Moscow. The chauffeur jumped out and pulled back the front seat to let out a passenger in an expensive fawn coat.

Klim set off to greet him.

“Mister Reich, I’m so glad I caught you before you left! I want to send a letter to London. Would you mind posting it for me in Warsaw?”

Oscar shook him by the hand. “Good to see you. Let’s have the letter.”

Klim held out the unsealed envelope. “There’s nothing in it but postcards, so there won’t be any problem with customs. Take a look if you like.”

“The customs men won’t bother me anyway.”

Klim gave a tense smile, unsure how to steer the conversation around so that he could ask what he was dying to ask.

“I wonder… I wanted to…” Klim did not finish.

Giving her hand to the chauffeur, an elegant woman in a luxurious fur coat with a small felt hat pulled down over her forehead, emerged from the car.

It was Nina.

“Klim…” she whispered, her hand to her mouth. A large diamond ring glittered on her finger.

Oscar turned and handed Nina the envelope. “Could you put this into my briefcase, darling? By the way, Mr. Rogov, have you met my wife? We were married only a week ago.”

Klim, still smiling, murmured some suitably polite words, thanking Oscar and wishing him a pleasant journey. He even managed to bow to Nina, who stood dumbstruck, staring at him.

“You must call in on us when I get back from Europe,” said Oscar and turned to the chauffeur. “Are the suitcases already on the train? Then let’s get on. I haven’t much time.”

Klim turned on his heel and walked away.

Idiot! he cursed himself. Why did you have to come here? Why did you come chasing after that… that…. He was lost for words.

A young driver in a leather coat came rushing up. “Taxi! Where can I take you, sir?”

Klim looked at him blankly. “To Chistye Prudy.”

“With pleasure, sir. In you get!”

Klim got into the back seat and was about to close the door when Nina came running up.

“Please don’t go, for God’s sake!” she cried, panting for breath.

Without looking her way, Klim tugged the door shut.

“Drive on,” he told the driver.

“Who was that young lady?” asked the driver as they came out onto the Garden Ring.

“Just some tramp,” said Klim without expression.

He felt as a bomb had fallen straight into his heart, leaving nothing but a heap of smoking ruins.

Galina rang Tata and told her she would be late back from work. She had decided that she would not leave the house until she had made it up with Klim.

Galina put Kitty to bed and then, in order to get the servant out of the way, suggested that Kapitolina go to a Christmas service.

“Ever so grateful to you, ma’am!” Kapitolina said and a moment later ran off to church.

The minutes went by, and still, there was no Klim. Galina heated up the iron on the stove, spread a blanket on the kitchen table, and began to iron the linen. All sorts of anxious thoughts swarmed in her head. Something important had happened, clearly—otherwise, Klim would never have left Kitty right after some maniac had tried to kidnap her.

At half past nine, there was a ring at the door bell, but it turned out to be a dashing courier in a smart overcoat and a gray astrakhan hat with a red star. He held out a thick envelope decorated with the Soviet state emblem.

“Sign for this please, ma’am,” he said.

Galina stared in awe at the large wax seal. “What’s this?”

“Special delivery from the Kremlin,” said the courier.

He got her signature, snapped a salute, and was gone.

Galina threw her coat over her shoulders, grabbed her cigarettes, and went out around the back of the building for a smoke. Just between its windowless wall and the fence of the neighboring house, there was a secluded spot where she could enjoy her cigarette without fear that Klim would come across her.

What if he doesn’t marry me after all? she thought fretfully.

It was quiet and dark all around. The wind was whipping up clouds of glittering snow, and the clear winter stars hung motionless overhead.

Galina went back inside. Taking the pile of freshly ironed linen, she walked into the living room, turned on the light, and gasped. “Good lord!”

Klim was sitting on the windowsill, his arms folded over his chest.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” said Galina.

He did not look at her. His shoulders were oddly hunched as if it hurt him to move.

“Kitty and I are leaving the country,” he said in a strange voice.

Galina stood aghast, the linen falling out of her hands. “Are you being expelled?”

“No.”

“Is Owen getting rid of you?”

Klim dismissed her with an irritated gesture. “No, it’s not that.”

Galina saw that there was no point in plying Klim with questions—he was obviously not going to explain.

“But you can’t just leave,” she said miserably. “You have a contract! You’ve paid the rental on your apartment in advance!”