“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I needed some air. So I’ve come to take a look at the Kremlin.”
“Why?”
“I want to see where all the decisions are made. Where it is that someone can just scribble his name on a piece of paper and decide my future.” She shrugged in the bitter wind that rose off the water. “Whether I live or die.”
They were walking along a rough path on the edge of the Moskva River at the rear of the Kremlin, the massive red walls towering over them, its shadow heavy and cumbersome, its crenellations like teeth eager to bite. Lydia tipped her head back and studied it thoughtfully. “Do you know what I think, Edik? I think this fortress is a poisonous spider hunched at the center of the web that is Moscow, and I feel as though I’m caught inside its sticky mesh. If I move, I know the spider will come for me.”
The boy stared at her for a second, then burst out laughing and swept a hand through the air with a rapid slicing movement. “That’s what I do to spiders’ webs. Tear them apart. It’s easy.”
Lydia laughed. “I envy you, Edik.”
“Why?”
“Because you see life in black and white. No grays.”
“Is that wrong?”
“No. I remember when not long ago I saw it like that too.”
“So?”
She ruffled his hair and he danced out from under her hand, skipping along in front of her but backward, so that he was facing her. She noticed for the first time that the gray tinge of his skin was gone and that his cheekbones bore less of a resemblance to knives. The sausage and the ham and the warm coat were getting to work on him.
“So hang on to your blacks and whites. They make life simpler.”
The boy pulled a face. He didn’t understand. Why should he? She wasn’t sure she did herself. But he had all the rest of his life to find out what she meant. She pulled a face back at him. He made her, at only seventeen, feel old. She removed from her coat pocket the dainty cake with the sugary cherry that had accompanied her coffee earlier.
“Look, Misty, I’ve brought something for you.”
It was meant as a treat for Edik, but the dog came first with him. The puppy yapped and scrabbled to jump free, so the boy tipped his pup onto the path, its gray ears instantly buffeted into wings by the strong wind.
“Half each,” she insisted as she handed the cake over to Edik.
He knelt down, nibbled a small bite, and dangled the rest above the little animal’s head until it danced up on its spindly hind legs.
“I’m teaching her tricks, see. To earn money.”
“Good idea.”
Tricks. For money. Just like she used to do. In China she’d believed that was the key. But now? She shrugged again, aware of the Kremlin walls. Now she saw more clearly despite the black shadows.
“So what are you and Misty hanging around here for?”
He was concentrating on keeping the dog wobbling on two legs. “Looking for you.”
“Why me?”
“I got a message for you.”
She grabbed one of Edik’s ears hard, so that he squealed. “And when exactly did you intend to pass on this message?”
The puppy leapt up, trying to nip at her fingers.
“Now,” he said with a surly scowl. She released him.
“Well?”
The boy narrowed his eyes at her speculatively. “Any more cakes?”
“You thief,” she complained and handed over the one she’d been saving to slide onto Chang’s tongue tonight. “You vor.”
He grinned. Popped the cake into Misty’s mouth. “He wants to see you. Right now.”
Before he’d finished speaking, she’d spun on her heel and was running over the wet grass.
Forty-four
CHANG AN LO WAS NAKED. AS LYDIA BURST INTO the room, the sight of him stopped her in her tracks and stole her breath. He was standing by the window looking out, a blade of pearly light painting the long lines of his body, defining the muscles of his chest and the strong tendons that ran from his hip to his thigh. He was beautiful.
He must have been watching for her approach, checking that no one had followed her. And when she entered he turned his head, looking at her over one shoulder. She didn’t breathe. Didn’t move.
His eyes were as naked as his body. Dark, complex, a battleground of emotion. The center of him, that stillness she so loved, was plunged into turmoil. His gods must be laughing at him. Yet one corner of his mouth started to curl into a smile.
It was an image she knew she would not forget.
WHEN LYDIA OPENED HER EYES, CHANG WAS leaning on his elbow on the pillow watching her. She wondered whether he’d seen her dreams.
“Hello,” she said and smiled up at him.
He kissed her forehead and the tip of her nose, but avoided the temptation of her lips. That was when she knew he was ready to talk. Outside the wind was fierce, scratching at the window, sliding through the gaps, and the sound of it made her nervous. It was the sound of things falling apart.
He stroked her face. “Are you ready to listen?” he asked.
Her pulse set up a beat in her ears. “Yes.”
“I’ve found him.”
“Jens?”
“Yes.”
She couldn’t speak.
“I’ve been to the prison. I’ve inspected his workroom.” Chang gazed down at her, his black eyes gentle and watchful. “I’ve seen him. I’ve spoken with Jens Friis himself.”
She started to shake.
“Don’t cry, my love.”
“Tell me,” she whispered.
“He’s well. Tall and strong.”
“How?” It was all she could say.
“I requested a visit by our delegation to prison 1908. Of course the Russians refused at first. They were shocked by the fact I even knew the place existed, and it made them nervous of what else our Chinese secret agents might know.”
She watched his mouth move but had to listen hard to hear the words. There was too much noise in her head. He stroked her forehead, softening the sharp edges of her brain.
“I asked our delegation leader, Li Min, to point out to them,” he said, “that we don’t wish to know what it is their prisoners are working on, but rather how they construct an institution like that. So many fields of expertise assembled from different camps and all working on one project. Still they said no.” His finger twined around a lock of her hair. “So I reminded them of their food shortages and of China’s abundance of rice.” His dark eyes gleamed briefly with satisfaction. “They quickly understood.”
“Jens?”
“The building he’s in is strong. Impregnable, I would say. Three stories high with an extensive basement. A walled courtyard at the front with massive reinforced iron gates.”
“And Jens?”
“He looks like you.”
The tears ran silent and warm onto her skin. “You spoke to him?”
“Yes. But not in private. I wasn’t able to talk of you.”
She shut her eyes. Imagined her father.
“He was lined up with the other chiefs working on the project. As you said”—his thumb traced along her wet eyelashes—“he is one of the best in engineering.”
She opened her eyes. “How did he seem?”
“The way you described him. A tall man, strong features, and—this will please you—still a proud man. The years have not destroyed that. His Viking spirit has survived.”
“Oh Chang, thank you.”
He said no more for a while, letting his words settle in her mind. Slowly she stopped the tears. The tremors shuddered through her bones one last time, then subsided. Only the pain in her chest remained, and that she could live with.
“Papa,” she whispered, the word so soft it barely stirred the air. She heard her father’s laugh. Remembered again feeling his whiskers tickle her ribs. She sat up and studied Chang’s careful expression.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
&nb
sp; “Nothing of importance.”
“The truth, my love. I want the truth.”
“Ah Lydia, be patient. Give yourself time.”
“I don’t have patience. I don’t have time. Tell me the rest.”
Chang moved off the bed.
“What is it?” she asked.
He stood with his back to the window, facing her squarely. “The man I saw today is still your father, Lydia. He has the same fire in his eyes as yourself, the same lift of the chin, and”—she heard him hesitate and wondered what was coming—“the identical way of challenging you with just a look.”
She put her hands in her naked lap and made them stay there.
“But Lydia, a man with that kind of determination and pride is bound to suffer hardest in the labor camps. They would try to break him. He would represent a threat to the system.”
She nodded.
“His hair is white, though he’s only in his early forties. Pure white. Like the snows of Siberia.”
She nodded again. Her teeth clenched on her tongue.
“His nose is crooked. Where it has been broken more than once. Several of his teeth are missing.”
The pain in her chest sharpened.
“His hands are badly scarred. After more than ten years in the Siberian timber forests, he is lucky to have hands at all. But they must work well even so, or he would not have been selected for the project here in Moscow.”
She said nothing, but tucked her knees tight under her chin and wrapped her arms around her shins, binding herself together. He allowed her to think. Let the images build in her mind.
“Is there more?” she asked finally.
“Isn’t that enough?”
She attempted a smile. “More than enough.”
There must have been something in her voice, something she was unaware of, because Chang returned to the bed, sat down on the rumpled cover, and put his arms around her. Gently he rocked her. He kissed the top of her head and rocked her.
“He knows you’re here.”
“IT’S THE NEXT STREET, ALEXEI.”
Maksim Voshchinsky gestured to the right, and the car slowed to take the corner. A horse-drawn wagon lumbered past them and somewhere a horn hooted with impatience. It was midafternoon and the roads were busy, the pavements crowded, the sky gray and lifeless. But in the long black saloon car nerves were taut. Three of them were seated along the backseat: Alexei in the middle, Maksim on his right, Lydia on his left. In front Igor was skewed sideways, his eyes constantly darting into the back toward Lydia, uneasy and disdainful. Females were not part of the vory pack, except to tend and support their men when needed, so both Maksim and Igor treated Lydia as an unwelcome intruder. Nevertheless, she had insisted on coming.
“I’m the person who gave you the location of the prison,” she pointed out flatly. “So I have a right to see it too.”
“Nyet,” Maksim had laughed with a dismissive wave of his hand. Like brushing aside a fly. “You wait here.”
“No, I’m coming.” She’d opened the car door and climbed inside.
“Alexei, do something about your sister!”
“Let her come.”
“Remember what I told you, Alexei. A vor has no family except the vory v zakone.”
“I remember, pakhan. But let her come.”
So now she was hunched beside him on the green leather seat, her face glued to the side window, watching as intently as a cat watches a butterfly. Her fingers tapped the glass in rapid disjointed movements.
IT TOOK AN HOUR. THEY DROVE PAST THE PRISON FOUR TIMES but spread out at fifteen-minute intervals, so as to rouse no suspicions. After the shock of the first time Alexei found it easier, the thought of his father inside there. He knew what to expect. Massive gray walls. Barbed wire on top. Metal doors large enough to swallow a truck. All protecting the three-story building behind. Bars on the windows. On the street, armed guards with dogs.
Not good.
“Are you certain, Lydia? That this is where Jens is being held, I mean?”
She nodded. Ever since the car had started to whisk them northward toward the grander houses with the horseshoe of factories and warehouses that had sprung up around them, his sister had barely spoken. Maksim leaned back in the seat and lit a cigar, satisfied that the girl was overawed. Alexei was not so sure.
The driver was unknown to him, someone who drove in silence and acknowledged instructions with a subdued “Da, pakhan.” The back of his neck was blue where the tip of a tattooed sword blade emerged from his collar and ran up into his hairline. After the fourth pass in front of the prison they took no more chances and turned the car south.
“So?” Alexei asked Maksim. “What about the truck that we’re told takes the prisoners out to their project center?”
“Don’t worry, my son. The place will be watched by our people now. We will trace it wherever it goes.” He thumped a fist down on Alexei’s knee. “Trust me. The OGPU bastard secret police will be like a dog with a bone, unaware of the fleas jumping on their backs. You shall soon know.”
“Spasibo, father.”
Beside him Lydia stirred. Her eyes stared at her brother’s face. He gazed straight ahead through the windscreen, cutting her out. As they traveled back toward the city, skirting Izmailovski Park, the streets grew broader and a forest of concrete monster apartment blocks for communal living sprang up around them.
“We could do more.”
“What do you mean, little girl?” Maksim gave Lydia a patronizing smile.
Alexei could see how much it annoyed her, but she kept herself in check.
“I mean we should try to get someone inside the prison.”
The men all looked at her as if she’d suggested taking her clothes off. A slight shiver of disgust.
“You’ve seen it,” Alexei pointed out patiently. “It’s too well guarded.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Please, Lydia, don’t . . .”
“Other people must go in and out,” she continued reasonably. “Coalmen, butchers, bakers, secretaries, vets, window cleaners, cooks . . .
“All right, that’s enough.”
“Couldn’t we pass a note to Jens through one of the civilian workers?”
Maksim wound down the window as though to clear the air of her words, and tossed out the remains of his cigar along with them.
“Shut her up, Alexei. What she says is impossible.”
“Why?”
“Lydia, please, just listen for a second. What you suggest is far too dangerous. Impossible to do without raising suspicion and maybe losing everything by alerting OGPU to what we’re doing. People talk. You know that. If you start asking workers to pass notes, they would tell someone who would tell someone else who would inform the police to gain favor with them. Whispers flare quickly here. It would put not just us in danger, but also Jens himself.”
“No, I don’t agree because—”
“Forget it, Lydia.”
“But—”
“No.”
Alexei saw her dart a glance across at Maksim, but she found no ally there. His fleshy face was looking puffy, veins showing like crimson threads over his cheeks, but his expression was intractable. Alexei noticed a whiteness around his lips and felt a flash of concern.
“Home,” he ordered the driver.
Lydia leaned forward, reaching out across Alexei and touched Maksim’s fur-coated arm. “Please, pakhan.”
“Nyet. Alexei is right. Only a fool would take that risk. Leave it to us.”
Alexei felt her shiver. She retreated into her corner. But at the first road junction when the car slowed to a halt to allow a tram to pass, she pushed down the chrome handle, swung the door open and slipped out of the car. She didn’t say good-bye. Or Thank you, pakhan. That annoyed Alexei.
MIRRORED TILES. SILK ROBE. THE FRAGRANCE OF PARISIAN perfume. A peacock’s tail feather heavy with steam. Alexei sank into the bath and struggled not to close his eyes. Behind his eyelids
lay worlds that frightened him, and he was not used to being frightened.
A soft white-gloved hand stroked his damp forehead and trailed through his hair.
“I missed you,” Antonina murmured and gently tipped the silver edge of a champagne glass to his lips.
Her slender figure was perched on the side of the bath, naked except for the gloves that reached her elbows. The length of her dark hair hung down her back like a glossy curtain shimmering with moisture, and her face was washed free of makeup and lipstick, the way he liked her best. They were alone in the Malofeyev apartment. It was a risk, they both knew it, but neither cared right now. Alexei swallowed the chill liquid but it was not to his taste, and he wished for a shot of Maksim’s French brandy.
“That was a strange little scene over coffee this morning,” Antonina murmured, and dipped her tongue in the champagne bubbles.
“Whose bright idea was it to get us together in the first place?”
“Dmitri’s, of course. When I mentioned that Lydia was coming here with you, he insisted on staging a cozy little foursome instead and chose a suitably grand setting. He likes to remind everyone who is the one with the power at his fingertips.”
Alexei raised one dark eyebrow. “Maybe he was just planning on keeping me out of his apartment.”
She sipped her champagne. “Well, he didn’t succeed, did he?”
“Is that why I’m here? To annoy Dmitri?”
The shadows under her eyes darkened as she leaned forward and trailed her tongue down the side of his cheek, forming a line through the beads of steam. “You’re here because I want you here.”
He regarded her face intently. What was it about this woman that drew him? Not her handsome looks or her elegance or even her position among the elite of Communist society. All those things got in the way. It was something about her vulnerability under all that polish, something that crept under his skin and lodged there like a bur that he couldn’t shift. Didn’t want to shift. He sat up suddenly with a whoosh of water, twined an arm around her naked waist, and tumbled her down into the bubbles on top of him.
The Girl from Junchow Page 36
