One-Eyed stepped aside, letting Nina through a narrow door. Lemoine was on his bed, peeling an orange. His prosthetic legs were off and his trouser legs tied up high. A dead cigarette hung off his lip.
“Why didn’t you go to dinner in the passenger lounge?” Nina asked, sitting on a firm stool screwed to the floor.
“Stuff them,” Lemoine snorted. “You know who is going with us? I’ll tell you: Fanya Borodina, an old hog—the wife of Chiang Kai-shek’s main political adviser.”
“Why are you so unhappy with her?”
“Because she’s a hog nosing around, she even turned up at our airfield asking questions!”
Lemoine’s mouth was full as he went on and on about Borodina’s visit. From all his chatter, Nina understood one thing: Fanya had called him a thief and a profiteer.
“She’s sneaking to Hankou to see her husband,” Lemoine said, scratching his ribs. “She comes along with Soviet diplomatic couriers. We know this crowd. I wouldn’t be surprised if yesterday’s factory workers’ revolt was their doing. Mikhail Borodin deliberately sends activists to Shanghai to trigger upheavals. But they didn’t succeed this time, that’s why they’re going back.”
Nina was dying with curiosity to have a look at real Bolsheviks. The trip to Hankou would take several days and most likely, she would meet them somehow. But what if they recognized her as bourgeoisie?
I should have taken a simpler coat, Nina regretted. An astrakhan fur-coat is not proletarian at all.
After dinner, she went outside. It was bleak and humid. She walked the length of the ship several times. A sailor on duty followed her with his stare, but didn’t say a thing.
The huge porthole of the passenger lounge was lit brightly. Suddenly it flew open and clouds of tobacco smoke poured out.
“Let’s have some fresh air; I can’t breathe!” Nina heard a cheerful woman’s voice.
Nina stood on tiptoes to see what was going on inside. Three men and a large, dark-haired woman of about thirty-five sat around a table. Fanya Borodina, Nina guessed.
“Okay, so which song?” a pale four-eyes asked, holding a guitar.
Fanya squashed her cigarette stub in a tin. “Let’s do Through the Wood and Hills.” She started tapping the rhythm on her knee.
Through the dales and hills advancing,
our troops go on and on
to take Far East coast land, chancing
our fate at Whites’ stronghold.
Nina was astonished. It was the marching song of the White Army soldiers repackaged with new lyrics.
The communists even steal their enemies’ music! she thought in confusion. However, they did sing nicely together.
Nina hadn’t seen such a friendly Russian gathering in such a long time: with a guitar, tea in table-glasses and ornamental glass-holders, even lump sugar in a saucer.
Fanya came to the porthole. “Why are you standing here all alone?” she asked in good English.
Nina was embarrassed and pulled back.
“Join us!”
“I’m Russian.”
The men in the lounge exchanged glances. “Are you one of the White emigrants?” the one with a guitar asked.
“Yes.”
“Then, that’s even more reason to join us,” Fanya waved her hand. “It will be very interesting for you and my comrades to take a look at each other. Would you like some tea?”
CHAPTER 72
A POLITICAL PRISONE
1.
Felix sat on a log watching soldiers cross the Yangtze River. He shivered, despite his great coat and officer’s cap, thinking about the morning message from headquarters:
Attend to all civilians, especially the women and factory workers.
Another one read,
Strictly forbidden to perform intercourse with women: they are promiscuous, and this act could lead to a bad end.
The officers amused themselves for a whole day. “Sorry, ladies, we can’t come too close, but we’ll try our best to attend.”
Look who’s talking, we’re like homeless whores ourselves, Felix thought. Serving these damn Chinks, wasting our lives on some old bullshit.
The White Army officers kept coming from Manchuria, Peking and Tianjin, all to serve the Dogmeat General. They came with one dream: We’ll revive the White Army, sort out the Chinese communists and then annihilate the Russian ones.
Dream on!
In May of 1926, their leader, Nechaev, had his leg blown off. While he recovered in hospital, his officers started to fight amongst each other. Many of them had taken to the bottle.
Nobody wanted to stick his neck out to stop the moral degradation of the army. Admiral Trukhachev, advisor Merkulov and the Chinese commander of the 65th division were making a killing from the liquor trade.
The situation with army rations was worse. Supply officers would only buy food from profiteers who paid them bribes. All weapons were of different calibers, seven machine guns out of sixteen had to be thrown away. Everything was half-broken or worn-out. Achieving precision firing was impossible.
Felix and Seraphim were lucky. Major-General Kostrov recognized Seraphim from the old days and insisted on appointing him as the army chaplain. The two were assigned to the armored train, the Great Wall. This was the only place where everything seemed to be in good order, compared to the Chinese divisions which were in total chaos. The Dogmeat’s soldiers were not interested in the position of the enemy, but in the position of the enemy’s food supplies. It was cold comfort that the Revolutionary Army was in exactly the same situation as they were.
On a trampled river bank, Chinese soldiers smashed into each other trying to get into junks. A cavalry squadron galloped up, their commander instantly began arguing with the infantry: he needed to get his horses across the river.
Felix squashed his smoking cigarette stub under his heel. Father Seraphim appeared, his beard running wild up to his eyes, wearing padded coat decorated with a Red Cross armband.
“How’s it going? Any news?” he asked Felix. “Are they gonna give us money or not? They owe us five months pay—that’s no laughing matter.”
Felix shoved his wind-frozen hands into his sleeves. “The Dogmeat probably thinks we have nowhere else to go,” he muttered, menacingly. “And we, like his narrow-eyed, will only serve for food.”
Sadly, it was true: they had nowhere else to go. They didn’t fight for money, but to scrape on for just one more day. If they were taken prisoner, they were horribly tortured before being executed.
A cannon shot was heard far away. Felix lifted his eyes and saw a little steamer chugging from around a turn in the river.
2.
The story would have been very different if the Chinese Admiral Hu hadn’t happened to be at the river crossing. Before his promotion to admiral, Hu worked in Shanghai for the Russian Voluntary Fleet, or Dobroflot, and knew all Russian steamers in the Far East.
He instantly recognized the Commemoration of Lenin by its silhouette. He ran in circles shouting, “It’s a Soviet steamer! Captain Grossberg is an old Bolshevik, he was the one who busted through the fuel blockade in Canton to supply the revolutionaries with oil and coal. I’m sure that’s him carrying a load of weapons to Hankou.”
The artillery gave a warning shot and the steamer dropped anchor. Felix volunteered to examine the ship.
He interrogated the captain and his mates and then thumbed through their landing and consignment documents. According to the papers, Commemoration of Lenin was going to Hankou to pick up a load of tea and was now transporting spare parts for a power plant.
“They keep their smuggled goods in the coal bunker,” Admiral Hu prompted.
Felix threw the bills onto the floor. “Sedykh, Neverov,” he called his men, “start the search. Place all the crew under arrest. All passengers are to be confined to the lounge.”
3.
Lemoine refused to leave his cabin.
“I’m a subject of His Majesty,” he roared from behind his door
. “I have extraterritoriality rights!”
It was a sticky situation. If the Russian mercenaries discovered he’d served in the Revolutionary Army, it was curtains for him. They would hand him to the Dogmeat’s people who would hack him to pieces. Fanya Borodina would definitely spill the beans about his origins.
The door started to rock as Russians used their gun butts to pummel it. Blast it! One-Eyed isn’t here—there’s no one to help. Paul Marie pulled himself up to the open porthole, took out his revolver and threw it overboard.
He rolled up his trouser-legs, so the Russians would see immediately that he was a helpless cripple and wouldn’t do anyone any harm.
Only one hinge now held the door. Lemoine made a pitiful face. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, I can’t open it—no legs…”
But he didn’t have a chance to finish his lament as the steely gaze of Felix Rodionov fell on him.
“Petrenko, interrogate all the other passengers. I’ll deal with this one,” he commanded.
Lemoine was greatly relieved. Felix sat on the bed, angry, his lips eaten by blistering sores.
“What are you doing on a Soviet steamer?”
Lemoine moved his shoulders, glanced at Felix askew. “They forced me,” he wailed in a heart-churning voice. “They stole me straight from my house and said that if I don’t assemble an airplane for them, they’d do something horrible to me.”
“What airplane?” Felix frowned.
“Fanya Borodina, wife of the chief political advisor, bought it in Shanghai. It’s a dissembled airplane and now she’s taking it to Hankou, to her people. I’m so happy you saved me!” Lemoine started to vigorously shake Felix’s hand. “Out of gratitude, I’m ready to assemble the airplane for your army. No one in all China can make it fly, except me. Never in the Dogmeat’s wildest dreams could he have a specialist such as me.”
CHAPTER 73
THE PROSTITUTE NAMED MESSALINA
1.
The Christmas tree had shed almost all its needles. Disheveled and miserable, a creature of sticks, congealed candle wax and colorful paper garlands. Klim ordered the servants to clean everything up.
I hope Kitty won’t cry.
He remembered his childhood. Several days before Christmas, their concierge would squeeze a beautiful fur tree through the door, all covered in droplets of melted snow. Klim wasn’t allowed close. “It’s from outside, it’s frosty; you’ll catch a nasty cold!” his nanny would say. But he was dying to touch it.
Before Christmas Eve, the entrance to the living room was strictly forbidden. A nanny would chase Klim from the keyhole. When he couldn’t bare it any longer the doors would be opened. Klim, his heart almost bursting in excitement, would enter the hall. Shimmering candles, sparklers and glass beads. On the tree, silver walnuts and apples revolving slowly on thin threads.
No words could describe such a delight! He would reverently unwrap his presents and tear around the house, not knowing any other way to express his joy, but shrieking in a loud, exultant voice. The fur- tree and everything around it seemed magical.
But after the Epiphany, the concierge would take the tree away and throw it in a pile of snow in the backyard. Wrapped tightly in his fur-coat, Klim would clumsily try to clean snow stuck to the dead branches, asking for forgiveness.
I didn’t save it and now it’s too late. Powerlessness and fatality: the festive season was over and nothing would change that.
He felt the same after Nina’s departure.
Klim still worked at the radio station, joked his jokes, told his audience that the military governor Sun Chuanfang had lost faith in victory and taken his army north to keep safe. The troops of the Dogmeat General had returned to Shanghai. They were the ones who were going to protect the city from the Revolutionary Army.
“Where’s Mommy?” Kitty kept asking. “Do you miss her, Daddy?”
What could he answer?
My love resembles embers: you stoke it and little fire crackles with sparks, but soon extinguishes again. Ada once said, “When you love someone, you can’t live without that person.” That’s not true: you cannot live without yourself. Without others you can, but it’s not enjoyable.
Fools learn from their own mistakes, clever ones—from the mistakes of others. So, child, learn your lessons. Your Mommy ceased to love Daddy because he wasn’t up to her ideals, and what was more awful, he didn’t want to change. He’s not a duke, a commander or a millionaire. She considered it shameful to introduce him to her high-ranked friends, people who most of all dread to show their true inner selves and find that no one is impressed.
You see, daughter, our society thinks that only a “perfect” person is worthy of being happy. If you don’t conform to the standard, then you either have to play somebody else’s role or brand your forehead I’m a loser and don’t hope for anything better.
Bullshit!
Never judge by one criteria: career, appearance, intelligence, nationality, whatever it is. Otherwise, you’ll miss the most important thing. People are multifaceted creatures. A smart person could well turn out to be a scumbag, but a loser could have a heart of gold.
All in all, Kitty, don’t reject anything straight away. Never hunt for some ideal man. Firstly, you’ll never find him. Ideal people, like distilled water, don’t exist in nature. And secondly, don’t believe those who try to prove to you that they’re ideal. It would only mean that they’re lying mannequins.
“Daddy, where’s Mommy?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart.”
“When she’s coming back?”
“I don’t know.”
2.
Tamara smiled as Klim arrived. She put aside her Virginia Woolf’s novel.
“You don’t have to tell me how you’re doing.” She motioned to a big polished radio next to her armchair. “I’m always listening to you.”
“The only news you don’t know is Nina has left me,” Klim said and sat on a little bench at her feet.
He told Tamara about new radio programs and about the Don who’d bought himself a wonder of technology called a parachute. Now the crazy Mexican wanted to find a place to jump off without breaking his neck.
Tamara wished she could take Klim’s hand and press it to her lips. But the three feet between them were beyond her reach.
“You know what one boy taught me?” she said, interrupting herself on some clever phrase. “It’s not important what people around us are trying to be. And it’s no use blaming them: we can’t change them. But we can change our own mind. It’s an amazing gift: we are given the ability to reinvent ourselves and, by our own desire, become kind, graceful, wise…”
“And happy?”
Tamara nodded. “The rest of the world—it’s only a reflection in our eyes. A person decides by himself what he can do and what he can’t; who he should obey and who he shouldn’t. The main questions are: Who am I? and What am I like?”
Klim smiled, forlornly. “I’m probably the vengeful offspring of a state attorney who’s decided he’ll only win the case if the maximum penalty is given to the person on trial.”
“Don’t blame yourself!” Tamara exclaimed. “All is not lost—”
She didn’t have time to finish as Tony walked into the room—he’d just returned from his office.
“Hello, my darling. I’ll interrupt you for a second: I need to talk to Mr. Rogov. Could you please come to my study?”
3.
Aulman was pale; his pupils kept jumping from Klim’s face to a piece of paper on the table.
“Tell me it’s a joke.”
Klim looked at it.
Dear Tony:
I’m in Nanking. I was arrested and am now a prisoner on suspicion of helping the communists.
Please, save me.
Nina
“Where’s this note from?” Klim asked, feeling cold.
“Is it Nina’s handwriting?”
“Yes.”
“The note was dropped in my postbox,” Tony said. “No
t at my home, but at the office. Why didn’t she write to you? Why was she in Nanking at all?”
Though he had answers, Klim was silent.
“I tried to warn her, but she never listened to me,” he finally managed to say. “Will you…will you come with me to Nanking?”
Tony drummed his fingers on the table. “The Dogmeat’s troops are there now. … But, on the other hand, the Yangtze River is patrolled by the Royal Navy, so nothing too scary can happen.”
“Will you come?” Klim repeated with a strained voice.
Aulman shrugged, “Yes. I suppose I will. … I have an interest there, too. Your wife took several boxes with valuable assets into her keeping. And I have no idea where she hid them.”
What a scumbag! Klim thought in despair. She sold somebody else’s valuables! Hopefully, Tony wouldn’t know anything until the right time.
Aulman bent close to Klim’s ear. “Don’t tell Tamara where we’re going and what for. Let’s say, I have urgent business in Qingdao.”
4.
Green slopes, a river colored like milky tea, a carved pagoda silhouette lurking in bluish fog. On the train to Nanking, soldiers tried to harass Aulman and Klim, but backed off when both men shouted at them in Shanghainese.
“Enjoy the city,” Aulman said as they reached the overcrowded train station full of refugees and idle military men. “It’s an ancient capital and a cultural oasis.”
The rickshaw brought them to the huge gloomy fortress of Nanking prison. Dozens of criminals sat along the wall with wooden fetters around their necks.
Klim felt cold, deaf and wordless—all feelings numbed. His eyes only caught annoying details: like when Tony laughed and a thin thread of saliva stretched between his upper and lower lips. The unbearable reek of smoked sausages came from a basket near their legs. The basket contained a care package for Klim’s arrested wife: a warm woolen blanket, three pairs of stockings, an English-Chinese phrase-book and antiseptics. Oh God, all of it was so unlike Nina!
The prison warden said Nina was captured on the Soviet steamer Commemoration of Lenin, together with her relative Fanya Borodina and three diplomatic couriers. They were arrested for an attempt to overthrow the government and illegal transportation of weapons. They were initially kept under house arrest then transferred to Nanking jail. Later, the Dogmeat General gifted them to his ally, a Manchu warlord called Zhang Zuolin, and the prisoners had been moved to Peking for a court hearing.
White Shanghai Page 54
