The Russian Tapestry
Page 6
‘It will have to wait. I’m already late.’ She wrapped the scarf around her head. ‘Oh, and don’t forget, the thatch on the barn roof needs fixing.’
‘I’ll get to it straight after breakfast.’
‘Make sure you do it before you take a bath. I don’t want you dirty at my sister’s wedding.’ She hurried out with a final wave.
When Ivanov emerged from the bedroom, he found Tanya at the stove, stirring the contents of a pot.
‘I have your breakfast ready, Papa.’ Taking a wooden bowl, she spooned in a generous amount of kasha and placed it before him with a thick slice of bread.
‘Spacibo, Taneshka.’ She had inherited her mother’s cheekbones and skin so fair it was almost translucent. ‘You are growing into a fine young woman any Cossack would be proud to have as a wife.’
‘Thank you, Papa.’ A blush spread across her cheeks.
‘Where is your sister?’
‘Olga has gone to the river to fetch water.’
‘Will she manage on her own?’
‘It’s a bit heavy for her but she should manage.’ Tanya placed a hot cup of tea next to him.
‘Looking forward to the wedding today?’ Blowing his tea, Ivanov was about to take a sip when he noticed the red, blooming across Tanya’s neck and cheeks. ‘You hoping to see someone you like, perhaps a boy?’ he asked, smiling.
‘Stepan Sergeiavich asked if I would dance with him today.’
‘Did he?’ Leaning back on his chair, Ivanov hooked one arm over the back. ‘And what was your reply?’
‘Stop teasing, Papa.’ Kissing him on the top of his head, she took his empty bowl and began to wash it.
They arrived at Marina’s parents’ home ahead of the groomsmen. Ivanov could hear the singing coming from the village.
‘What time do you call this, Marishka?’ His mother-in-law greeted them at the door. ‘Dima will be here any minute to take Toma to the church. Did you remember the bread and salt?’
‘I have everything right here.’ Marina kissed her mother three times. ‘Is Toma ready?’
‘Your sister looks like an angel.’ His mother-in-law beamed. ‘Hurry, get inside. I can hear them. They are almost here.’
Dressed in white, Tamara sat perched on the edge of a seat in the centre of the room. Her face brightened when she saw her sister.
‘Oh, thank God. I thought you might not make it in time.’
‘I arrived home to find Tanya was still in the bathtub and Olga’s feet were covered in grime. By the time I got them ready, I barely had any time for myself.’
‘Never mind, you’re here now.’ Holding both her hands out, she beckoned her sister to her. ‘I’m so nervous, Marishka. Feel my hands; they’re as cold as ice and I’m shaking like a leaf.’
‘It will pass.’ Marina pressed her sister’s hands to her face. ‘You’ll be alright.’
‘And what will I do afterwards, in Moscow? I know nothing of city life.’
‘Don’t worry, Toma. You are a capable girl. You’ll manage somehow.’
‘At least Dima is not going to the front. I don’t know how I would cope without him. How will you cope without Lyova, and a new baby arriving in a few months?’
‘What do you mean?’ Marina stared at her sister.
‘I mean how will you cope without your husband? Who will plough the fields?’
‘Lyova will look after the fields.’
Tamara looked from her sister to Ivanov.
‘Dima told me the Cossack men are leaving tomorrow on a special train to the front.’ She was looking questioningly at Ivanov, who stared at his feet. ‘They are part of several cavalry regiments. What’s wrong, Marishka? Why are you looking at me like that? You’ve gone as white as a ghost. Lyova, quick! Help me take her to the bedroom.’
Outside the bridegroom had reached the house and was waiting with the guests at the gates.
‘Oh God, there’s no time. They’re here!’ Tamara cried.
At that moment, their mother entered the room. ‘What’s keeping you, Tamara?’ When she saw Marina’s face, she stopped. ‘What’s happened to my daughter?’ she asked accusingly. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Marina has just had a turn.’ Ivanov stood between Marina and his mother-in-law. ‘With all the excitement of the wedding and the baby, she’s overtired. You go with Tamara.’ He ushered mother and daughter towards the door. ‘You can’t keep everyone waiting; they will think you’re being disrespectful. I will look after Marishka.’
‘Don’t worry about coming to the church,’ Tamara whispered. ‘Let Marina rest.’
Through the open windows, Ivanov heard the crowd cheer loudly when Tamara emerged from the house.
‘What beauty! What radiance!’ they shouted.
Ivanov stood at the window and watched as the wedding procession made its way down the streets towards the church. He heard his mother-in-law explain to their guests that Marina had been taken ill and Ivanov was staying behind with her.
‘When?’ Marina’s voice was strangled. ‘When were you planning to tell me?’
Ivanov turned slowly away from the window. ‘I tried this morning.’
‘When?’ she screamed at him.
‘Marishka, please.’ He knelt beside her. ‘We are Cossacks. Our ancestors have been protecting our borders for centuries.’ He took her cold hand between both of his. ‘I will only be gone for a few short months and the girls are old enough to help you in the fields.’
Wiping her tears with her scarf, Marina turned her face away from him. ‘What if you never come back? What if you are killed? What will become of us then? Have you given any thought to how we will manage without you?’
‘Marishka, my darling, what kind of talk is this? Please, look at me.’
‘I cannot. You have broken my heart.’
‘This is our last night together, Marishka. And your sister’s wedding! Have I sinned so terribly that you are willing to forsake me on my last night with you?’ When she turned to face him, he saw her eyes were still brimming with tears.
Throwing her arms around his neck, she kissed him on the lips. ‘Lyova! I am so afraid.’
‘Don’t be. Everyone says the war will be over soon. And while I’m away, I will write to you. I will write every day.’
It was a sombre crowd that accompanied the Cossack men to their train the next morning. Dressed in their military clothes, with sabres hanging from their belts, they embraced family members, kissing each one hard on the lips. On board the train, the men jostled by the windows for a chance to see their loved ones a final time before the train took them away.
‘Have you got everything you need?’ Marina asked.
Ivanov nodded. ‘Tanya packed me some bread and cheese for the journey.’
Silence, heavy with anguish, settled between them. They were startled as the train gave a hiss and shuddered into life. The conductor blew his whistle, warning the last of the passengers to board.
‘I must go.’ Turning to Marina, he lifted her chin and kissed her on the lips.
‘Lyova.’ Their heads bent close, the words drifted into the air and hung there trembling, before finding their way. ‘Remember that I love you.’
8
Petrograd, September 1914
The bell at the front of the tram clanked loudly. Marie waited as a mother and daughter, both dressed in heavy coats, climbed aboard before she disembarked. A cold breeze hinting of early snow blew at her face and neck. Turning up her collar, she quickened her step. Under one arm, she carried her textbooks and in the other hand she carried a letter from her mother which had arrived that morning.
Stepping into a café, she chose a seat at a small table. Breaking the seal, she pulled the letter from the envelope.
It was dated late August.
Dearest Masha,
I trust you are in good health and are continuing with your studies. Your father and Valentin are both well and send you their love.
After a month of no news,
we finally received a letter from Nikolai last week. He was still in good spirits, but of course the letter was dated before Tannenberg. Lord only knows how far his spirits have plunged after witnessing so much devastation. I pray this war will end soon, and your brother and Pyotr return home safely. So many of our friends and neighbours have already lost sons and loved ones. The list of dead, wounded and missing fills several pages of the daily paper. My dearest friend Ekaterina Antonava’s youngest son Andrei is among those who were killed in Tannenberg. I’ve spent every day at her house since hearing the news. Poor Kitty! She is a shell of her former self. I am at a loss to know how to comfort her. She looks as if all life has deserted her. She barely eats or drinks and simply sits in her chair all day with deadened eyes. It’s enough to break your heart.
Your father and I will be leaving shortly to light candles for the dead.
You must write soon and tell me the news from Petrograd.
We miss you terribly.
Your loving mother,
P.
P.S. Are you still planning on visiting this autumn?
Folding the letter Marie replaced it in the envelope with a heavy heart. She ordered wine and drank it slowly, feeling its warmth gradually seep through her. Spying a newspaper on a nearby table, she politely asked the owner if she might borrow it. Poring over the list of the dead, the missing and the prisoners of war, Marie held her breath while scanning the names. As usual the list ran over several pages. Row after row, the names blended into one another. She let the air out of her lungs in a slow sigh when she got to the end without reading a single name she recognised. She tried not to think about how each name represented the loss of someone’s brother, husband, son or father, a man with hopes and dreams.
News of the Russian army’s defeat at Tannenberg and the Masurian Lakes had come as a shock. Everywhere, Marie heard talk of it and the flood of casualties that arrived daily at the hospitals. Some blamed the commanders, others the superior German artillery. She had even heard rumours that the Tsarina had been passing army secrets to her former homeland. The Tsar, in a patriotic move, had changed the name of German-sounding St Petersburg to Petrograd.
Marie returned the paper to the neighbouring table, then looked around the café restlessly. She was suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of guilt and powerlessness. Sitting in a warm café, she reflected on all the men who were cold and hungry, ready to sacrifice their lives for their country. Her eyes fell on a poster advertising the women’s corp. She knew a number of women who had already joined. Her thoughts turned to Nikolai and Pyotr and the horrors they must be facing. Marie resolved that she, too, must fulfil her patriotic duty. Paying for her wine, she decided she would go directly to the hospital.
‘And what am I to say to your parents when they find out?’ Anna said as she struggled with Marie’s thick curls before the mirror.
Marie, watching Anna’s efforts with growing impatience, replied, ‘Tell them I would not be able to look Nikolai and Pyotr in the eye knowing that while they fought, I did nothing.’
‘What about your studies?’ Anna fastened a broad-brimmed hat with a feather into place with hatpins.
Marie fixed her gaze on the uniform she had been issued: a grey dress in a rough material with white apron and matching veil. ‘I can work my shifts around my studies. Besides, in times of war, one must remember one’s responsibility is to the motherland.’
‘Oh, Marie.’ Marie looked up to see Anna’s compassionate eyes in the mirror’s reflection. ‘I know you better than that. You are thinking that should Pyotr or Nikolai be sent to the hospital, you want to be there to look after them.’
‘I can’t bear it,’ Marie’s voice choked, ‘to think of either of them wounded, suffering, while I sit back and do nothing.’
When Marie reported to the hospital that evening to begin her training, she was assigned to a young doctor who introduced himself as Mikhail Leskov.
‘Most arrive traumatised, suffering from head lice and influenza,’ he told Marie as she followed him through the wards. He spoke with the weariness of someone who had worked for days without rest. He stopped by the beds of several patients, his tired eyes hovering briefly over the faces. ‘These men were encircled by the enemy near the swamps of the Masurian Lakes.’ Dr Leskov lowered his voice. ‘The lucky ones managed to escape by hiding in the forest. They had to listen to the cries and pleading of thousands who drowned.’ He shook his head. ‘It drove some of them mad.’
Marie soon fell into a routine that involved waking early, going to the hospital before her classes, then working another shift starting in the late afternoon. Anna packed her lunch and then brought her dinner to the hospital where they ate together in the small kitchen. Once Anna had left, Marie would walk through the ward checking on patients and making them comfortable. She read to them from the newspaper and wrote letters which they dictated. Sometimes she just sat by the soldiers’ beds to keep them company.
Having grown up surrounded by servants, Marie was awkward at first with simple domestic tasks. After a few weeks, however, she discovered to her surprise that she had capable hands and was often asked to accompany the doctors on their rounds. As her responsibilities in the hospital grew, she began to decline invitations to the theatre and dinner parties in favour of long night shifts.
To keep up with her studies, she read aloud from her textbooks to dozing patients. On those nights when she found herself unable to concentrate, she would pick up her copy of The Lady with the Little Dog, which she carried with her everywhere like a talisman.
Imagining she was reading to Pyotr, her voice grew warm, secretly hoping someone, somewhere, was doing the same for Pyotr.
9
East Prussia, September 1914
Alexei opened his eyes to the sight of towering elm trees and the scent of brewing tea.
‘Welcome back, Your Excellency.’ A soldier smiled down at him. ‘We were not sure you were going to make it through. I’ll tell the lieutenant that you are awake.’
A few minutes later Lieutenant Bogoleev was by his side with a crust of bread and a hot drink. His face, shadowed by stubble, looked older. While Alexei chewed his bread, dipping it in his tea to soften it, Bogoleev filled him in on their situation.
‘We are cut off from the rest of the regiment. I stole into a nearby village to gather news, but so far I haven’t managed to get any solid information.’
‘You speak Polish?’
‘My Polish grandmother was from these parts and she taught me how to speak the language.’ Bogoleev gave a shrug. ‘We were poor and sometimes my parents sent me to spend the summer with my grandmother just so they didn’t have an extra mouth to feed.’ He smiled. ‘I didn’t mind. I loved my grandmother.’ His face darkened. ‘The First Army suffered a catastrophic defeat at the Masurian Lakes. Thousands drowned, stuck in the swamps.’ He dropped his head for a moment, then returned his gaze to Alexei.
‘We can’t stay here much longer. The German army is advancing fast. We need to join our troops behind the lines to have any chance of escaping capture.’ He moved closer, his voice brisk. ‘Do you feel well enough to travel, Excellency?’
Alexei nodded.
Hooking a hand under Alexei’s good arm, he helped him to his feet.
Sharp pain seared through Alexei’s injured thigh. He put a hand against Bogoleev to lessen the weight on his leg.
‘You’d best take my horse,’ Bogoleev offered. ‘I’ll walk with the men.’
For the next few days they marched through the forests by night. By day, they rested in abandoned barns or in the woods. At times when sleep eluded him, Alexei lay awake watching the orange and purple leaves dance on the wind until they fluttered to the ground.
As he watched, he thought of the changing weather. Soon the temperature would drop and the ground would freeze. With conditions worsening, the supply lines would be further stretched. He closed his eyes, letting out a sigh. How in the world would the army cope through winter?
‘I am grateful for your help, Lieutenant. In my report I’ll be sure to mention your gallantry and recommend you for a medal.’
Bogoleev snorted. ‘I didn’t do it to get a medal. I would be grateful, however, if you could convince Stavka to overlook my humble background and make me a captain.’
Alexei noted the sarcasm in Bogoleev’s voice but chose not to comment on it. ‘I will do my best.’
Bogoleev gave Alexei a sidelong look. ‘There are not many commanders like you in the army. The way you defended that young gunner …’ His shoulders gave a small shrug. ‘Every other officer I’ve ever met would have made an example out of him without a second thought.’
‘We all must do what we think is right.’
Bogoleev nodded. ‘I suppose so. By the way, there’s something else you should know.’ He started to collect their empty cups. ‘General Samsonov is dead.’
‘What? How?’
Bogoleev pressed two fingers against his temple. ‘He shot himself.’
Alexei could not be certain but he thought he detected a hint of a smile on the other man’s lips.
Bogoleev looked at him, his eyes cold and pale as winter skies. ‘It appears our general couldn’t accept the defeat in Tannenberg.’
At Petrograd station, men resting on stretchers were lined along the platform. From his carriage window, Alexei saw volunteer nurses following at the heels of a handful of doctors examining the injured men.
‘Why are these men not being taken to the hospital?’ he asked a nurse who accompanied an orderly into his carriage.