The Black Maria

by Rupert Colley

  The murmur was getting progressively louder. Vladimir didn’t like it, he wanted to go. He turned to his men and gave them the nod. Passing round him, they marched up to Boris and stood either side of him, their mackintoshes pressing into the boy’s back. He tried to take one last sip of his wine, but one of the thugs grabbed hold of his wrist and lowered Boris’s arm. Boris placed the glass back on the table.

  Rosa came up to Vladimir and looked at him directly in the eye, so close their noses almost touched. ‘What’s this about? Tell me,’ she hissed.

  ‘I’m not allowed to say, but I’ve got to take him – those are my orders.’

  He nodded a second time at his boys and, this time, they each slid an arm under Boris’s armpits.

  ‘OK, OK, get your hands off me. I’m coming. Can I take my coat?’

  Vladimir nodded and allowed Boris to retrieve his coat from the back of a nearby chair. Boris slipped the coat on over his dinner-jacket and declared, ‘I’m ready.’ He sounded like a man about to catch a train, thought Vladimir. With that Boris marched freely out of the room, without looking left or right, and so briskly that the two guards had to readjust their step in order to keep up with him. Vladimir followed them. By the time they’d reached the stage, the murmur had reached full volume, a crescendo of shocked voices and gasping conversations. But amongst it all, there was still the occasional sound of a clinking glass.

  *

  The drive from the college back to the Lubyanka was a short one, only fifteen minutes at that time of night. The four men sat in total silence as the Black Maria glided through the streets. Vladimir sat to the left of Boris, staring out of the window but keeping Boris firmly within his peripheral vision and firmly within his concentration. The job of arrest wasn’t done yet, but at this rate, it was going down as one of the easiest, trouble-free arrests in the annals of the NKVD. He’d never heard of anyone asking for their coat and then say they were ready. The Jew was scared, Vladimir could tell that much but, it had to be said, his inner resolve was admirable.

  Chapter 24: The Accusation

  Dmitry’s apartment was a mess – clothes all over the floors, drawers pulled out and turned upside down. He looked almost as dishevelled – unshaven, his hair unruly and in need of a wash. He wore his arm in a sling and told me his ribcage had been heavily bandaged.

  ‘They’ve been.’

  ‘Yes – as you can see,’ he said dryly. ‘Fairly obvious, really.’

  ‘But you weren’t here?’

  ‘No. They took my painting.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Dmitry, we have to leave.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I don’t know but we can’t stay here; they’re onto us, they could be here any time. They found Petrov’s body and are shipping it over. They’ve discovered traces of his blood and they found the man who knocked, the neighbour. I have to do an identity parade. Once this man has recognised me, we’re done for.’

  His expression now remained impassive as he sat in the sofa, his elbows against the armrest, his fingers touching. Next to him, on the side-table, was a cup of tea gone cold.

  ‘Dmitry?’

  ‘What can I say, Maria? As you say, we’re done for. If they didn’t have someone trailing us before, they certainly will now. They’ll have us covered, they’ll know of every move we make from now on. And anyway, where would you suggest we go?’

  I hated the way he framed the question; it sounded so damn formal. But unfortunately, it was how he’d spoken ever since our return from the dacha. Things were not going well.

  ‘Anywhere.’

  ‘But where exactly, Maria? We could hardly return to the dacha; we don’t have enough money to start afresh somewhere new, and we could hardly turn up on the doorstep of some old relative of mine, even though I have dozens of them dotted around. How would I explain you? I couldn’t just turn up with a new girlfriend unannounced.’

  ‘Why did you say girlfriend in that tone of voice?’

  He looked startled by the accusation. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.’

  No, perhaps he hadn’t meant to, but he had. The death of Petrov had shocked him more than I initially appreciated. He seemed different now, it was almost as if he was resentful of me – that I’d come into his life and effectively destroyed it. I couldn’t blame him. This was meant to be the start of our lives with each other. But it wasn’t how I’d imagined it to be. There was no joy in our new-found freedom.

  He hadn’t mentioned that dreadful evening but I know, like me, it was never far from his mind. After we’d cleaned ourselves up, we set to cleaning away the evidence around the body. Silently, we wiped away the blood, and scrubbed the whole main room clean – twice. But still, as it proved, it was not enough. Dmitry winced continually as he worked, his arm and, especially, his ribcage hurting. Petrov, we left to last. The whole dacha looked as it should have except for the immediate area covered by the body. Dmitry needed to steel himself before even approaching it. He tried to pick Petrov up by the ankles but the trousers slipped back and Dmitry accidentally made contact with the skin. The unexpected texture of the skin went through him like an electric shock. He reeled back, his face aghast. Finally, we decided to roll the corpse up within a carpet. Psychologically, it made the job easier but Dmitry was still surprised by the heaviness of the corpse. I was not. I remembered very well the effort it took to carry first Nicola and then Natasha out into the woods behind the village, and they were a fraction of Petrov’s weight. Between us, we carried Petrov out into the cold night, across the garden and into the forest behind the dacha. How far we carried him, I don’t know but it seemed an immeasurable distance. Dmitry then returned to the dacha to fetch a spade. He was gone an age. I paced up and down swinging my arms around myself, desperately trying to keep warm.

  It took Dmitry such a long time to dig a hole – the ground was so hard and, despite his injuries, he refused my help. But he didn’t want to be left alone with the corpse so I had no choice but to endure the biting cold. All the time I felt on edge, half expecting to be discovered at any moment. But it was the middle of the night; no one was ever going to pass at this time in the pitch-black forest with the wind ripping at their faces. It hadn’t been the first time I’d found myself in such a situation.

  And how long did Petrov remain undisturbed? One day? Two? And now, he was being brought back to Moscow. It was like expecting a visit from a ghost. Dmitry and I were no closer now than we were while Petrov was still alive; if anything, we were further apart than ever. We seemed to be falling out of love as quickly as we’d fallen into it.

  ‘I don’t know, Maria, I don’t know what to do – except to wait for the inevitable.’

  Dmitry slumped back into the chair and closed his eyes, a tuft of black hair falling across his forehead.

  The knock on the door made us jump. We stared at each other. Had they come already? ‘Don’t answer it,’ I whispered.

  ‘We have to answer it.’

  Of course, he was right. They’d only break the door down; we were caught. I stood up and went to the door, my hand shaking madly. With my fingers gripped on the handle, I felt as if my life was about to take another turn for the worse. I opened the door, and there, standing in front of me with his hat in his hands, was Mikhail, his small round glasses shining under the hall light. I had to stop myself from throwing my arms around his neck, such was my relief.

  Dmitry’s relief was also evident as he stood to greet his old friend and patron. ‘Mikhail, you old dog, what a relief it’s only you,’ he said with a laugh.

  Mikhail smiled weakly. ‘I know the feeling,’ he said.

  ‘Well, it’s lovely to see you, come in, come in, take a seat.’

  Mikhail sat down on the settee and glanced around at his surroundings. ‘Have you been burgled?’ he asked.

  ‘If only.’

  ‘Hmm, I see.’ What little hair he had was greased back and positively shone. He turned down my offer of tea. ‘That’s a peculiar object.’ />
  ‘That’s my bear,’ I said. ‘Inside there’s a bottle of eau-du-cologne.’

  ‘How unusual.’

  ‘So,’ said Dmitry, ‘what brings you here?’

  Mikhail sat forward, his hands gripping his knees. ‘An ill wind, I’m afraid to say, old man. They’ve arrested Mamontov.’

  ‘What?’

  Rykov hadn’t hung around.

  Mikhail continued. ‘They took him in yesterday.’

  ‘It doesn’t necessarily mean anything.’

  ‘Are you kidding? You’ve always been too optimistic for your own good, Dmitry, how could it mean anything but the worse? They’ve got their claws out for us. RAPA’s as good as finished; it was only a matter of time. I always thought Mamontov was the mole but it looks like I was wrong. Someone else has been informing on us. Someone within our ranks. And for what? For following the Party line to the tee? We virtually gave up art as a pursuit of the talented and allowed ourselves to be straitjacketed into drawing-by-number industrialists, eulogising the hammer and sickle, and this is what we get. I don’t understand it. Perhaps, we were too dogmatic. We made too many enemies along the way, too critical of those who didn’t follow our path. I mean, that’s what I preached all along, we had to maintain a degree of tolerance, but oh no, idiots like Mamontov insisted there was no room for manoeuvre and look where it’s got us. We became so damn rigid, we couldn’t go back. And all we managed to achieve is to alienate those who could have supported us. So when Stalin wonders whether we’ve become too big for our boots, they’re in there like a shot. So, that’s the end of us. God knows what they’ll force out of Mamontov. Those bastards will have him in there now, pissing in his mouth, forcing him to implicate us all. He’ll tell them about me, he won’t have any choice.’

  ‘The Bukharin petition?’

  ‘Yes, my moment of madness. How proud I was of myself, standing up for a principle. But they executed him anyway and they’ll never allow me to forget that I signed that blasted piece of paper.’

  ‘I thought you’d publicly recanted,’ I said.

  ‘Yes but a fat lot of good that’ll do me now. You’ll be OK, old man, especially now that they’ve announced your award in Pravda.’

  ‘Have they?’

  ‘You’ve not seen? Good Lord, you must be the last to know. Did you not get a letter?’

  ‘No, I haven’t... not yet.’

  ‘Well, let me be the first to congratulate you, old man.’

  ‘Thank you. Thank you very much.’

  ‘Congratulations, Dmitry,’ I added.

  He smiled weakly. ‘Anyway, I’m not so sure it’ll protect me that much.’

  ‘No, of course not, nothing in life’s a certainty but there’s a chance you might survive a little longer than the rest of us. They won’t want to arrest you straight after honouring you with an award that’s got Lenin’s name on it, but be careful, they’ll have you within their sights, waiting – your time might come yet.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You may have enough time to ingratiate yourself into the next fad. If you can, use your award well, it might open doors for you, go wherever it takes you.’ I noticed a line of perspiration on his forehead.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ asked Dmitry.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Mikhail pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his scalp. ‘Just wait, I suppose. What else can I do?’

  ‘Mamontov might hold out.’

  ‘Fat chance, the spineless git. No, forgive me, I didn’t mean that.’ He blew his nose. ‘No one deserves to suffer at their hands. No one. In their hands, you’re guilty before innocent; what chance does anyone have?’

  Dmitry opened his mouth as if to say something but then thought better of it and kept his silence. What could we say to console him? There was no point in trying to persuade him he might be spared because we all knew he was right; the poor man was living on borrowed time.

  ‘I don’t mind so much about myself, it’s my wife and my boy. How’s it going to affect them? It’s just the thought of not seeing them again – that’s what terrifies me. I love them so much...’ The thought of his family was too much for Mikhail; he burst into tears, huge muffled sobs filled the air as he buried his face into his handkerchief. Up to this point, I’d been standing behind Dmitry’s armchair. Dmitry and I looked at each other, each reading the awkwardness in our thoughts. I hardly knew the man, but the sight of this proud man sobbing in front of me was too much to behold. A moment later, I found myself sitting next to him on the settee with my arm around his shoulders. His body jerked at my touch.

  Looking sideways at him, I wanted to say something but the words wouldn’t come. He blew his nose again with quite some force and wiped his eyes with the back of his hands.

  ‘Let me get you a tissue,’ said Dmitry.

  As soon as Dmitry was out of earshot, Mikhail whispered to me. ‘It was you, wasn’t it?’

  I felt my heartbeat quicken. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘It was you; I know it was.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It was you who informed on us. You have to tell Dmitry now, to warn him.’

  ‘I can’t tell him now.’

  ‘So you’re not denying it. If you don’t tell him this instant, I will.’

  Already, Dmitry was back. ‘Here we are, Misha.’

  ‘Thank you, old man. Forgive me for my undignified outburst, I – I couldn’t...’

  ‘Shush now,’ said Dmitry. ‘Don’t apologise, we understand.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said through his handkerchief. ‘That’s the problem, isn’t it? We all understand too well. It shouldn’t have to be like this but it is. That’s exactly how it is, this is the way we live, this is where communism has taken us, and I abhor it for what it’s done to us.’ He paused for a few moments and took a deep breath. ‘They’re taking all of us, one by one. It’s my turn next; it’s no use pretending otherwise. And then, it could be you next, you can never tell. When is your award ceremony old man, is it tomorrow? I’ve lost track of time.’

  ‘Yes, tomorrow – Labour Day.’

  ‘So it is. I’ll try and come along, if I can.’

  Dmitry smiled. ‘Yes, do. I’d like that.’

  They talked more but I felt unable to listen. I wanted to be sick. How did Mikhail know? What could I do?

  ‘We’re like a row of dominoes,’ said Dmitry, quietly to himself.

  ‘A row of what?’

  ‘Dominoes. Remember, Mikhail, me saying that to you? One falls, we all fall. I never actually thought it would happen though – not to us.’

  ‘So, what do you think, then, eh, Maria?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Who do think our mole is? Who’s the wolf in sheep’s clothing?’

  ‘I... I really don’t know. You sure you wouldn’t like that cup of tea?’

  Just as I thought my heart might cave in, there was another knock on the door.

  ‘That’s Anna, my sister,’ said Dmitry.

  ‘How do you know?’ asked Mikhail.

  ‘It’s her knock.’

  I’d never been so relieved to see her. She’d come, she said, to offer her brother her congratulations – she’d seen the announcement in Pravda. As Anna, Dmitry and Mikhail chatted, I wandered round the room, trying to look nonchalant. In the corner, behind an armchair, I found what I was looking for. Quickly, I bent down, and pulled the telephone wire from its socket.

  ‘You all right, Maria?’

  ‘What? Yes, I thought I saw a button on the floor but it wasn’t.’

  ‘This could make you famous,’ said Anna. ‘Everyone will know your name now. Just think,’ she said to Mikhail, ‘my brother – the famous artist.’

  ‘And we in RAPA are very proud of him. Listen, old man, I ought to go. I just wanted to come and say my farewells – just in case. I’ve got to... to make the most of it. It could be our last night together as a family.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ I said. />
  ‘Leaving so soon?’ said Dmitry.

  ‘Shopping. You know.’

  ‘I’ll wait for you to get your coat,’ said Mikhail, waiting by the door.

  ‘Go out the back way,’ said Dmitry, looking out the window.

  ‘Nice to see you again, Anna,’ I said. ‘Sorry to have to rush.’

  As Mikhail turned to leave, he said to Dmitry, ‘Pray for me.’ And with that, we were gone.

  *

  Mikhail walked fast and I had to trot to keep up with him. ‘Please, Misha, if I tell him it would destroy us.’

  ‘And if you don’t tell him, they will destroy him. And don’t call me Misha – we don’t know each other that well. Anyway, I thought you had a husband?’

  ‘Had. He walked out on me.’

  ‘He did? How strange. Where would he go?’ He stopped abruptly. ‘So, why did you do it?’

  ‘I had no choice. How did you know?’

  ‘Obvious. You come to one meeting and then next minute they arrest Mamontov. A coincidence, I thought. But no, I knew it was you.’

  ‘Like I say, I had no choice.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry for you, Maria Radekovna, but, frankly, I have more pressing concerns, including what will happen to my friend Dmitry.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s five o’clock. I give you two hours to tell him. I might not have much time. I will phone him at exactly seven. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’

  ‘But Mikhail, please...’

  He didn’t stop. I watched him march off, his hands deep in his pockets. I tried to think, to pull together my jumbled thoughts. OK, so he rings Dmitry at seven. Will Dmitry have spotted the disconnected telephone wire? Probably not. So, Misha, Mikhail, gets a dead line. If he thinks it’s his last night of freedom, would he be prepared to go out in the dark to tell his friend directly? Possibly. I had to assume he would. And how would Dmitry react if he knew? Even if I told him the reasons he would still feel betrayed, I was sure. Would he hate me so much to tell the police about Petrov? Unlikely, I thought, but I had to make sure it didn’t get that far. I knew what I had to do – and the thought turned me cold.

  I waited a few moments before following Mikhail. He never looked back; it didn’t occur to him that I might follow him. I made a note of where I was going, mentally leaving behind a trail of breadcrumbs. We wound down through various backstreets until we came to a small square, Bolshaya Square, with a fountain at its centre. I saw him enter a block of apartments and, stepping into the entrance of a building opposite, I watched. Sure enough, after a minute or so, I saw a light come on – third floor. I wondered whether his family were in. I saw him come to the window. I stepped back into the shadows. When I looked again, he was gone.