Inside the voluminous coat the man was at least as warm as it was possible to be on a cold Moscow night, but in the semi-darkness the skin of his face looked greyer than the pavement under him. He had a fleshy face, full heavy lips and a thick moustache that was neatly trimmed to curl down either side of his mouth. About fifty years old, Alexei guessed, but right now looked more like a hundred and fifty. The ice was turning Alexei’s legs numb already and must have been doing something similar to this man’s, but there was no one in the street to shout to. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave him and fetch help himself - something about that grip on his arm, the sense of need in it.
Think clearly. What was going on here? A heart attack? A stroke? A fit of some kind?
He checked the man’s mouth. The jaw was rigid but the tongue hadn’t rolled back, though the skin of his face was cold and clammy to touch. Oh Christ, don’t die on me. He quickly unfastened the man’s coat and rummaged through his jacket pockets. Cigar case, wallet, keys, handkerchief, a clip of papers and - what he’d been searching for - a small pill box. It was round and warm from contact with its owner’s body. He flipped it open to reveal a clutch of white tablets. Damn it, they could be anything. Headache pills or indigestion remedies? He tipped one on to the palm of his hand and closed the box.
‘Comrade.’ He spoke loudly, as though the man were deaf. ‘Comrade, are these tablets what you need?’
The man made no response, just lay like a log against Alexei’s knees, eyes closed, breath silent. Still the grip, weaker now, on Alexei’s sleeve - it was all that indicated he was alive. Alexei put a hand to the man’s jaw. Thank God it had gone slack. Gently he opened the thick lips and pushed a tablet under his tongue. The throat spasmed.
‘Come on, don’t give up on me yet.’
Then he found himself doing something he didn’t expect. In the bitter cold on this dismal street, hunched on the pavement in the dark, he wrapped his arms around this stranger and held him close. As if his own arms were stronger than death’s. He rested his cheek on the fur, felt its warmth seep into his own flesh and listened to the short gasps as the man struggled to draw in air. He twinned his own breathing to match it, willing the heart to keep beating. And he waited.
‘Friend?’
The word was a whisper. Barely that.
‘So you’re not dead yet,’ Alexei smiled.
‘Not yet.’
‘Can you move?’
‘Soon.’
‘Then we’ll wait.’
A murmur.
‘What did you say? I couldn’t hear.’ Alexei leaned closer, his ear by the man’s lips.
‘Tablets.’
‘I gave you one earlier. From your pill box.’
The heavy head nodded faintly. ‘Spasibo.’
‘Is it your heart?’
‘Da.’
‘You need to get out of the cold. When you’re ready I’ll get you on your feet.’
‘Soon.’ His voice faded in and out. ‘Not yet.’
‘I am in the Kalinin Hostel but it’s too far away for you to walk. What you need is a hospital - and fast.’
‘Nyet.’
The hand on his sleeve tightened, the fingers agitated.
‘Don’t worry, my friend,’ Alexei said. ‘Calm down. We’ll sit here together like this as long as you want, waiting for the morning sun to shine and melt our bones.’
The man smiled, just a slight twitch in the corners of his mouth, but still a smile. For the first time Alexei believed he might live. He felt the body relax, heard the breathing quieten, and was just considering whether it would be wise to ease himself away, so that he could bang on a door further up the street where there was light in an upstairs window, when he heard the sound of a car engine. It was travelling slowly along the road; so slowly, in fact, that the driver must be very nervous of ice.
‘Comrade, a car is coming. I’ll stop it and—’
‘Don’t let me go, friend.’
‘I’ll be gone only a moment, I promise.’
‘If you let go of me, I’ll slide into the pit.’
‘What pit?’
‘That black hole. There at my feet.’
‘Friend, there’s no hole.’
‘I can see it.’
‘Nyet. Look at me.’
The man turned his head. His eyes were just slits in his fleshy face.
‘There’s no hole,’ Alexei repeated.
The fingers squeezed. ‘Swear it.’
‘I swear it.’
The engine stopped. Alexei looked up. At the opposite kerb not one but two old black cars with long bonnets had pulled up. The doors slammed. Six men leapt out and raced across the road towards them. Without a word Alexei tightened one arm around his new comrade, ready to haul him to his feet whether he wanted to or not, while his other hand slid under the man’s coat to the holster that lay next to his chest, removing the gun. Quietly he released the safety catch and braced himself.
‘Pakhan!’
A young man approached and saw the gun. From nowhere a snub-nosed revolver materialised in his own fist. He had thick black hair and the same moustache as the older man.
‘Pakhan!’ he shouted again. He stopped less than two metres away.
‘Anatoly,’ the sick man murmured and, releasing his grip on Alexei, he stretched out his hand. ‘Don’t, Anatoly. This man helped me.’
‘Your friend collapsed here in the street.’ Alexei lowered the gun.
Men dressed in black swarmed around them, lean figures each with eyes that did not invite familiarity. Between them they lifted the man and had him stowed inside one of the cars before Alexei could even bid him goodbye. He stood on the packed ice in the gutter and watched the cars slide away into the night like sharks. He felt the loss. It took him by surprise.
‘Get well, tovarishch,’ Alexei said as he pushed the gun into his waistband and set off back to the fleas.
32
‘Go to bed, Lydia.’ It was Elena’s voice, soft from behind the curtain.
‘Not yet.’
‘There’s no point waiting.’
‘There is.’
‘He won’t come, girl. Not tonight. He can’t. He told you that he’s watched every moment.’
‘You don’t know him.’
A low chuckle. ‘No, but I know men. Even the most devoted won’t walk into a lion’s mouth if it means no chance of walking out again. Give him time. You’re in too much of a hurry.’
‘Chang An Lo is not like other men.’
‘So you say.’
‘It’s true, Elena.’
There was a sudden somnolent snort from Liev on the far side of the curtain. Their talk had woken him. ‘Fuck this. Go to sleep. The pair of you.’
‘Shut up, you old goat,’ Elena chuckled fondly, and the bed-springs creaked as she settled down beside her man.
Lydia leaned over from the chair beside the window and blew out the candle on the sill. But she remained there, staring out into darkness.
Chang saw the light go out. He was in the courtyard below, a black shadow among black shadows. He had no way of knowing it was her window, or her candle, but he was as certain of it as he was of his own heartbeat.
He knew she would be waiting but he moved no closer. A bitter wind moaned under the roof tiles, the night spirits urging him on, trying to steal his senses, setting fire to his blood. Nevertheless he remained totally immobile on the courtyard cobbles as bit by bit through the soles of his feet he felt a part of himself sneak away, lift like smoke on the wind and trail across the window pane, seeking cracks to whisper through.
Coming here was a risk but he could not stay away. It was no hardship for him to slip out of the hotel bathroom window, scale the drainpipe and prowl like one of the city cats over the rooftops. No, that was only a small danger. The big danger was here, on her own doorstep. Did she really think she could become friendly with one of the Party elite, the man with the wolf eyes, and not pay the price? She would be wat
ched. Every moment now. There would be someone to report on who she met, where she went, what she did and, above all, who came to her living quarters. Day or night. But here in the shadows he was invisible.
My Lydia, my love. Take care.
He returned to his hotel the same way he’d left it, the roof tiles lethal in the dark under their coating of ice. As he swung in through the bathroom window once more, he listened but all was quiet. It was four o’clock on a winter’s morning and the hotel’s clients were slumbering contentedly under their thick quilts.
While still in the bathroom he changed into the nightwear he’d carried in the leather satchel on his back, and pushed his shoes and clothes into it instead. He ran water from the tap to indicate to any hidden ears that the bathroom was in use, stilled his heart and opened the door. The corridor was empty. On bare feet he padded silently to his room, slipped inside and closed the door behind him.
‘So you’re back.’
In the dark Chang’s hand slid to the knife at his waist, as with the other he turned on the light.
‘Kuan,’ he said. ‘What are you doing in my room?’
She’d been sitting in a chair and had risen to her feet. Her face was flushed and he knew her heart well enough to recognise it as the fire of anger.
‘Waiting for you to return.’
‘I am here now.’
‘Where have you been?’
‘That is my business, Kuan, not yours.’
She was wearing a plain blue cotton wrap and he saw her hands sink into its pockets, bunching into fists, but her voice was low and controlled.
‘Chang An Lo, you could be arrested for what you’ve done tonight.’
Chang drew in a slow breath. A sadness swam into his blood and he felt it pulse through his veins. It was too late to take back her words.
‘We could all be arrested for what you’ve done tonight,’ she continued in a tense whisper. ‘Leaving the hotel secretly indicates you are doing something you don’t wish the authorities to know about.’
‘Kuan,’ he said so softly she had to take several steps closer to hear, ‘if this room is fitted with listening devices, which is very likely, your words have just condemned us to a labour camp in Siberia.’
Her flush deepened. Her dark eyes widened in alarm and darted round the room as if the devices might be visible.
‘Chang,’ she whispered, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Go to your room now. Get some sleep.’
‘How can I sleep when . . . ?’
He opened the door and held it ajar. ‘Goodnight, Tang Kuan.’
Without looking at him she bowed, sidled through the gap and left the room. He turned off the light and sat down on the bed. He closed his eyes, focused his thoughts and let Lydia come to him. He filled his mind with the image of her dancing in his arms tonight, the flames of her hair burning away all sense of caution, her amber eyes drawing his spirit to hers once more, tightening the thread that bound them. He pictured again the way she turned her head, chin held high; the way her mouth curved up at the corners even when she wasn’t smiling. His thoughts lingered on the feel of his hand on her back as they moved across the floor, each fragment of his skin aware of her young muscles rippling under his fingers; of her ribs, of her long straight spine.
For the sake of China, for the country he loved, he’d given her up once already. Not again. Not this time, may the gods forgive him. He opened his eyes and stared out into the blackness.
The cold was like a slap in the face as Lydia walked out into the courtyard. The sky wasn’t yet light, that was still several hours away, so the yardman wasn’t in his usual position, leaning on his snow shovel, puffing on a cigarette stub and complaining about the carelessness of the women at the pump spilling water over the cobbles. It made his job harder, hacking at the sheets of ice. Liev claimed all yardmen were paid informers for OGPU, keeping a careful watch over the comings and goings of their building’s inhabitants, but whether or not that was true, Lydia was eager to avoid his lecherous gaze.
She set off at a fast pace, retracing the route she and Elena had taken to the Housing Office. The night sky had cleared, stars glittering as bright and numerous as the sequins on Antonina’s black dress in the Hotel Metropol yesterday evening. The thought of Antonina and Alexei together was one she chose not to dwell on, but there was something about the woman that she liked. She was an individual, unwilling - or was it unable? - to conform, not yet jammed into the Soviet mould despite being married to one of Stalin’s elite. And now the certainty that Alexei was heading for Moscow too.
Hurry, brother. I’ll be waiting. At the Cathedral today, I promise.
‘Boy! Wake up.’
Lydia kicked at the cardboard shelter. It trembled but didn’t fall down.
‘Get up,’ she called out. ‘I want to talk to you.’
She stood in the opening of the alcove, ready to block any sudden dash for freedom, but nothing moved.
‘Get your skinny bones out here and this time keep your rat fangs inside your head,’ she snapped.
She began to think the shelter was empty. It was too dark to see properly so she didn’t bother peering in, but gave it another kick. Inside, a faint whimper was abruptly silenced.
‘I’ve brought a biscuit for Misty.’
She waited. Caught the sound of movement. A rustle, then a dark shape stood in front of her.
‘What d’you want?’ The boy’s voice was wary.
‘I told you. To talk.’
‘The biscuit?’
She held it out. He snatched it and didn’t even snap it in half, part for himself, part for the dog. He gave it all to the puppy in his arms who gobbled it down, then licked the boy’s chin, eagerly asking for more.
‘What’s your name?’ Lydia asked.
‘What’s it to you?’
‘Nothing. It’s easier, that’s all. I’m Lydia.’
‘Fuck off, Lydia.’
She spun on her heel and started to march away. Over her shoulder she called, ‘So you don’t want breakfast, or some money in your pocket after all. I see I misjudged you, you stupid little rat brain.’
For a moment she thought she’d lost him. But suddenly there was the sound of scurrying steps and the young boy was in front of her, facing her, but moving backwards on his toes as she kept walking. A trickle of moonlight brushed his milky hair, giving him a strange elfin appearance, his chin pointed, his blue eyes as reflective as mirrors.
‘Breakfast?’ he asked.
‘Da.’
‘Money?’
‘Da.’
‘How much?’
‘We’ll negotiate that over kasha.’
‘For Misty too?’
‘Of course.’
‘What do I have to do?’
‘Deliver a note.’
The boy laughed, a sweet clear sound that gave Lydia hope.
The boy’s name was Edik. He perched on the end of Lydia’s bed and spooned porridge into his mouth without a word, while at his feet the puppy was snuffling round its empty bowl, its full stomach distended wider than its flimsy ribcage. Lydia sat in the chair, aware that Liev and Elena, still in their nightshirts, had pulled back the curtain and were sipping cups of chai. Through its steam they watched him with suspicion.
Lydia bent down, scooped up the puppy and placed it on her lap. Instantly a moist pink tongue licked her chin and she laughed, stroking the eager little grey head. The puppy had large yellow-brown eyes and paws two sizes too large.
‘Where did you find her?’ she asked the boy. ‘Misty, I mean.’
‘In a sack.’ He didn’t look up from his porridge and spoke between mouthfuls. ‘A man was trying to drown her in the river.’
‘Poor Misty,’ she smiled, ruffling the wispy ears. ‘And lucky Misty.’
‘Lydia?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m sorry I bit you.’
‘As long as you don’t do it again.’
‘I was frightened you would
n’t let me go.’
‘I know. Forget it.’
The boy’s eyes fixed on hers for a second before returning to the spoon. He didn’t look anywhere near Liev. Lydia was just beginning to think this was going surprisingly well, when Liev hauled himself to his feet and lumbered over to where Edik was seated. He seized a hank of his pale hair. The boy dropped the spoon with a yelp.
‘Chuck this thieving little bastard back out on the street, Lydia. And his animal with him.’
‘No, Liev. Leave the kid alone. He’s going to help me.’
‘Lydia,’ it was Elena this time, ‘look at him. He’s filthy. He’s one of the urchins that live on the streets and will be riddled with lice and fleas. The dog as well. For heaven’s sake, do as Liev says.’
‘Out!’ Liev growled at the boy.
The dog bounced up to Liev’s foot and started to chew at his bare toes. The big man’s hand abandoned the boy and descended on the animal, swinging it up in the air as if to throw it across the room.
‘No!’ Lydia shouted, as she snatched the puppy from his grasp and smacked the Cossack’s great paw. ‘You are heartless.’
Liev’s one eye stared at her with an expression of both surprise and hurt. ‘They’re vermin,’ he muttered and slammed his way out of the room.
Elena, the boy and the dog all looked at Lydia.
‘Damn it!’ she hissed. She grabbed the boy and the dog by the scruff, and hauled them down to the water pump in the courtyard.
‘It’s an honour, Chang,’ Hu Biao pointed out.
He was at Chang’s side as they came down the steps of the Hotel Triumfal. The rest of the delegation followed behind with Kuan at the rear. She had not spoken to Chang since last night.
‘It is a great honour, Hu Biao,’ he corrected his young assistant, loudly enough for their Russian escorts to hear. He was speaking in Mandarin but an interpreter was never more than a pace away from his elbow. ‘To be invited to the Kremlin to have talks with Josef Stalin himself will enable us to report back to Mao Tse Tung the thoughts in the Great Leader’s mind. Mao will be humbly grateful. China needs such guidance in spreading the ideals of Communism among our people.’
The Concubine's Secret Page 24
