3.
Lissie found Nazar on the Bund: he was offering to take pedestrians’ photographs. He was from Vladivostok and used to serve as a runner in a photo studio on Svetlanskaya Street. His mother, a train station waitress, found cigarettes in his pockets and threw him out of the house. By some fluke of fate, Nazar happened to be in the crowd of refugees on the Mongugai, one of Admiral Stark’s ships. Since then, the boy had been just hanging around between sky and earth.
When the squadron had left Gensan, four steamers stayed in the harbor under the Cossack General Glebov: the Japanese gave his men work making railway embankments. In half a year, Okhotsk, Mongugai, Zaschitnik and Eldorado followed the rest of the fleet to Shanghai, but the authorities strictly banned the landing of the Cossacks. There were eight hundred and fifty men—all young, single and armed, and the city fathers had no idea what to do with them.
The steamers stayed opposite Wusong fortress—with no fuel or supplies; and Nazar, like Klim, fled his ship on a Chinese junk.
He had neither friends, nor relatives. He didn’t speak languages. The only treasure he had was a battered camera he stole from his boss’s studio.
“How did you take pictures of people on the Bund, if you don’t have flash powder or chemical agents?” Klim asked Nazar.
The boy took offence. “Stop harassing me like an imperialistic shark! It’s their own fault; they should pay me better.”
It worked like this: Nazar would take a dollar and promise to bring the pictures the following day…and never did. With this money, he would eat in a canteen called Naiad, where tablecloths were like dames’ skirts with frills. Nazar’s life was a constant search for money and a constant escape from angry clients.
Somehow, Nazar managed to sweet talk Lissie into giving him a shot and, to Klim’s great surprise, the boy turned out to be a skillful photographer.
At nine, Nazar arrived to the House of Hope with his huge camera and a tripod. He wore a boater, a short worn-out jacket and Chinese sandals.
“Where are we going?” asked Nazar, squeezing with Klim into an overcrowded tram. “To a woman? What does she look like? I really like pretty ones. If she’s ugly or crippled—no, no, not my type, don’t even come close to me.”
Klim wanted to think of Nina, but a photo camera was sticking painfully into his back and Nazar’s strained voice haunted him from behind. “The former Russian Consul General in Shanghai is a German with a hooknose—Grosse is his last name! The Chinese asked him out of the Consulate—and you know what he did? He gave them everything, even the portraits of the Royal Family. He used to have a safe of money—a hundred and sixty thousand rubles, plus some coins. We’re here in need, just surviving, and what did he do to help? He sent the money to France, to some grand dukes! Maybe they are not that grand? Maybe just some ragamuffins?”
Nazar was diligently and scrupulously following the news about the political life of the Russian community and exhausted Klim with all the details about what meetings were held and what was decided.
At that moment, a Chinese man dressed in a uniform demanded Nazar show him his tram ticket.
“What’s your problem, damn Chink?” the boy roared. “Why would I care that you’re a controller? Maybe I’m also a controller, even more important than you!”
Klim apologized in front of the Chinese man.
“I gave you the money for the ticket, where is it now?” he asked Nazar in a low voice.
Nazar opened his eyes as wide as he could. “It was him!” he motioned his finger somewhere in the crowd. “It was him! He stole!”
“Nazar, are you an idiot?”
“Me? I just—”
“Get out of the tram.”
“Holy cow! What a neighborhood!” gasped Nazar, when they came to Nina’s house. “So, our femme fatale lives here? She probably won’t receive us; talks too high and has an attitude. We better watch that she doesn’t let the dogs out on us.”
Klim ignored him.
The door was opened by a maid.
“Good heavens!” Nazar raved. “Seen that? The stairway is real marble, no doubt. And the carpet—”
“Leave the shoe horn alone,” Klim snapped at him. “Don’t even think about stealing from here!
He was so anxious he was shivering. Nina always wanted a house like this: with white curtain-sails that are drawn out of the windows, with a subtle smell of a fireplace, which had been started not for warmth, but to sit and read in front of it.
“Come in, please,” said the maid after announcing the arrival of the guests to her mistress.
“They’re just like trained dogs here,” hissed Nazar.
Nina came out of a room. She wore a blue dress with a white collar. She stumbled a little over the corner of the carpet, lost her shoe and put it on again. Klim’s throat tightened; he tried to remember her, the whole of her, while she was joyful and glowing.
“Hello,” she said. “Oh, you’re not alone?”
Klim couldn’t allow Nazar to spoil everything.
“It’s our photographer,” he said quickly in English, on purpose so that the boy wouldn’t understand. “Send him to the servants’ quarters or somewhere else.”
Nina nodded, “Okay.”
Klim wanted to be free and business-like and here he was, straight from the door demanding intimacy.
Nazar was sent to the kitchen.
“But when will I be taking pictures?” he asked.
“Later!” Klim and Nina replied in unison. They exchanged glances, became shy and pretended that nothing had happened.
Breakfast was served on the terrace. The sharp top of a cypress cast a shadow pointing towards Nina, like a compass needle. She was sitting in a wicker armchair; her maid placed a soft bolster behind her back. Nina had put on a little weight, but looked wonderful. Klim noticed she quite often shrugged and couldn’t remember her having this habit before.
“How’re you doing?” she asked.
“I work at a magazine.”
“As a courier?”
“As an editor-in-chief. Well…and as a writer for anything that life throws at us.”
“Really?”
Nina was watching him from a safe distance, with a table and politeness separating them. She was listening as he blabbed about editorial staff meetings, articles and interviews. Klim felt as if he was again sliding on wet clay into the abyss: trying to captivate her, surprise her, tie her to him. She didn’t need any of it.
He cut his own ramblings short. “Let’s get to business.”
Quickly, he asked her questions made up by Mrs. Wayer. Nina answered with sterile half-truths about herself, where the minor things became the major ones.
Klim called for the photographer. “Your Excellency, could you please turn your beautiful head to the side a bit?” Nazar asked, fussing about. “Attention! Say cheese!”
They parted dryly.
“I’m happy you are well,” said Nina.
Klim shook her hand and suddenly realized: She is pregnant! It was about her fourth or fifth month.
He came out on the porch and walked to the gates.
Nazar scurried nearby. “Have you seen her pearls? I bet those are not from the market, Kun and Co store at least, or somewhere even better. When I saw this madam my throat went dry straight away. I have a soft spot for fine manners. Ah…catch me: I’m falling in love with her.
Seriously, I am!” “Shut up!” snapped Klim.
Since May, our meeting near Lincheng—about five months passed. Can it be possible that it’s my baby?
“Why shut up straight away?” grumbled Nazar. “If women don’t think much of Russian men, we aren’t even allowed to love them? They of course need a passport—an American one or something else. Without a passport no one will even look at you.”
“I left something,” said Klim and quickly headed back to the house.
Nina opened the door—as if she was waiting for him to return. “What’s the matter?”
For a
second, Klim was lost for words. “Who’s the father?” he asked roughly.
“You are.”
“Sure?”
Nina smiled softly. “Two choices: either you or the Holy Spirit.”
“Nina—” He rushed to hug her, changed his mind, stopped, didn’t know what to do.
“Go home,” she said.
He took her hand and kissed it.
“What were you talking about?” asked Nazar, when Klim caught up with him.
He twiddled the shoehorn in his hands, which he had taken from the lobby after all.
“Give it here!” roared Klim.
He put it in his pocket and days later still carried it with him—like a trophy.
CHAPTER 28
TANGO MUSIC
1.
Nina couldn’t believe she was going to have a baby.
“How do you know?” she asked Qin angrily.
Her amah smiled, “Do you think I haven’t seen anyone pregnant before?”
When a doctor confirmed Qin’s words, Nina was horrified. How would she explain the child to everyone? How could she give birth with the prospect of being thrown in jail hanging over her head? What would Daniel say when he came back? However, she didn’t give a damn what he would say—let him worry about his precious Edna.
Nina exhausted herself with self-chastising. Why did I invite Klim that night?
Desperate, she visited Tamara. “You know everyone. … My friend got pregnant, but she doesn’t want children. Maybe you know a doctor? The one who can…you know…”
“Come here,” Tamara ordered.
Nina moved close on her suddenly shaky legs. Tamara’s face was dispassionate.
“Was it Mr. Bernard?”
Nina shook her head, “My ex-husband. We met by accident…”
“Then don’t kid yourself. Keep the baby—I have no other advice for you. Children are the best thing in the world.”
Nina returned home and sat on her bed feeling half dead from her helpless anger. Everyone is against me!
She cried till it was dark outside and fell asleep, still in her dress and shoes.
Since the night with Klim, the nightmare of the headless rooster had never come back to haunt her dreams.
Tamara said that if you don’t betray your child, it will never betray you. If you have children then you will never be alone again, even if you want to be.
Nina gradually became used to the thought of having a baby. She even considered telling Klim.
She stopped arranging her balls and told Jiří to reduce liquor orders to the bare minimum—a case a week, not more. She had saved some money, which would probably last till the end of the year, and then she would work something out. Maybe sell the collection of Asian art.
To be on the safe side, Nina decided to hide it in a different place. Daniel turned out to be a traitor, he couldn’t be trusted: who knows, maybe he’d already told someone about the immoral treasure kept in her wardrobe? Nina carefully sealed the boxes and moved them to a Chinese furniture dealer she knew. For a small fee he agreed to give her a storage room above his shop.
Nina needed to look for buyers, but she had no energy for that. The necessity of business made her painfully annoyed.
Once Lemoine visited her. “General Glebov is selling a dissembled Avro 504. Let’s buy it?”
“What?” Nina didn’t understand.
“Avro, a two-seater airplane! Maximum speed is ninety miles per hour, engine—eighty horse power.” For some time, Lemoine described to her all the wonders of the aircraft. Nina watched him with a numb look. Which airplanes? Which engines? Had he gone crazy?
“If you don’t like Avro, let’s do another business,” offered Lemoine. “Glebov wants to sell one of his ships for scrap metal.”
Nina kicked him out.
Something incredible and massive was happening to her, a tectonic shift, a wild cataclysm. The very thought of wasting her time on scrap metal seemed monstrous to Nina.
The servants had blabbed to Jiří about the baby and he ran to her. “People will definitely think it’s mine—and it’s not!”
At first, Nina didn’t realize what he was talking about.
“Remove it, it’s not too late!” Jiří carried on.
Blood rushed to Nina’s face. She jumped up, clenching her fists. “Don’t you dare! Just blurt something about my child and I’ll kill you!”
Jiří fled the room and Nina for a while lashed about her office, furious like a she-bear. She threw up.
Having caught her breath, she rushed downstairs, found Jiří and slapped him in the face. “You’ll answer to me if something happens because of you!”
The wound caused by Daniel had healed suddenly. The world was changing in front of Nina. Street smells, petroleum gas, tobacco and peanut butter were all sickening. Homeless mothers with children would make her shudder with horror. Nina couldn’t think of anything but her baby. Her greatest pleasure was to raid a toy store or a workshop where they made toys for infants. Her greatest turmoil was thoughts about her child’s citizenship: when the baby arrived, she would need to arrange documents. And how? Would she really have to buy fakes? In her child’s life, nothing should be fake!
She had strange pregnant dreams about Lemoine with made-up eyes, or conversations with her mother—over a coconut. She put a half of a coconut shell to her ear and talked—the connection was wonderful.
Good God, Nina missed her mother! Mother was one of those women whose life’s purpose was her children. She didn’t ask anything for herself: when she bought an apple, she would cut it not into three, but into two parts: for Nina and George, her younger brother. They would always have new clothes, even though Mother wore the same things for years. She was petite, slouching and inconspicuous, though at the same time incredibly strong. Only much later did Nina realize what a huge undertaking it was for Mother to bring up two children by herself and give them an education.
When Nina got married to Odintsov, she tried to express her gratitude toward her dear Mom. But all her presents would invariably end up at their relatives and friends. Not to make Nina upset, Mother would secretly send relatives brand new outfits, bric-a-brac and food. When Nina found out, Mother would become embarrassed like a misbehaved school-girl. “Vera Semenovna has fallen on very hard times—her son took to alcohol,” she tried to justify herself.
Nina was trying to pull her out of this world of Vera Sevenovnas with their drinking sons and idiot husbands—wanted Mother to finally realize that she should also treat herself, at least now. But Nina’s efforts were in vain. Mother was like a shoemaker who could not afford to buy the shoes he made: she wouldn’t allow herself to enjoy her children’s gratitude.
In the summer of 1914, Nina sent Mother to Germany, to the spa-resort town of Baden. The war was declared and the frontline tore them apart. Several months later, Nina received a letter from a stranger, informing her that Mother had died of an unknown disease.
No one ever knew how bitterly Nina wept for her. The only solace was that Mother never would know that George was shot by the Bolsheviks in 1918 for being involved in an anti-Soviet coup.
Now, Nina’s spare time was spent at Aulman’s. Tamara knew all about motherhood; her boys were healthy and energetic like young wolf cubs. She was very proud of them and could endlessly discuss issues of feeding and upbringing.
But sometimes she would become unbearable for Nina: “So, where’s your husband? Why don’t you tell him you’re expecting a baby?”
Nina didn’t know how to answer this. Klim wasn’t a shiny gentleman like Daniel Bernard; moreover, he was on the lowest rung of white society. It wasn’t even possible to bring him to Tamara’s house, to say nothing of Nina’s other acquaintances. But Klim would have loved her baby. Nina knew from experience that for children the most important thing was love, they didn’t care what their parents worked as.
When Klim called, Nina was beside herself with joy. She had decided to sacrifice her pride for the
child’s happiness—let it have a father.
But when Klim arrived, suddenly it turned out he didn’t need any of her charitable favors. As always, he was charming and as always he was her dearest one, her soul mate. … But if she used to be delighted, annoyed or frightened by it all—depending on the circumstances—now she’d become numb, as if she’d crushed something very fragile and suddenly realized how irreparable it was.
I’m a traitor, Nina thought in panic. I left him in deep water when he most needed my support. I bartered him for Daniel Bernard, who didn’t give a damn about me.
Nina watched Klim with a frozen polite smile, praying he would leave as soon as possible. The feeling of guilt was unbearable. When Klim finally ended her turmoil and closed the door behind him, Nina nearly groaned with pain. Thank God, he didn’t understand I’m pregnant; thank God it was all over. Klim returned a minute later. He had noticed her pregnancy after all.
Nina told him he was the father and her words sounded like a villainess’s attempt to beg for mercy, to protect and justify herself by her pregnancy.
The door slammed again and Nina, now completely exhausted, dragged herself to the bedroom: to weep, to pummel her pillow with her fists and to whisper I hate you. She didn’t know whether she was talking about Klim or about herself.
2.
Those who believe happiness can’t be bought for money simply don’t know where it is sold.
Ada knew just the right place, the little shop where a red sign hung with the words, Small Appliances and Musical Equipment.
Two steps over the porch; Ada placed her wet umbrella into a special bucket and her raincoat—onto a hanger. Now she was all ready to go around the isles and rummage through all the treasures. The place overflowed with gramophones with shiny horns, electrical kettles, typing machines, vacuum cleaners, toasters and telephones for home and for the office, the ones with a slot on the top for coins.
The shop assistant, Mario, was agile and elegant. He would pull a record from a shelf, place a gramophone needle down and look at Ada with exuberant eyes. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
Ada went there every week.
“Last night they delivered a new phonograph Victrola,” he said in a conspiratorial voice. “Model 215, straight from New Jersey. All parts are made from pure nickel. Look at the label—the engine has two springs! It comes with a supply of needles and instructions: How to Achieve Best Results with Your Victrola.”
White Shanghai Page 21
