He moved silently across the room until he was standing right behind her and could hear the catch in her every breath. “So that’s why you went into the prison that day to get the letter? The one from Jens about the construction of the project. So that you could give it to Li Min.”
She jumped at the sound of his voice so close but remained with her back to him. She nodded.
“Lydia.”
“I know you’re angry. That you feel I betrayed you and did a dirty deal behind your back. But the thought of losing your life to a Kuomintang bullet was . . . too much. I couldn’t bear it. And now that your Chinese friends have what they wanted, they are leaving and taking you with them.”
She leaned back till her head was touching his cheek, and just that simple intimate movement of hers was enough to break his resolve to give her up. The immensity of what she’d done for him took his breath away. That she’d bargained her own life and that of her father . . . for his. His arms encircled her injured waist and drew her close against him, fighting to keep from crushing her into his own bones where she would be safe.
“You’re right, I am angry, Lydia, but not with you, my love. With them.” He smelled the blood on her and it made his heart weep. “I should have realized it wasn’t your past you were protecting.”
“No,” she whispered, “it was our future. Yours and mine. But . . . Chang, we are both created by our past.”
Another knock shook the door, and Biao shouted for them to hurry.
Chang spoke urgently. “Lydia, you must decide now. If it’s America you want, we can—”
She spun around, her eyes wide and intent on his. “No, not America.”
“My heart cannot beat without yours beside it.”
“Is that what Alexei told you to do? To give me up?”
“He said that with me you would be an outsider.”
She laughed, making the air in the room come alive. In the middle of all the fear and the pain and the danger she laughed, tossing her shorn curls, and the sound of it mended something inside him that was broken. “Oh Chang An Lo, I have been an outsider all my life. I used to fight against it, thinking I wanted to belong, but not now. It’s being an outsider that has brought me you.”
He took her face in his hands. “Your brother believes you must stay here in Russia, and when I see you here, I know this country is a part of your soul.”
“Forget what Alexei says. He is not my brother.”
“What?”
“Jens told me. He said that Alexei is not his son. That my mother got it all wrong. Even Alexei’s own mother must have lied about it.”
The sorrow on her face flickered like the shadow of a night spirit in the candlelight. “Oh my Lydia, in that fire you lost your brother as well as your father.”
She smiled at him, a fragile twist of her mouth. “Your gods exacted a high price,” she said. “And now they’re stealing you from me again.”
“Come with me.”
Her eyes widened. “To China?”
“Yes.”
“No,” she said. “Have you forgotten? We decided long ago that while you are fighting for the Communists there is no place for a Western girl dragging at your heels. No world in which I could find a place.”
“There is one.”
“Where?”
“Hong Kong.”
Fifty-seven
THE CARWAS CROWDED AND ITS INTERIOR smelled of China instead of Russia. Lydia was pressed tight against the window with Chang An Lo seated beside her, a barrier between her and the others. His hand had clasped hers the moment they entered the car, and though he was arguing fiercely with the one he called Biao, his fingers never left hers.
Her canvas bag lay on Chang’s lap on top of the satchel, as if he would hide her from the Chinese intruders. Biao and another of the ones in black were crowded on the far side of Chang on the rear seat, while the three others were in the front. The one in the driver’s seat had a silvery scar where one of his ears should be.
Their voices sounded harsh to Lydia’s ears, a flood of angry Chinese words filling the air between Chang and Biao, friends who were fighting like enemies. She longed to know what was being said, but she knew Chang would tell her only as much as he wished her to know. She leaned her head against the window and watched the snow and the streets dissolve behind the mist of her breath. She was frightened what else might dissolve.
“Lydia.”
The words had stopped.
“Tell me what is happening, Chang.”
His hand tightened on hers and he spoke in English, so that none of his compatriots would understand.
“Lydia.” The way he said her name, she knew what was coming wasn’t good. “I must leave you, Lydia. No, my love, don’t look like that, it won’t be for long. We agreed,” he said softly, “that we shall meet in Hong Kong. I will be there, I swear. But I can’t travel with you through Russia, they won’t let me.”
She glanced at the heads in front. “Not even if we run from these . . . ?”
“No, no more risks, Lydia. If you and I escape together from these people, they will hunt us down as we travel the thousands of miles back to China and I won’t put you in that danger. This time”—he touched her neck—“I want you safe.”
“So what are we to do?” She glanced at Biao, who was staring straight ahead, unwilling to look at her.
“It is settled.” He held both her hands in his, and so she knew it was bad.
“Tell me.”
“I am to travel with the delegation back to China and report to Mao Tse-tung. I have given my word that I shall give them no trouble.”
She smiled at him. “Chang An Lo masquerading as a demure lamb, that will be something to see.” But his eyes held no laughter. “What do we get in exchange?” she asked in a low voice.
“A guardian for you.”
“I don’t need a guardian.”
“Yes, you do. The Russian secret police are searching for you, so . . .”
“Who? Who is this guardian?”
He glanced at Biao’s sullen profile.
“No,” Lydia said sharply, “I refuse to have—”
“Don’t, Lydia, please don’t fight this.”
She swallowed the words on her tongue and saw his dark eyes follow the silent movement of her lips as she struggled to accept what he was saying.
“Biao will escort you all the way to Vladivostok. With him, you should have no trouble from the Russians. Then down south through China to Hong Kong.”
“He hates me,” she whispered. “Why would he do such a thing?”
“Because I have ordered him to do so. I know he will protect you with his life.”
“Even though he hates me?”
“Trust him, Lydia. He will bring you safely to China.”
She hung her head and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her to him. “I would give my heart’s blood to travel with you, my love, but it would just bring more danger down on your head.” He kissed the side of her chopped hair.
“You’ll meet me?” she asked. “You’ll be there?”
“I promise.”
“You won’t change your mind and go off with your Communists again?”
“No. Not this time.”
Their eyes held and she believed him. It was a risk, but she couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t take it. He leaned forward, seeing the belief in her eyes, and kissed her mouth, ignoring the others in the car.
“Now,” he said softly, “where is your Cossack bear waiting for you?”
THE SNOW HAD STOPPED FALLING. AS LYDIA WALKED ON TO Moscow’s Borodino bridge in the southwest of the city, cars rumbled past with chains on their tires and a pale watery sun sat low on the horizon as though it had no strength to struggle any higher. She felt a rush of relief when she saw the Cossack waiting for her, and he bared his teeth at her approach. Had he feared she wouldn’t come? That she wouldn’t keep their agreed meeting, here among the cast-iron boards listing t
he heroes of the 1812 war?
“I’m not locked up in the Lubyanka yet,” she smiled.
Lubyanka prison was the nightmare of Moscow, a handsome yellow-brick mansion where interrogations in the dungeons took people apart piece by piece in ways they had never imagined possible.
“Don’t mention that stinking place,” he growled, and his single black eye studied her. “You look a mess.”
She ignored him. “Hello, Elena.”
The woman standing beside him had her arms folded and she was staring at the strands of hair poking out under Lydia’s hat, but she made no comment. “You got here,” was all she said.
“So, Liev. Off to the Ukraine?”
“Da. It’s still got real people in it. Fuck Moscow. It’s no more than a Soviet machine.”
Lydia put out a hand and touched his granite chest with her fingertips. “Take good care of yourself, my friend.” She looked up at him. “Are you feeling better?”
“Like a spring lamb.”
She laughed.
“And you?” he asked, drawing his beetle brows together.
“More like an old goat.”
He nodded, fingering his beard thoughtfully, and she noticed it was singed into a lopsided mat. Suddenly a narrow face popped out from behind his back.
“Whose car was that you came in?”
“Edik! What are you doing here? And Misty.” She ruffled the pup’s feathery ears. “The car belongs to some rather unpleasant companions of my Chinese friend.”
Popkov scowled. “They’ve taken him?”
She nodded and stared down at Popkov’s ancient leather boots with the howling wolf tooled on the side. “Liev,” she said softly, “you knew about Alexei all along, didn’t you?”
He grunted.
“That he wasn’t my brother. You knew all along. That’s why you were such a bastard to him.”
He grunted again.
“You should have told me.”
“Nyet. I couldn’t. It made you happy.”
Her throat felt too tight. She said nothing more. A horse and cart clattered past, scattering a spray of filthy gray snow over them, and Misty barked. The world was still moving.
“I’m going to grow wheat,” Popkov announced.
“You?” Lydia smiled. “A farmer?”
“We’ll learn,” Elena asserted confidently. “Edik is going to help us, aren’t you, boy?” She gave him a dig in his skinny ribs and he laughed.
“If you force me to,” he grinned.
Lydia looked at the family of three, at the warm pride in Liev’s battered face, and she envied them. “Be happy,” she murmured, and found it hard to let him go. Liev kept staring at her before switching to gaze out at a laden barge lumbering up the Moskva River, and then staring at her again.
“What is it, Liev?”
The Cossack stretched his shoulders and rumbled something inaudible into his beard.
“The thing is,” Elena said stiffly, “he won’t come without you.”
Lydia closed her eyes and swayed back and forth on her feet.
Elena hadn’t finished. “He wants you to come with us.”
Lydia rubbed her hands as if it were the biting wind swirling off the river that was making her shiver. “Chyort! Liev, are you out of your mind? Me on a farm? Don’t be an oaf. I’m not a peasant with straw for brains. Go and play with your shovels and your hoes on your own; dig your holes without me.”
It was fleeting, but she caught the look of relief on Elena’s face.
“What will you do?” Popkov’s deep voice was strained.
“Oh, I’ll be safe, don’t worry. I’m going back to China.”
His black eye narrowed, and like an old bull he shook his head as if it had suddenly grown heavier. “You were desperate to get out of China. You said you hated it there.”
“I lied.”
“Let the girl be, Liev.” It was Elena. She was assessing Lydia with a half-smile on her lips. “It’s not the place she loves, can’t you see? It’s the person.”
“But—”
“No buts! Stop fussing over me, you stupid Cossack,” Lydia complained. She pushed him away. “Off you go to the Ukraine.” She smiled brightly, surprising herself, and even laughed a little. “Have a good life. Thank you for everything.”
She spun around and walked away. But she’d not gone more than ten paces in the direction of Smolensk Square before she was plucked off her feet. She was dangled over the icy ground, enveloped in a great greasy embrace, and with no breath in her lungs she clung to him. As each minute ticked by he crushed her harder to his chest, growling softly in his throat.
Just as suddenly he put her down. She thrust Dmitri’s gold ring into his pocket. “To buy some land,” she said, then walked away and didn’t look back.
LYDIA STARTED TO WALK ACROSS THE CITY BUT SOON REALIZED she hadn’t the strength to make it as far as the Arbat. So she climbed into an izvozchik, one of the horse-drawn taxicabs, and settled its thick rug over her knees, her arms wrapped around her bandaged waist. It was an uncovered vehicle, open to the elements, but that suited her. The snow had stopped and she liked the wind, cold in her face. The sky looked gray and old as it hovered over Moscow’s roofs, and she felt a tug of dismay at the thought of leaving this city she’d fallen in love with.
The easy rhythm of the horse’s hooves was slow and restful, and it gave her time to think. She closed her eyes and let her mind open the way Chang An Lo had taught her, but still the images of the raging fire pressed in on her, the flames leaping in her face and roaring in her ears. Instead she clutched at the feel of her father’s hand in hers and the echoes of his voice when he said, I love you for coming for me.
“Papa,” she whispered, “I’ll come back.”
One day she would. She didn’t know when or how, but she would. Russia had entwined itself into the fibers of her being, and she could no more stay away from this city of domes than she could from the black soil Popkov and Elena would be churning up in the Ukraine.
A cart rumbled past in the street, and the sound of a car’s klaxon brought her back to what lay ahead. She had to see Alexei. He was with Antonina in her apartment, and Lydia needed to speak to him. She was angry with him for telling Chang to give her up, but . . . she opened her eyes wide and felt her chest tighten . . . but despite Alexei, Chang would be waiting for her in China. She drew a deep breath and said aloud, “Be there, my love. Be there. For me.” Once back in China she feared that his country and his gods might steal him from under her nose.
“Trust him,” she whispered to herself, and felt the wind carry her words to their ears.
THE APARTMENT WAS IN CHAOS. BOXES EVERYWHERE. FURS AND candlesticks and even a silver samovar overflowed from their gaping mouths. Books were stacked in piles on the floor and paintings propped against the wall. It struck Lydia as obscene that a Communist had owned so much, and corruption seemed to writhe from box to box like the string that lay abandoned on the Persian carpets. She’d found it hard to walk through the door again, as the memories of the last time still weighed too heavy in her mind.
Alexei was surprised to see her. “Lydia, shouldn’t you be in bed?” But he kissed her gently on both cheeks and did no more than raise one eyebrow at the sight of her hair. “I’m glad you’ve come because I have something for you.”
He led her to the study, where Antonina was seated at the desk going through a drawer of Dmitri’s papers. She looked up and her dark eyes brightened. Then she saw Chang’s work with the knife and she frowned before coming over to the doorway where Lydia had stopped. She didn’t care to enter that study again.
“Lydia, my dear girl, you’re”—Lydia was sure the comment was going to be on her bizarre appearance but she was wrong—“so welcome.” Antonina hugged her, and for once there was no smell of perfume.
“You look well,” Lydia said.
“I am well.”
In fact Lydia had never seen Antonina looking lovelier. But totally different
. Her thick dark hair was tied loosely behind her head and she was wearing a plain blue dress and cardigan that had never been anywhere near Paris. But that wasn’t the only change. Her face was free of makeup and she wasn’t wearing gloves. There were shadows under her eyes as if she weren’t sleeping, but her mouth was free of the tension that had previously kept it hard.
“Come and have coffee. Alexei, we’ll be in the drawing room.”
Tactfully she led Lydia away from the study, sat her down, and drifted off to make coffee while Alexei talked. Lydia found it unsettling to be with this man who was not her brother. She had to rethink him.
“Are you all right?” he asked with concern.
“Sore, but I’ll live.” She smiled at him. “Thanks to you.”
He sat down in the chair opposite and stretched out his long legs in an awkward gesture, uneasy with her gratitude. She changed the subject.
“You’re packing up, I see.”
“Yes. They’re starting to ask questions about Dmitri’s whereabouts. It’s too dangerous to remain here, so we’re getting out today.”
“Where are you going?”
“Antonina is changing her name so that they won’t be able to trace her, and we’ve bought new identity papers. But we’re staying in Moscow and moving to a different district.”
“Of course, Maksim is in Moscow.”
Alexei flicked a glance of annoyance at her, and she studied his eyes. It was their color that had misled her. It made her believe her mother’s assertion that Jens was his father, but how stupid could she be? Jens hadn’t been the only man in St. Petersburg with green eyes.
Suddenly she leaned forward. “I’m going back to China.”
She heard his rapid intake of breath. “No, Lydia, don’t. It will be a mistake. Listen, why don’t you stay with us? Here in Moscow. We’ve found an apartment.” He waved a hand around the high-ceilinged room. “Not desirable like this one, but it has two rooms, so . . .”
The Girl from Junchow Page 49
