by Judith Gould
Gasping for air, Senda felt her face flowing with a red-hot heat. She wheezed heavily, but no oxygen could pass her strangled windpipe.
'Should we stop 'em?' she heard one of the men asking another.
'Hell no,' replied a second voice, laughing. 'Too good a show. Haven't seen anything like it for a long time. Let 'em have a go at it.'
A strange light-headedness came over Senda. The voices receded into the distance, sounding ever further away. Her blood seemed to rush noisily through veins and arteries. In a moment, she knew, she would surely pass out for lack of oxygen. If she allowed that, the crazed woman might kill her.
With a massive effort Senda clapped a splayed hand up into Polenka's face and dug her nails deep into the flesh. Grunting, Polenka screwed her face into a grimace, but her clasp of steel held on to the delicate throat. Desperate, Senda lowered her crab grip on Polenka's face. Making a fist, and putting all the force she could muster behind it, she smashed her knuckles up into Polenka's face. There was the unmistakable crunching of bone and cartilage. Polenka's screams rent the air. Her fingers instantly loosened from round Senda's throat. While Senda lay gasping for air, Polenka crawled hysterically on hands and knees, a shrieking, wounded animal heading for the protective lair offered under the belly of the grand piano. She crouched there, her eyes looking in cross-eyed fascination down at her nose. With her fingers, she gingerly moved it back and forth, from one cheek to the other. Her eyes blazed with horror as she screamed: 'My nose! You broke my nose, you bitch! You b-broke it!' Suddenly she broke down and began to weep.
A heavy silence hung in the room, punctuated only by Senda's heavy panting and Polenka's quiet weeping. Gaining her strength, Senda grasped a chair, pulled herself unsteadily to her feet, and staggered to the piano. Leaning down, she grabbed Polenka by her collar and slid her roughly around to face the foyer. 'Get out of my house before I kick you down the stairs,' she muttered thickly, her voice weak and scratchy from the choking.
Polenka stared daggers at her through the wildly swaying curtain of madly dishevelled hair. 'I'll kill you if it's the last thing I do!' she swore. Her eyes darted wildly about like a madwoman's, and as she pulled herself to her feet she spied the blue-and-white Oriental vase on the piano. Her eyes glittered in frustrated agony. Then she made a swift lunge for it, but before her fingers could encircle the weapon, the porcelain exploded in a roar.
Senda jerked around, staring at Padorin in surprise. Smoke drifted out of his rifle barrel as he lowered the weapon. He was looking at her peculiarly. 'You must excuse Comrade Petrova,' he apologized stiffly. 'She is quite passionate about the cause, and sometimes allows herself to get carried away in her enthusiasm.'
'I think somebody had best take her out of my sight before her precious cause sees an end to her,' Senda advised him grimly. 'She is mad.'
Dmitri rushed to his wife's side and fell to his knees beside her, tentatively examining her face. He glanced quickly at Senda, who glared back at him without pity. Then, turning his full attention upon Polenka, he pulled her solicitously toward the foyer, consoling her softly.
At that moment Yevgeni came out of the bedroom. His eyes were wide. 'Holy Mother of God, look at all this stuff!' He held out a cylindrical tan leather hat box, its round lid yawning wide. Into it he had stuffed all of Senda's jewels. The jumble of rare gems, semiprecious stones, gold, and silver sparkled and gleamed richly.
Padorin let out a low, impressed whistle. Senda's hand instinctively touched her bare throat, and Polenka drew closer to the box, reaching out to touch the jewels with a shaky hand.
Senda slammed the lid shut on her fingers. 'It's bad enough that they're being stolen, but I'll be damned if I'll let you touch them while they're still under my roof.'
Polenka glared venomously at her.
Senda turned to Padorin. 'In case you haven't noticed, their value comes to a lot more than a hundred and five thousand roubles,' she said. 'Each piece alone is worth at least that.'
'The Soviet can put it to good use,' he said.
Senda took a deep breath and drew her head up. 'You have what you came to steal. What are you waiting for? If it's my blessing, don't waste your time.'
Padorin frowned sternly at her. 'We are not stealing, Comrade Bora,' he corrected her in a slightly miffed tone. 'We are requisitioning your property for the good of the people. I hope you will come to understand that.'
'I understand nothing of the sort,' she said. Then she pushed past him and went to stand at the open stairwell door, one hand poised on the handle. She still breathed heavily from the exertion of the fight, and her voice was shaky. 'Now, would you leave?' she said with quiet dignity.
The men exchanged glances and began to file out, Dmitri protectively hugging Polenka against him, but Padorin stopped and looked levelly at Senda. 'Are you so insensitive to the suffering of this country's people that money and jewels mean more to you than food for their stomachs?'
She raised her chin stubbornly. 'No, Comrade Padorin, I am not. For your information, for the first nineteen years of my life there was not a night that I didn't go to bed hungry. As did the rest of my village.'
'Then you, better than most, should understand what a great time this is for Russia.'
'I understand what I was taught when we were poor.'
'And what is that?'
'That there is no excuse—none whatsoever—that gives us the right to steal, to plunder,' she said softly, closing the door on him.
Emotionally and physically depleted, she slumped against the door. Once again her fingers felt her bare throat. It felt naked, as if something were missing. And of course there was. She had no more jewels.
It was not the loss of the jewels she mourned, but what they represented. Her nest egg. Her means of converting easily transportable valuables into immediate cash should she, Inge, and Tamara need to flee.
'Bastards!' Senda screamed suddenly, clenching her fists in futility. 'Thieves!' Then she slumped once more and covered her face with her trembling hands. 'Now what do we do?' she whispered to herself. 'They took everything of value. Everything.'
'No, not everything.' Inge had come to her quietly.
Slowly Senda lowered her hands. She looked at Inge with a puzzled expression. 'What ... do you mean?'
'I'll show you.' Inge gestured for her to wait, marched to her own room at the other end of the apartment, and was gone half a minute. 'Remember the yellow diamonds you wanted to have reset?' she asked softly when she returned.
Senda drew a short breath. 'The ones you were going to drop off at the jeweller's—' Her voice trailed off and she stared at Inge.
'And the jewellery shop was closed because of the troubles. Ja.' Inge nodded and then smiled. Raising her clenched hands, she held them out. Slowly she let her fingers uncurl. Nestled in the palm of each hand was a scintillating jewel—a brooch with a garnet centre and yellow diamond petals in the shape of a sunflower, and a matching ring.
Taking a deep breath, Senda reached out shakily to touch them, to reassure herself that they were no mirage, no mere hallucination.
The diamonds felt cold . . . and very real.
'Inge . . .how did you . . .'
'They were in my good purse, and with all that has happened, it slipped my mind to return them to your jewellery box. Until now, I'd forgotten all about them.'
Senda closed her eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks. The brooch and ring weren't much—especially not compared to the jewels she'd had. But they were more than nothing. Enough to tide them through an emergency.
'Inge,' she said softly with admiration, 'you just might well have saved our lives.'
The situation in Petrograd kept deteriorating. The crowds taking to the streets became ever larger and more violent. Bloodshed increased. Soon, Senda realized that unless she, Inge, and Tamara fled the city—and left the country—they might never live to see things return to normal.
'If we stay and something happens to Tamara, I'll never forgive mysel
f,' she told Inge.
'Nor will I forgive myself,' Inge replied.
They exchanged long looks. No words were necessary.
They both knew they needed Vaslav Danilov's help—if he had any influence left.
Chapter 22
'Oh, what's the use!' Senda asked herself with weary frustration. She stared accusingly at the earphone in her hand. Despite her disgust, she carefully replaced the earphone on its hook. She had been tempted to drop the useless instrument and kick it across the room, enjoying a perverse pleasure in seeing it shatter, just as she had been tempted to leave the porcelain shards of the Oriental vase scattered about the salon. While sweeping them up, she had wondered why she was doing it, but now she understood the reasoning behind her curious actions. Habit and order. Even if it was not safe to stay here any longer, by leaving the mess behind she would be as bad as the animals who had caused it. Now, more than ever, she felt it was important to go through the ordinary, civilized motions of everyday life. To keep her sanity in a world gone insane.
Behind her she heard Inge and Tamara coming out of the nursery. She turned around. Inge carried a small brown valise in each hand, and she and Tamara were already bundled up; their shawls hung loosely from around their necks, waiting to be tied once they got downstairs.
'Did you get through?' Inge asked anxiously.
'No,' Senda replied tightly with a shake of her head. 'There's still no telephone service.'
'I shouldn't wonder, the state things are in. The world's falling apart around us.' Inge paused, adding wistfully: 'It makes you appreciate the way things were, doesn't it? I wonder if they'll ever be the same again.'
'I wouldn't count on it,' Senda said regretfully.
Inge set the two valises on the floor. 'I only packed the minimum of necessary clothes, like you said.'
Senda looked at the valises. 'Good. But ... the luggage looks a little too new, don't you think?' She glanced at Inge.
'That's because I take care of my things,' Inge said.
'I know, but the idea of leaving the Vuitton behind and using your luggage is so we won't draw unnecessary attention to ourselves. I think it would help if it looked . . . well, a bit scruffier.'
Inge looked to see if Senda was joking. She made a painful face. 'Once we're outside, I'll drag it along the pavement to scuff it up and dirty it a bit.'
Senda nodded. 'That should do it, I would think.'
'Mind you, it goes against my grain.'
Senda smiled. 'Mine too, Inge, but sometimes we've got to adapt to the changes around us in order to blend in and survive.'
'It hurts, though,' Inge said, 'having to ruin the little we'll have left. I can't imagine leaving all that expensive luggage of yours behind. And the good clothes. But most of all . . . mostly, I get sick thinking of the valuables in here . . .' Her voice trailed off thickly as her gaze swept the salon fondly.
'You worked so hard for all this!' Inge blurted suddenly, the tears misting her eyes. 'And for what, I ask you?'
'I know, and so do you,' Senda murmured, though she was beginning to wonder herself. 'The last few years have been good ones.'
'Yes.'
'Even now, it's not as bad as you think. It won't be the first time I've had to start from scratch.' Senda gave a low, mirthless laugh. 'Wherever we end up, I guarantee you we'll be resettled in no time. I'm becoming quite the professional at it. I'd better get my coat,' Senda said. 'And then we'd best leave right away. We've dallied long enough. The sooner we get to the Danilov Palace, the better.'
Inge followed her out into the foyer. 'And what if the Danilovs have already left?' she asked tremulously as she lifted Senda's coat from the polished brass coat tree. 'Or what if they can't help us?'
Senda's cheeks twitched involuntarily. 'We'll worry about those bridges only if we absolutely have to cross them,' she said resolutely, but despite the false note of optimism in her voice, Inge had brought up her one real worry—the most difficult obstacle they might have to face. The Danilovs could very well have already left for parts unknown. And if they had, how could she begin to guess where? Their estates sprawled over every conceivable part of Russia, and they had houses in countless European countries as well. If Vaslav were gone, who would help her then? Where would she get the money they needed for travelling? Who else could possibly help ease their way across the war-torn borders?
She sighed and slipped into the coat Inge held. It wasn't one of the six priceless furs she had become so accustomed to: it was a thick charcoal-grey woollen coat, but she consoled herself that at least the fleece lining would keep her warm. Still, she couldn't help the bitter thought that wormed unbidden into her mind: who would get her hard-earned furs now? Who would swathe themselves in their soft, profligate lushness? Someone who would never appreciate them, no doubt; someone who would let the moths feast on the hand-stitched lining, who would drag the perfectly matched pelts in the dirt, perhaps heedlessly spill things on them.
She turned to the pier glass to inspect her reflection— another vain, everyday action born of habit. Even in the wool coat she looked eminently respectable and elegant—too much so for comfort in these inflammatory times. Tossing her well-styled copper hair with her fingertips so that it appeared an unstyled jumble, she made a mental note that, like the two valises, the coat too could use a little dirtying. It didn't look nearly shabby enough. Simply cut though it was, it was too beautifully tailored.
'Get a pair of scissors,' she told Inge.
Inge hurried to get them from the sewing table, and when she returned, Senda turned her back on Inge.
'Quickly undo the seams on the sides and at the back of the waist too,' she instructed, stooping over to lift the hem, which reached her finely boned ankles. She bit at the seam thread and tugged with her fingers, ripping a portion ragged while Inge slid the edge of one blade through the carefully hand-stitched seams around the waist. Senda turned to the mirror again. She nodded with satisfaction. The coat looked much less tailored now. At least she wouldn't be presenting a refined, elegant figure to the angry crowds on the prowl.
Her glance lingered, and she shook her head mournfully. It seemed impossible that the last few years could be summed up by the unobtrusive clothes on their backs and the meagre contents of Inge's two inexpensive valises. They had no cash save for the household money Inge had kept tucked away even from Polenka's prying eyes.
Wordlessly Inge reached down and picked up her valise. 'I wonder what will happen to Russia now.' She shook her head. 'I can't believe the Czar has abdicated!'
'I suppose he had no choice.' Senda shrugged. 'I don't think it matters much anymore. The only thing that can be counted upon is human nature, and humans are greedy on all levels. Polenka proved that. If the "people", as they call themselves, take everything away from the aristocracy, then money, valuables, and privileges will still be here.' She smiled tightly. 'Only shifted from one pocket to another.'
'I suppose you're right,' Inge said.
On their way out, Senda took a last deep, fond breath of the familiar, lingering scents of furniture polish and baked apples, a last glimpse of the consoling comforts of home. Then she switched off the lights. It was yet another mundane action born of habit. Not, she thought with wry humour as she snapped the door shut, that she'd have to worry about the electric bill. Now that she thought of it, it was amazing that the electricity was still on. Everything else seemed to have ground to a halt.
When they reached the street door, Senda turned to Inge. 'This is your last chance,' she said tremulously. 'If you want to stay, or go somewhere on your own and not be saddled with Tamara and me . . . well, we'll understand.' She smiled bravely through a sudden blur of tears. Over the past few years Inge had become such an integral part of their lives that it seemed impossible to live without her. She had become a second mother to Tamara, a sister to Senda.
'I've made my decision,' Inge said bluntly. 'I thought we'd agreed that wherever you decide to go, I will go too.'
; 'We might have difficult times ahead of us,' Senda warned.
'So? You and Tamara are the only family I've got,' Inge said simply. 'Despite everything, I can't see deserting those I love. We swim together or we sink together. It's as simple as that.'
'Thank you, Inge,' Senda said huskily. She put her valise down and embraced Inge. For a long moment, neither woman spoke. Finally Senda extricated herself from their embrace. 'Now, remember, if we run into any mobs we can't avoid, we'll try to hold hands. It doesn't matter if it means we have to get rid of one of the valises. It's more important that we don't get separated.'
Inge looked at her. 'We've been over all that already,' she said gently with a sad smile. 'Now it sounds as if you're the one who's stalling.'
Senda smiled bleakly. 'If we get separated, we'll meet at the Danilov Palace.' She looked down at Tamara. 'Are you ready, angel?'
Tamara looked up, her emerald eyes wide, her face particularly vulnerable, peculiarly fragile. She nodded bravely.
Senda set her chin firmly. 'Inge?'
Inge fussed with Tamara's collar and scarf, then flipped her own russet shawl around her throat. She took a deep breath. 'I'm as ready as I'll ever be.'
'Well, here's to luck,' Senda murmured, opening the massive, heavy carved door to the sharp blast of the mid-March night.
'Amen,' Inge said quietly, and then, instinctively leaning forward against the prevailing wind, they headed along the lamplit quay on foot.
'Quick! Into the bushes!' Senda hissed as they approached the gatehouse of the Danilov Palace. Without a word, Inge drew Tamara into a cluster of scratchy leafless winter shrubbery. Even on foot, their progress had been surprisingly swift and, until now, blessedly uneventful. By taking turns carrying Tamara rather than matching her slower pace, they had crossed the Neva bridge and reached the forbidding palace walls in no time at all. 'What is it?' Inge asked with alarm. 'What do you see?'
