The Russian Tapestry

by Banafsheh Serov

  Alexei thrust the piece of paper back into Grigory’s hand. ‘Take this back to the operator and tell him to ask for the decoded message. And while you’re there, telex a request to send the reserves to the front.’

  ‘But, Excellency, if the Germans intercept the signal they’ll be able to anticipate our tactics.’

  ‘If you can think of a better alternative,’ Alexei retorted, ‘I’ll be happy to consider it. Now hurry!’

  Alexei hoped headquarters would agree to his request for reinforcements. Although the reserves, who were mainly conscripts, lacked the ability and competence of the professional soldiers, the army was in desperate need of manpower.

  Lifting his binoculars, Alexei turned his attention back to the battle. Through the gauzy smoke, he watched with a sense of helplessness as bodies buckled in cries and screams.

  Along the lines, whistles sounded another wave of attack.

  ‘Lances and swords ready.’ Alexei drew his own sword. Behind him, he heard the metallic swish of weaponry as his men followed his lead and he waited for the signal.

  Whistles shrilled.

  ‘Charge!’

  Thousands of men on horseback and foot rushed down the hills into the woods. The first wave fell quickly to machine-gun fire and Alexei had to manoeuvre his horse around the bodies. Leaning forward over his horse’s neck, he urged it to go faster.

  Through the haze of fire and smoke, he saw a German soldier stand and aim his rifle. Unhooking the strap on his own rifle Alexei straightened and, placing his sabre across his lap, drew aim.

  Pain as sharp as razor blades ripped through his right shoulder, and a dark sticky liquid sprayed across his face. A second bullet hit him in the upper-left thigh, throwing him off his horse.

  He fell hard, rolling a few times before coming to a stop. In the moment before he lost consciousness, he was dimly aware of a pair of hands lifting him.

  6

  South of Tannenberg, East Prussia, 30 August 1914

  Villagers ordered to evacuate snaked along the road in an endless procession of carts. After days of rain, the sky was clear and bright, white clouds floating in a brilliant blue expanse.

  The Russian army was in retreat following the defeat at Tannenberg, with orders to leave nothing behind to feed or shelter the enemy. Most of the villagers, fearing attack by the advancing German troops, joined the exodus without protest. Those who refused were forced out.

  Nikolai, walking with his valet, watched with alarm as an old woman screamed and clung to her doorframe, lashing out at the soldiers in a feeble attempt to save her house. They pulled her away, and she shrieked as her home went up in flames. Sinking to her knees in the mud and with no fight left in her, she stared at the burning ruins.

  Nikolai picked up the shawl that had dropped from her shoulders and offered it to her. The old woman looked up. Seeing his uniform, her eyes suddenly blazed with fury and she slapped his hand away. Nikolai left the shawl close to her feet and retreated.

  His valet, outraged by the insult, started towards the woman, but Nikolai held him back.

  ‘She has lost everything. She has a right to be angry.’

  ‘What’s that?’ his valet asked suddenly.

  Looking up at the sky, Nikolai saw a German plane. At the sound of the engines, people on the street scattered. Within seconds, shells were exploding around them. Spotting an upturned cart, Nikolai ran towards it. Behind the cart he found a young woman and a child huddled together. The child, a boy of nine or ten, looked at Nikolai with wild, frightened eyes.

  A shell exploded close by, showering them with rocks and debris, and Nikolai instinctively dived forward to shield the pair. They stayed like that for what seemed to Nikolai like hours, though it was probably only minutes.

  Once he was sure the shelling had stopped, he drew back, slightly embarrassed by the intimacy of such closeness to strangers.

  He stood and began to brush the dirt from his uniform, his ears still ringing from the sound of explosions. Extending a hand to help the woman, Nikolai noticed her leathery skin and calloused palms, telltale signs of hours spent working outdoors.

  The three of them slowly emerged from behind the cart and looked around. Nikolai’s breath caught in dismay at seeing the town reduced to rubble. Bodies were strewn everywhere. Smoke hung low over the scene like a thick blanket.

  He spied the bloodied corpse of his valet thrown against a charred wall. Kneeling beside him, Nikolai closed the lids over the glassy eyes. A lump as hard as a rock lodged in his chest. Remembering the old woman, he turned to where she had sat moments ago, only to discover nothing remained but a large hole.

  Returning to the woman and boy, he helped them to turn the cart upright, then the boy climbed into it. Nikolai placed the pair’s meagre belongings by the boy’s feet.

  ‘Thank you.’ The woman glanced in Nikolai’s direction and he was struck by her clear green eyes. She hesitated briefly, as if wanting to add something more, but then seemed to change her mind. Without a second look at Nikolai or the village, the woman picked up the shafts of the cart and wheeled it away.

  Nikolai stayed to help the few remaining villagers bury their dead. The local priest, his church reduced to blackened walls, walked among the fresh graves, his lips moving silently in a private conversation with the dead. With nothing more to be done, Nikolai left the village with what remained of the regiment. As they merged with refugees heading east, low clouds gathered in grim masses, hiding the sun. Travelling at the head of the procession, Nikolai listened to soldiers start up a marching song, though their voices seemed listless.

  It wasn’t long before a rumble rippled through the clouds. Nikolai pulled his cap low as the first light raindrops fell from the sky. Soon there was no escaping the downpour as it soaked the earth.

  At dusk, the regiment reached the outskirts of another village. Nikolai followed a captain to a barn where, exhausted, he bedded down on warm hay. Despite not having eaten all day, he fell immediately to sleep, still wearing his wet boots and coat. It felt like only a few minutes had passed before he was startled awake by an explosion, followed immediately by a second. Disoriented and still dazed from slumber, Nikolai scrambled to his feet.

  ‘Fire!’ someone shouted and Nikolai turned to see flames engulfing part of the barn. Grabbing his pack, he ran outside after the other men.

  The night sky was lit with flames. Dark silhouettes carrying pails of water ran back and forth between the village well and the burning barn. A screaming soldier with his uniform on fire ran out, trying to hit at the flames across his back. Another two tackled him to the ground, rolling him in the mud. The soldier continued to thrash his arms and legs until eventually he fell unconscious. One of the other soldiers removed his coat and together the pair lifted the injured man. As they passed Nikolai, he peered at the figure. There was something familiar about him. Dressed in an officer’s infantry uniform, his once flaxen hair now singed black, Nikolai gasped in recognition. Pyotr!

  Needing to be sure, Nikolai ran after the two soldiers. He shouted, ‘You there, stop!’

  The field hospital was in a nearby hut that had escaped the enemy bombs.

  ‘Did you see an infantry officer with severe burns brought in a moment ago?’ Nikolai asked a civilian who was bandaging a soldier’s wounded arm. Next to her, a child held a gas lamp and she occasionally moved the child’s hand to where she needed the light.

  ‘Take your pick.’ She gestured at the crowd of wounded without looking up.

  Nikolai grabbed the woman’s arm. ‘This one only just arrived, carried by two soldiers.’

  The woman showed no sign of resentment at being handled roughly.

  ‘I have seen and bandaged more wounded soldiers than I care to count,’ she said wearily. ‘Your friend is just one of many.’ She rested a sympathetic hand over his. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Pulling her arm from Nikolai’s grasp, she moved to her next patient, applying fresh ointments and bandages.

 
Finding a gas lamp Nikolai walked carefully between the bodies, occasionally bringing the light close to a face.

  A soldier grabbed at Nikolai’s boot. ‘Water,’ he moaned.

  Nikolai knelt by the man and wet his lips with water from his canteen. Almost immediately, others around him cried out for water. Everywhere he looked, hot, feverish eyes begged for relief. He passed his canteen from one set of lips to another until it was nearly empty then continued his search.

  Finally he spotted the infantry officer stretched across a bed of straw. His uniform was tattered and burnt.

  ‘Pyotr!’ Nikolai cried and dropped to his knees beside him.

  Pyotr’s lashes parted slightly on hearing his name. The whites of his eyes stood out against his burnt skin. Where it had peeled away, raw pink flesh glistened. He moved his lips but no sound came out. Nikolai cradled his friend’s head in his lap and poured his last few drops of water over his cracked lips.

  ‘Don’t worry, Pyotr.’ Tears pricked the back of his eyes. ‘I will look after you.’ He looked around for help but could see no one in the thin light.

  Pyotr moaned and moved his lips again.

  ‘Don’t try to speak, Pyotr. Save your energy.’

  ‘Marie,’ Pyotr croaked.

  ‘You will be with her shortly. Soon you’ll be transported to St Petersburg and she will visit you at the hospital and read to you from those silly novels you both enjoy so much.’

  A faint smile touched Pyotr’s lips. The tension eased from his limbs and he closed his eyes. Then he began to tremble.

  ‘What is it, Pyotr? Are you cold?’ Nikolai took off his coat and placed it over him. Again he looked around for help.

  A group of soldiers headed by an officer was moving along the rows of patients, stopping to speak briefly to each group.

  ‘We have orders to move out immediately,’ the officer told Nikolai when they reached him.

  Nikolai scanned the dark interior. Only those injured who were still able to walk were being evacuated, he noted.

  ‘What’s going to happen to the casualties?’

  The officer’s eyes dropped to where Pyotr lay trembling on the ground. ‘All lorries are already packed with artillery. Anyone who cannot walk will be left behind.’ He spoke into the darkness, reluctant to look Nikolai in the eye.

  ‘He is like a brother,’ Nikolai said desperately. ‘I cannot leave him. Please, I beg you, help me to find room for him on one of the vehicles.’

  ‘They are being used for the cannons and telexes.’ The officer started to walk away. ‘There’s nothing I can do.’

  ‘What about sulkies or carts?’

  The officer shook his head. ‘There are no horses or ox to pull them.’

  ‘Surely there is something we can use.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘But the Germans …’

  ‘Our reserves are moving to hold them back. We hope to regroup with other corps and stage an offensive.’

  Nikolai shook his head. ‘What will happen to all these men?’

  But his question went unanswered as the men hurried away to repeat the orders to others.

  Nikolai hesitated, torn. Should he evacuate with the others, as ordered, or stay with Pyotr? He felt a light tug on his shirt and looked down to see Pyotr’s feverish eyes looking up at him.

  ‘You … must … go.’

  ‘But I can’t leave you,’ Nikolai protested.

  Pyotr grabbed feebly at Nikolai’s open collar. ‘You … must.’

  Tears filled Nikolai’s eyes. ‘I will not leave you like this.’

  Sensing a presence at his elbow, Nikolai turned to find the woman and child who had been applying bandages standing beside him.

  ‘You must hurry, your regiment is leaving.’ She placed a hand on Nikolai’s shoulder.

  Nikolai just shook his head wordlessly.

  The woman brought her gas lamp closer to take a better look at Pyotr.

  ‘Is this the man you were looking for?’

  Tears rolled down Nikolai’s face as he nodded.

  ‘I will look after him.’ She spoke Russian with a thick accent. ‘I promise to stay with him.’

  Nikolai looked up and, in the light of the lamp, saw a flash of green eyes. ‘I remember you!’ he exclaimed. ‘I saw you earlier in a village down the road when the Germans attacked. You are the woman with the wagon.’

  ‘Yes. I recognised you as soon as I saw you.’

  ‘Do you still have the wagon?’ he asked hopefully.

  The woman shook her head. ‘It was destroyed in the fire.’

  Nikolai looked at the child clinging to the woman’s skirt.

  ‘Don’t you want to save yourself and your boy?’

  The woman gave him a sad smile. ‘The child is not mine. I found him lost and hungry under an elm tree a few days ago.’ She looked down at the child, whose face was in the shadow beyond the circle of light cast by the lamp. ‘I’ve tried asking where his parents are but he does not talk, even though he seems to hear and understand well enough.’ She looked back at Nikolai. ‘I fed him, and since then he follows me everywhere.’ She motioned to the men leaving. ‘You must hurry.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘They have almost finished evacuating.’

  Nikolai closed his eyes, knowing he must leave but not able to abandon Pyotr. Outside, it had started to rain again. Heavy drops thudded against the thatched roof, masking the moans of the men.

  ‘Kolya!’ Pyotr’s pleading eyes searched for Nikolai.

  Nikolai leant closer. ‘I am still here.’

  ‘Promise me one thing.’

  ‘Anything.’ He replied, touching Pyotr’s shoulder. Pyotr winced with pain. Nikolai, realising his mistake, quickly removed his hand. ‘Maybe you should not be speaking, Pyotr.’

  Pyotr shook his head. ‘You must promise to tell Marie I always loved her.’

  ‘Don’t speak like that, Pyotr. You two will soon be reunited.’

  Exhausted, Pyotr closed his eyes. ‘She must know. Please, tell her I wanted to spend the rest of my life loving only her.’

  ‘I will,’ Nikolai said in a choked voice. ‘I promise.’

  7

  The River Don, South-West Russia, July 1914

  Leo Nicholaevich Ivanov blinked at shafts of warm sunlight spilling through the open curtains. He yawned and rubbed his eyes. From outside, he could hear Marina instructing the girls on feeding the chickens. His head felt as heavy as a sack of wheat.

  ‘May the devil take that Mikhail Andreyavich! I have never known such a hangover.’

  ‘Good morning, sleepyhead.’ Marina entered the room, wearing an apron over a simple printed dress. She sat on the edge of the bed and began to plait her hair.

  ‘I slept in.’

  Marina smiled. ‘It’s alright. The girls and I managed.’ She twisted the plait and pinned it in place. ‘Did you enjoy yourself last night?’

  ‘Mikhail had made apple vodka for the wedding. Things got a bit rowdy after the third round.’

  ‘That reminds me …’ Marina went to her trunk. ‘Where is it?’ She looked under neatly folded scarves, shirts and shawls. ‘Aha!’ She pulled out a shirt in pale blue, decorated with vines of darker blue flowers. ‘I’ve made Tanya a new shirt to wear to the wedding.’ She held it against herself. ‘I wanted to surprise her so I kept having to come up with errands and tasks to keep her out of the house while I was sewing it. Well, what do you think?’

  ‘The colours will bring out the blue in her eyes,’ Ivanov said. ‘I will have to be doubly vigilant today. All the young Cossacks will want to dance with our daughter.’

  ‘Speaking of which, the matchmaker stopped me yesterday outside the store. She complimented Tanya and said she could find her a good match.’

  ‘Tanya is too young.’ Pushing back the covers, Ivanov sat up. ‘What would that old goat know about when is a good time for our daughter to marry?’

  ‘Don’t get angry, she was only suggesting that with the war there are fewer sui
table boys.’

  ‘The war will be over in a few months.’

  ‘God be willing.’ Kneeling before the icon on the wall, Marina crossed herself.

  Lifting her to her feet, Ivanov wrapped his arms around her waist. ‘Let’s not talk about it now.’ He pressed her close against him. ‘I can think of more pleasurable ways we could spend our time.’ He pressed his palm against the rounded mound of her belly. ‘I hope this one is a boy.’

  ‘Maybe then you would leave me alone.’ She laughed and attempted to wriggle free, but Ivanov tightened his grip around her. She slapped him on the arm. ‘I have to help Tamara with her wedding dress and then hurry back to plait the girls’ hair.’

  ‘They can wait.’ He inched her towards the bed. ‘I’m your husband. And I need you now.’ He kissed her neck then sucked gently on her earlobe.

  ‘Lyova, please.’ But despite her protests, he felt her body grow soft under his kisses.

  He pulled her down to the bed and Marina straddled him, easing herself down, her warmth enveloping him. Thrusting rhythmically, they moved as one with the familiarity of old lovers. Running his hands the length of her legs, he gripped her buttocks, pressing her harder against him. He climaxed almost immediately with a shudder that made both their bodies tremble and go limp.

  As they lay side by side, Ivanov held his wife against his chest.

  ‘I hear Dmitry and Tamara are moving to Moscow after the wedding.’

  ‘They leave first thing tomorrow. Dmitry has a job as a machine operator in a munitions factory.’

  ‘That coward! Enlisting in the munitions factory excuses him from serving at the front. Dmitry is an insult to the Cossacks.’

  ‘You’re a fine one to speak.’

  ‘Should I go off to war then?’ He tried to pull her towards him again.

  Smiling, she batted his hand away and sat up. ‘Russia needs men like you and Dmitry to stay home and keep the country running.’ Buttoning the front of her shirt, Marina walked over to a hook on the wall to fetch her white lace scarf.

  ‘Marishka –’ Ivanov propped himself up on one elbow ‘– there’s something I need to tell you.’