by Judith Gould
Hearing a volley of nearby shots followed by a cheering roar, Senda stepped to the French window, parted the curtains a hairline crack, and ventured to peer out. She drew in her breath sharply and stood very still. Through the icy glass she could see yet another of the uncountable manifestations of violence. Directly across the frozen river another building was going up in flames. Sparks exploded through billowing smoke, their fiery spores racing skyward in the wind. The dancing orange glow was mirrored on the ice-sheathed river, doubling the terrible sight.
The thunderous cheers that accompanied the burning sounded like the crowd in a sports stadium. It was a long moment before she realized whose home it was.
Why, it's Mathilde Kschessinska's mansion! Senda thought with growing horror. What could they possibly have against a ballerina? Aren't even artists safe from this madness?
Fleetingly she thought of how often the prima ballerina had been part of her Sunday salons; how Tamara had idolized her. Indeed, one of Tamara's prize possessions was the paste crown Mathilde had worn in a performance of Sleeping Beauty, and it occupied the place of honour among the treasures in Tamara's bookshelves.
And now Mathilde's mansion had been put to the torch.
Senda could only hold her breath and pray that her friend had somehow escaped the mob and found safety.
'Mama? What's going on?' a tiny voice asked from behind her.
Senda let the curtain fall back in place and turned slowly to face her daughter. The sight of the girl tore at her heart. Tamara's eyes were wide with fear, and her cheeks were wet with tear tracks. She was dragging her favourite teddy bear by the arm.
'It's. nothing, angel,' Senda lied softly, reaching for her daughter's quivering hand. She tried to compose her own tautly frightened features. 'Everything is fine.'
'But when I looked out my window—'
'I thought I told you to stay away from the windows!' Senda hissed, her voice suddenly as sharp as a newly honed knife. 'How often must I tell you! Someone could have seen you and . . . and . . .'
'But I'm frightened, Mama ... all the noise and the fires ... I could see the orange light through my curtains.' Tamara's voice rose to a terrified squeak.
The initial burst of anger, fuelled by worry, seeped out of Senda. 'I'm sorry, angel,' she whispered. 'I didn't mean to take it out on you. Of course you're frightened. We all are.'
'You're frightened too?' Tamara looked up at her mother in awe.
Senda forced a smile and pulled her close. 'Even mamas get a little frightened every now and then. Of course, it doesn't last very long.' She knelt down and pressed Tamara tighter to her breast. 'What you have to remember is that everything looks worse than it is. We're safe and we're together. That's all that's important. Together, we are strong, invincible. I want you always to remember that.' She pulled away from Tamara and dabbed a large tear from her daughter's soft cheek. 'You won't forget that? Ever?'
Tamara shook her head solemnly.
The sudden pounding on the front door froze them and Senda's face went ashen. It sounded like a battering ram. Her every instinct screamed that they must flee. But there was only that one door.
'Gott im Himmel!' In the kitchen, Inge forgot herself and let out a sudden stream of German.
'I'd better go see who it is,' Senda muttered.
'Mama, it's them!' Tamara cried shakily. 'They've come to burn us!'
'Ssssh!' Senda said more forcefully than she felt. She placed a quieting finger on Tamara's lips. 'Everything is all right, angel, you go to your room and stay there.'
'Open up! We know you're in there!' a rough voice called from out in the stairwell.
Senda rose to her feet, pushed Tamara toward her room, and clutching the front of her robe together with one hand, started for the foyer. 'I'll get the door!' she called to Inge. Her voice, despite her worst fears, was miraculously untouched by panic. It was as though something deep within her character gave her strength and a shrewd insight. Whatever happened, it was imperative that she remain calm and collected. Under no circumstances must she panic. All three of their lives could be at stake.
When she reached the foyer, she stared dumbly at the door; it was shaking under the repeated impacts of knocks and kicks. She could hear the wooden panels splintering. Another minute and they would have it broken through.
Automatically, as though receiving guests, she turned to the pier glass and ran a hand through her hair, aware of the ludicrousness of the gesture, but unable to stop herself. It was as if any last vestige of normality, however ill-timed it might be, was suddenly of paramount importance. If she simply gave in and met them looking haggard, then she would be conceding defeat before the battle even began.
She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and opened the door.
It burst inward with a crash, sending her staggering backward. Five heavily armed, unshaven men, led by Dmitri and Polenka, pushed past her into the apartment, four of them levelling their rifles at her. The last man pulled a long red banner behind him. From the mudstains on it, it appeared to have been trampled on repeatedly. Somehow, that revelation gave the scene the air of a farcical comic opera. For a moment Senda thought she would burst out laughing, but the laughter died in her throat before it could emerge.
'How many of you are here?' the leader of the men demanded. For some strange reason, Senda was mesmerized by his round wire-rimmed glasses and the thick, ugly purple scar tissue coursing down his left cheek, from the corner of his eye to the corner of his mouth. Never afterwards would she be able to reconstruct his face, but those glasses and that scar would be engraved in her mind forever.
'How many?' he barked, his face so near to hers that their noses almost touched.
Senda recoiled, shrinking back against the wall as she stared at him, her eyes blinking against the wave of spittle and alcohol.
Her face was drawn and thin, but her mind was racing. Oddly, she thought she had never been able to think quite so clearly as now. It was as if the simmering violence and the very real danger obliterated everything but the most necessary thoughts and actions.
If he had been drinking, she thought, then the others might very well have been too. And if they were drunk, as well as armed, that made them doubly dangerous. They could all too easily be trigger-happy. She would have to humour them, do as they wanted, but she mustn't jump as soon as they told her to, either. That would only prove her terror. She had to show her strength, however feeble it might be in reality.
She raised her head challengingly, her eyes flashing with an all-consuming anger. 'What right do you have to come barging into my home?' she demanded icily, her hands clenched stiffly at her sides.
'What right? You dare ask me what right I have?' The leering man grinned horribly, raised his hand, and it flashed suddenly through the air. She tensed, bracing herself for the impact, but when it came she wasn't ready for it. She spun away from him, crashing into the opposite wall, her skull banging on the doorframe. Her cheek burned, and his handprint stood out whitely.
'I have every right! Do you understand?' His face was next to hers again. 'Get things straight, elegant lady, I have the people's right!'
Polenka tugged at his sleeve for attention. 'I keep telling you, there's only the three of 'em. This whore, the German woman, and the kid. All women.' She spat derisively.
'Mama!' Tamara's plaintive cry pushed through Senda's fog, and she shook her head to clear it. Her ears were ringing, but she had heard enough to know her daughter was close by, far too close to these animals. Turning to her left, she spied Tamara peering around the corner from the salon, only one huge expressive eye and one small white hand visible. 'Did they hurt you, Mama?'
Senda could feel her underlip swelling, and she tasted the coppery blood. She shook her head. 'No, angel, Mama isn't hurt. Go to your room and wait.' Despite her efforts to stay calm, she could hear her voice rising to a shrill yell: 'And stay there till 1 fetch you!'
Out of the corner of her eye she caught sig
ht of Inge, like a protective mother hen, scurrying from the kitchen, sweeping Tamara off her feet, and scooping her off into the nursery. The door slammed shut and a key turned noisily in the lock.
The man laughed. 'So that's your very own Nemska, is it? A skinny bitch.'
Senda raised her pale face, her eyes calm. There was a burning protectiveness in her that she had never known existed. 'That Nemska, as you call her, has more decency in one little finger than all of you so-called men put together. At least she doesn't terrorize women and children!' She tensed, waiting for another slap, but it didn't come. 'So now that you're here,' she added coldly, 'What is it you want?'
'We came to try you and find you guilty on five counts,' the man said wearily, as if by rote.
'Indeed. So you're a judge?' Senda asked incredulously, laughing almost inaudibly. 'You could have fooled me.'
'On the first count,' he intoned in a judicial monotone, his glasses catching a reflection of light, rendering his expression strangely blank, 'harbouring a Nemska, an enemy of the state and a suspected spy, you are hereby fined ten thousand roubles.'
'What!' Senda's mouth popped open.
He ignored her. 'On the second count, buying foodstuffs from known racketeers and supporting the black market, you hereby are fined twenty thousand roubles.'
Senda turned to stare at Polenka; her former servant's eyes gleamed triumphantly.
'It was she who did the shopping,' Senda said tightly. 'Why don't you ask around, and you will discover that these trumped-up charges should be levelled against her. Not me.'
'And on whose orders did I shop, Mrs. High-and-Mighty?' Polenka sniffed virtuously.
'Did I tell you where to shop?'
'With all the luxuries you needed, where did you think I would come up with them? The greengrocer with bare shelves? The flour mill which hadn't seen a dusting of grain for the last six months?' Polenka's dark eyes flashed passionately. 'You should have seen the sugar they consumed here! Like it was going out of style! The cakes! The pastries! The delicacies! Caviar from—'
Senda turned to the leader of the group. 'You're all mad!' She gave a hollow bark of a laugh. 'Who in hell do you think you are, marching in here and holding some sort of kangaroo court?"
He drew himself up with self-importance. 'I am Comrade Padorin, the elected leader of the neighbourhood coalition for the revolutionary committee,' he said gravely. 'Now, if you will remain silent for a moment, we will get this over with and go about our business.'
'By all means,' Senda said, feeling suddenly weary. 'You are so right. The sooner we get this travesty of justice over with, the better. I, for one, have better things to do with my time.'
'I advise the accused to hold her tongue, unless she chooses to be charged with contempt,' Comrade Padorin said coldly. 'On the third count, promoting decadence in public theatres and thereby propagating foreign imperialist propaganda, you hereby are fined twenty thousand roubles.' He peered at Senda over his shiny round glasses to see if she had anything to say in her defence.
But she stared at him silently, and she could swear a look of disappointment crossed his face.
'On the fourth count, profiting from the misery and oppression of the people, you hereby are—'
'Oh, for God's sake, spare me the rest of this silly gibberish,' Senda moaned, throwing her hands into the air in frustration. 'If it's money and valuables you've come to steal, then take them and get out.'
'As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me, the fourth count, profiting from the misery and oppression of the people, you hereby are fined twenty-five thousand roubles.'
Senda rolled her eyes.
'On the fifth count, consorting with the criminals who until now have composed the so-called upper classes, you hereby are fined forty thousand roubles.'
'I suppose,' Senda said dryly, 'that you really believe you are carrying out justice?'
'By the power invested in me by our local council, yes.'
She took a deep breath. 'What are you,' she asked, a challenging smile flaring in her eyes, 'a law student who failed to pass his bar examination?'
His face went purple with fury. 'You cunt!' he screamed. His hand flashed as he slapped her again, but this time she stood her ground; only her head whipped sideways. Even while her ears were ringing, she turned slowly and smiled tauntingly at him, holding his gaze as she touched her face gingerly, her fingertips coming away sticky with blood. She had scored a triumph, meagre though it was. Despite the pain, she felt better. Perhaps she had been right about him. She had certainly hit a raw nerve.
'I do not take my position lightly,' he warned her icily, trembling to contain his anger. 'I warn you, Comrade Bora, you had best keep your tongue in check.'
'I am not Comrade Bora,' she said coldly. 'I am Madame Bora.'
'In Russia, all are now equal. There are no longer any class distinctions.'
'Oh, really? Then what is your purpose here—simply to terrorize me?'
He struggled to retain the composure which had deserted him. 'Are you, Comrade Bora, willing to pay the total fine of one hundred and five thousand roubles as levied against you by the revolutionary committee?'
Senda had to laugh. 'As anyone can tell you who has five rifles pointed at him, I'm really in no position to argue.'
'A wise decision, I am sure.'
'However, I don't keep a fraction of that amount here. And, as you very well know, the banks seem to have declared a holiday.'
'She has jewels!' Polenka piped up craftily, her eyes glinting with greed. 'Such gorgeous jewels they make your heart ache! You should see them!' She closed her eyes to envision them, her thick peasant fingers involuntarily creeping to her throat. 'They rival even the Nemska's. Rubies the size of pigeon eggs. Emeralds set in filigree—'
'That is quite enough, Comrade Petrova,' Padorin admonished Polenka sternly. 'There is no need to get carried away.'
Polenka's hand dropped and she smiled ingratiatingly. 'I wasn't extolling their virtues, Comrade Padorin. On the contrary, I was merely doing my duty by informing you—'
'You low-down, thieving, conniving, snooping, trashy little sneak!' Senda hissed at Polenka. 'So that's why you were so anxious to work for me. Just to sniff out what valuables I might have.'
'I'm not a thief.'
'Oh? Then where is the grocery money you absconded with?'
'It has been put to good use,' Polenka said quickly, her face reddening. 'It has fed hungry stomachs.'
'Yours, no doubt, while my daughter's was empty.'
Polenka glared at Senda. 'What does that spoiled child know about hunger? She's had more than her share of the good life.'
Senda turned to Dmitri. 'And my horse and carriage? I haven't seen them for quite some days now. You wouldn't happen to know where they've disappeared to, would you?'
Dmitri looked away, but Polenka exclaimed triumphantly: 'They have been requisitioned by the revolutionary committee! Everything is now the property of the people!'
'You being the "people", I gather?'
'You bitch,' Polenka spat.
'Enough!' Padorin bellowed, silencing the argument. He looked at Senda and lowered his voice. 'We will accept the jewels in lieu of the levied fines. Where are they?'
'If you want to steal them so badly, why don't you search for them? Maybe you'll discover they're in a bank vault.'
'They are not!' Polenka shouted. 'She keeps them hidden in the secret bottom drawer of her dresser. I'll get them.' She started for Senda's bedroom, but Padorin caught her by the arm.
'Not so fast,' Padorin told her, nodding at one of his cronies. 'Yevgeni, check out the dresser.'
Polenka glowered as Yevgeni went to see about the jewels.
'What's the matter, Polenka?' Senda asked saccharinely. 'Don't they trust you? Perhaps they know you'd try to pocket most of them?'
'Shut up!' Polenka snapped. She raised her hand to slap Senda.
Senda, seeing what was coming, had no desire to suffer yet
another slap. She ducked, adroitly avoiding the blow, and caught Polenka by the wrist. 'My, my, how brave we are,' she murmured.
'I told you to shut your fucking mouth!' Polenka screamed, struggling to writhe out of Senda's grasp.
Senda dug her fingers ever more firmly into Polenka's wrist. 'Your language leaves as much to be desired as your honesty.'
'Bitch!' Polenka spat into Senda's face. Senda, momentarily nonplussed, loosened her grip and Polenka took advantage of it, squirming out of her grasp. She thrashed out at Senda with flailing arms.
Senda stepped backward to avoid the wildly swinging arms, but Polenka, her dark eyes burning, followed her step by stalking step. On impulse, Senda feinted to the right, caught Polenka unawares, and grasped her by the left arm. She twisted it around the woman's back and yanked it upward.
Polenka howled with pain, arched her spine, and reached backward with her right hand, grabbing a fistful of Senda's hair.
Tears suddenly sprang up in Senda's vision. Her scalp burned as if on fire. Gasping from the pain, she let Polenka's arm drop and groped blindly for Polenka's hair, but the serving girl wouldn't let her get close enough. Arm extended, Polenka had her like a puppet by the hair, forcing her to move in whatever direction she jerked.
'Look at Madame High-and-Mighty now!' Polenka crowed smugly, tugging ever harder at the fistful of copper curls. 'Look at the rich bitch dance!' Suddenly she let out a scream as Senda grabbed a fistful of her dark hair. 'Let me . . . go!' Polenka screamed.
'Now who's the bitch?' Senda asked grimly, tightening her lips.
Polenka stared with wild eyes. 'You are! I mean, I ... I mean . . .' Polenka suddenly went limp as Senda let her slip to the floor. Then Polenka suddenly jumped back to her feet. One foot flashed out and the heavy boot tip caught Senda in the shin.
Senda moaned and stumbled. Lightning bolts of pain shot through her leg and starlike patterns danced kaleidoscopically before her eyes. She shook her head to clear it. The pain was severe, but the adrenaline pumping mightily through her seemed to obliterate all else. A surge of power filled her, blossomed, mushroomed. Without warning, she lunged, tackling Polenka around the waist, and the two madly scrabbling women crashed to the carpet, knocking over a table and lamp as they rolled over and over. For half a minute, neither of them had the upper hand. Then Polenka suddenly rolled atop Senda, caught her around the throat with her clawlike hands, and began to choke her.
