‘To black night,’ Chaikova said, raising his glass and toasting the sky. ‘The time for trade in bullets and booze.’
The next morning the air was thick with low swirling cloud that clung like shrouds. They left Nalchik and followed a tributary of the Terek, the river running cold and stark beside them. Mountain peaks faded in and out of the gloom, colours bleeding out. Eventually, they branched off towards the infamous town of Beslan, scene of a school massacre. The place was silent. Kestrels wheeling overhead, hemmed in on all sides by ridges and peaks, the slow earth descended into dirt track, the perfect terrain for mines. Tallis spent the next hour feverishly scanning for tripwires, the tell-tale stakes denoting the presence of the POMZ-2M, and the flat, circular-shaped pieces of metal common to the PMN. He suggested they get off the slip road and follow a main route, pressing on towards Nazran. It would then only take a couple of hours to drive from there to Grozny, but Chaikova said it was too dangerous. ‘You want to make that OMON guy’s dream come true?’
‘He’s right,’ Ruslan said, his voice travelling from the rear. ‘I can get by. Even that big lump in the front,’ meaning Chaikova, ‘can wing it. You stand no chance.’
And this time Chaikova didn’t protest or disagree.
And so they dropped down towards Vladikavkaz, the capital of North Ossetia and the ultimate destination had they stayed on the train instead of getting off at Rostov-on-Don. The road became steep and wild, hills and high mountain peaks rising up out of the murk. They turned off and followed the Assa River towards Achkoi-Martan, skirting the foothills of Samashki and on to the houses of Alkhan-Yurt, staying clear of the Federal Highway. The village, only a kilometre from the outskirts of Grozny, was once, according to Ruslan, the scene of a massacre. ‘Russian soldiers maintain a fierce battle took place here even though there was no sign of Chechen fighters and the victims were all civilians,’ he added dryly. ‘At first they came with planes,’ he said, ‘and then they sent in federal forces.’
Tallis looked around him, saw a belt of trees chopped down.
‘Mosques were destroyed, homes flattened, the bodies of the dead and dying left lying in the dirt,’ Ruslan said, his voice a chilling commentary. Chaikova, shaking his head in pity, drove on.
The village was deserted apart from a couple of amputees who stared at them with empty eyes. In spite of the rebuilt minarets, the homes with double-glazing and pretty courtyards, Tallis pictured something else: corpses; scavenging dogs; and destruction.
‘Where have all the people gone?’ he said.
Chaikova pulled up. Ruslan hung out of the vehicle, asked one of the men, dark-skinned and deep-eyed, what had happened.
‘Up into the mountains,’ the man said, pointing with a crutch. ‘They fear another onslaught.’
The cloud lifted. The sky was the colour of mercury. On they drove, dipping and looping through conflicting scenery: forest one side—providing perfect camouflage for troops of either denomination—marsh with tall rushes and ducks the other, the flood plain extending to the foot of the mountains. It was here, where the trees clung to black shale and they stopped for a moment to relieve themselves, that Tallis was seized with the weirdest sensation, as if these surroundings had absorbed past events. It was in the trees, in the soil, and in the rocks and crevices. The stony ground beneath his feet felt poisoned with fear and the spilt blood of too many young men. He’d felt the same sense of waste and hopelessness on the Normandy beaches and on a bleak visit to Auschwitz. In spite of not being particularly cold, he felt chilled to his bones.
From Alkhan-Yurt, they bumped along and, again after several checkpoints, made it to Grozny. When they finally arrived, Tallis was struck by the utter normality, the newness and modernity. It was evident in the buildings, the hotels and mosques in particular, the sidewalks and tree-lined avenues. Paradoxical was the word that sprung to mind. He felt as if he’d travelled from one country and into another. Ruslan was even more impressed.
‘The new Chechen president might be a Russian puppet,’ he said, ‘but, my God, he’s transformed this city. Only a few years ago this was nothing but rubble.’
Driving down the block and past Minutka Square, Tallis saw a group of teenagers chatting on mobiles. Kids like these were barometers of political and social stability, he thought. They looked happy, oblivious, more connected than their Moscow counterparts, and yet…
There was a definite Russian military presence and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the glint of metal as four plainclothes men with raw features lounged outside a café, automatic weapons at their sides. ‘Local officials,’ Ruslan murmured.
‘Not your usual choice of accessory for the office,’ Tallis said, meeting the heavy-eyed, silent gaze of one cold-looking individual as they cruised past. Were they looking for someone? A man who’d killed two others in broad daylight, perhaps? He swatted the thought.
‘Nothing more than bandits,’ Chaikova growled. ‘As for your president,’ he said addressing Ruslan, ‘he’s nothing more than an illiterate thug. Paramilitary units in his own government form the rule of law here, and, whatever our Russian Prime Minister says, he’s hated by lots of people in Moscow. It’s only a matter of time before he goes. You wait and see. Once Ivanov fades from the scene, that Chechen rebel you call a leader will disappear.’
‘If he does, all hell will break out among the clans,’ Ruslan said.
And that’s what Tallis was afraid of.
Ruslan’s Aunt Katya lived on the outskirts to the east of the city. Dotted between block after block of new housing complexes and sites under construction were some of the old-style properties that had miraculously escaped destruction in the two previous conflicts. Typically each dwelling had a walled courtyard garden with wooden fences and fruit trees of apple and pear, and shrubs of flowering jasmine. Years before, they’d have provided terrific cover for men with murder in mind, Tallis thought, imagining them scooting over the walls, clambering among the trees and taking up positions. Perhaps they would again.
‘This is it,’ Ruslan said, his cheeks coloured with excitement.
Chaikova pulled up. Ruslan got out. It was unspoken but this was Ruslan’s moment so Tallis and Chaikova stayed where they were. Tallis watched as Ruslan went in through the gate, his shoulders back, his head held high, a lilt in his step as he walked up the short path to a dwelling no bigger than Tallis’s bungalow back in Birmingham. He briefly thought of Lena, wondered if she was alright, hoping that Rasu and Viva would keep an eye on her like they’d said they would, wondered if Lena’s sister-in-law had the same parched features, the same…
Tallis craned forward almost the same time as Chaikova, Tallis twisting his head to get a better view. He was transfixed. He didn’t believe in love at first sight, lust certainly, but it wasn’t that either. He literally felt his heart explode. Unlike Lena, Katya was blonde, her skin, without make-up, fine textured and the colour of buttermilk. Her eyes, pools of electric blue, shone with vitality yet the slight downturn at the edges revealed fragile vulnerability. She had a small straight nose and her mouth was small, too much so some might say but, to Tallis’s mind, it was utterly kissable, and when she smiled, her face lit up.
Moments later, and with introductions over, of which Tallis remembered nothing, they were standing near the stove, in Katya’s tiny kitchen area, the rest of the room part sitting, part dining room. As the kettle boiled for tea, conversation between aunt and nephew rattled along. It gave Tallis the opportunity to perfectly study and commit each detail of Katya’s face to memory. She really was astonishingly beautiful.
Her voice, he noticed, was low-pitched, more oboe than flute. A cheap dark green shawl hung across her slim shoulders. Underneath, she wore a loose-fitting shirt tucked into a pair of slim-hipped worn denim jeans and boots. Her hands, ringless, fluttered like doves each time she made a point. When she looked at Ruslan, her expression was full of warmth and pride and concern.
‘And Lena, your mother!’ Katya exclai
med. ‘You say she escaped to England?’
Ruslan nodded and explained Tallis’s connection.
‘You met her?’ Katya said, her eyes wide and enchanting.
‘That’s right,’ Tallis said.
‘And Asya?’ She beamed.
‘Aunt,’ Ruslan intervened, darting an anxious look at Tallis. ‘So many questions. Come, the kettle hasn’t boiled yet. We can make tea and then we can talk and I will answer them all.’
The way she moved, unstudied, fluid, it was quite clear to Tallis that Katya had no idea how beautiful she was, or how attractive to the opposite sex. In spite of her Chechen blood, Chaikova also gawped at her, stupefied.
Finally, the tea made, the conversation returned to family and took a painful downward curve. Ruslan first broke the news about his father, Katya’s brother.
‘We were near Shatoi,’ Ruslan said, making Tallis’s ears prick—Shatoi was not far from his final destination. ‘When we were ambushed by reconnaissance troops heading into the mountains. They thought we were rebels. Dad said that if we went to them and explained, everything would be alright. I tried to dissuade him,’ Ruslan said, his voice cracking. Katya fluttered a hand towards him, letting it rest on his arm.
‘But, well, you know,’ Ruslan said with a sad smile. ‘He was always convinced that with reason, justice would prevail.’
‘He believed that people were ultimately good,’ Katya said, her voice low and strong so that Tallis could tell she shared the same view.
‘Well, I don’t.’ Ruslan’s voice was resistant, hard and petulant. ‘I went one way. He went the other. And they shot him.’
‘You saw this?’
‘With my own eyes.’
She sat stock still, acceptance in her expression, as if somehow she’d already known. Then the shock kicked in. A hand flew to her breast, her mouth falling open very slightly. Her luminous skin turned the colour of ash. Tallis felt uncomfortable. He didn’t think he should be there witnessing the grief of someone he didn’t know, and though a part of him badly wanted to put his arms around her in a simple gesture of humanity, he knew it wasn’t his place. He stood, bowed his head, as Ruslan gently guided a mug of hot sweet tea into her hands. Some traditions spanned both East and West. Tallis shifted his weight from one foot to another, and made a move for the door, muttering about getting some fresh air, half dragging Chaikova with him.
‘Jesus, what did you do that for?’ Chaikova growled.
‘What are you, a voyeur?’ Tallis rounded on him. ‘For God’s sake, the woman’s entitled to some privacy. We don’t belong in there.’
‘You certainly don’t, for sure.’ Chaikova scowled, dragging out his cigarettes. He took one out, tapped the end against the pack, plugged it into his mouth and lit up, blowing two long streams of smoke out through his nostrils.
‘What do you mean?’ Tallis’s tone was ugly. He knew it. Chaikova knew it.
‘I saw the way you were looking at her.’ Chaikova leered. ‘Not that I blame you. I wouldn’t mind giving her one myself.’
Cold anger shot through him like a lightning strike. ‘Know what, Yuri? You’ve got about as much sensitivity as an elephant’s foreskin.’
‘Elephants have large dicks, no?’
Tallis glared at him. Chaikova burst out laughing. Tallis shook his head, began to laugh in spite of himself, the tension between them instantly broken. They waited until Chaikova had finished his cigarette and went back inside. Ruslan nodded quietly. ‘My aunt says it is fine for you to stay.’
‘No, it’s—’
‘Fine,’ Chaikova said firmly, darting a mischievous look in Tallis’s direction.
‘Not too Chechen for you?’ Ruslan said, lifting a dark playful eyebrow. Chaikova’s embarrassed reply was cut off by Katya’s reappearance from the cellar where she’d been rooting for bottled fruit and tins of meat and fish.
‘Here,’ Tallis said, ‘let me take those for you.’
‘Thank you.’ She smiled, shy. When his hand lightly brushed hers he felt as if he’d been shot.
The evening took on a festive atmosphere. They ate a glossy-coloured tomato and lamb stew with carrots and rice, followed by bottled cherries and sour cream. Ruslan, talkative and witty, was a different man in the company of his own flesh and blood. For one brief moment in time Tallis forgot the mountains and the mission. After dinner Chaikova, to Tallis’s amazement, insisted on clearing up. Katya, meanwhile, said she was going upstairs to find bedding for them all, in spite of Tallis’s protests that they’d brought sleeping bags.
‘My nephew will sleep in a proper bed tonight.’
‘Then let me help you,’ Tallis said.
Katya nodded graciously and Tallis followed her upstairs to a narrow landing, one room off on either side. Katya opened the door to the right. Inside was a single bed, a large bookcase stuffed with books, some piled one on top of the other, and a wardrobe filled with linen. She pulled out sheets and blankets and pillows.
‘You’re not what I expected,’ Tallis began.
‘No?’ She wrinkled her nose.
‘I thought you’d be like Lena somehow.’
‘Ah, you mean in looks. We’re not all descended from Mongol hordes.’ She laughed.
‘No, I didn’t mean—’
‘It’s fine,’ she said, throwing a sheet to Tallis who shook it out and covered the mattress. ‘Most of us are pretty indistinguishable from the Ingush, jointly known as the Vainakh. Farming people, we’re the result of decades-ago migration and war and, although the Russians don’t like to recognise it, we’ve been around for six thousand years. Some of us are rumoured to descend from the Crusaders.’
‘Hence the blonde looks.’ Tallis smiled. ‘What do you do here?’
‘Exist.’ She twitched a dry smile.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I—’
‘No, I teach like Lena.’
‘Is that why you stay?’
She puffed up a pillow, placed it on the bed with care. ‘Suffering this kind of tragedy either turns you into a committed terrorist or pacifist.’
‘And you’re a pacifist?’
She thought, nodded. ‘But I don’t blame those who have chosen another path,’ she said. ‘I don’t condone it,’ she added quickly, ‘But I understand. Before the Russians marched in and messed with us, most Chechens’ desire for independence was secular. Because of the conflict Islam has won many converts. Religion is the natural home for those who seek an identity.’
Tallis understood, at least, that much. The same could be applied to a certain strand of young British-born Asians back home.
‘Children need to know that there’s another way to live,’ Katya said. ‘All of the kids in my care have lost family in previous conflicts. There’s a whole generation out there waiting to wreak revenge. Unfortunately, the latest turn of events doesn’t make my job, or the prospect of long-term peace, any easier.’
‘Aren’t you afraid?’
‘Often,’ she said simply. ‘Although not like before. Then I really thought I might die.’
‘What was it like?’ Tallis said, leaning his tall frame against the wall.
She thought for a moment. ‘You like fireworks?’
He smiled.
‘Think of all those tiny glittering sparks littering the sky then imagine every spark as a fragment of metal. Envisage it raining down on your head.’ He knew only too well the damage inflicted by grenades and mortars on the human body. ‘I felt then as if I had the lifespan of an insect: from chrysalis to bug to full maturity and death in a matter of days.
‘There are no definitions in war, no meal times, no routines, no full stops or commas to the day. Everything goes to hell. It’s the uncertainty, the endless passage of time, not knowing whether you might suddenly be caught up in events beyond your control. Things can change with surprising speed in these parts.
‘So,’ she said, smoothing down the bed sheets. ‘What are you doing here?’
Keep it simple. ‘Looking fo
r someone.’ She inclined her head. He half thought she was going to say something. Instead, with a smile, she suggested they return to the others.
Midnight. Katya and Ruslan were still talking. Outside was the sound of baying dogs and random gunfire. Chaikova and Tallis were bent over a map. Both planned to leave the next morning in different directions. Tallis traced a line down through the Argun Gorge towards Shatoi.
Chaikova shook his head. ‘You will be passing through the triangle of death.’
Tallis looked up. ‘This folklore or informed opinion?’
‘He’s right,’ Katya said. ‘The area between Shali and Kurchaloi is dangerous.’
‘It’s all dangerous.’ Tallis shrugged. His passage was going to mean a keen divide between speed and concealment. He knew that to leave at night might better obscure his movements, that his sense of smell would be more acute, but the journey would be tortuously slow, especially in unfamiliar terrain. At night, sound was louder, shapes and distance distorted and, if there were mines, he ran the strong risk of triggering an explosion and seriously injuring himself. On balance, he opted for speed.
‘Which is why I need to say this,’ Katya said, turning to Ruslan, suddenly cupping his chin in her hands. ‘You know I love you.’
‘Yes, Aunt,’ Ruslan said, two points of pink appearing on each of his high cheekbones reminiscent of Lena.
‘Then you know that what I’m about to say next is because I love you.’
‘What?’ Ruslan said, squirming with embarrassment, drawing away.
‘We have enjoyed peaceful times, but I fear for the future,’ Katya said. ‘Things are changing.’
‘But—’
‘Listen,’ Katya said softly, stroking his face with one finger. ‘Moscow is nervous. You know we are being blamed for bad things that have happened there. I know, I know,’ she said in answer to Ruslan’s whatever expression, ‘it is the way with us. We are the whipping boys. But it’s rumoured that the rebels are planning a new offensive. They’ve changed their tactics, Ruslan.’
Land of Ghosts Page 17
