In the Bleak Midwinter

by Stan Mason

  ‘Which is most important to you? The students or your diplomatic channels?’

  ‘I’m doing my best for you,’ stressed Morton firmly. ‘I’ve contacted the British Foreign Office and made representations for you all. At the end f the day, I’m simply a pawn in the game. They only inform me of developments. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

  ‘It’s strange,’ retorted Ivan miserably. ‘Politicians in the West talk about the barbarians in the East while those in the East talk about the imperialistic monsters in the West. Yet which side a person lives, priority is given to the State and not to the people. Why does Russia want us back? They have millions of students. They simply use it as an excuse to create diplomatic incident. It’s part of the international games you play. The unwritten rules of your complex political world. We ask for political asylum. What could be complicated about that?’

  The politician was unmoved by the tirade. ‘State security is one of the most important factors we have to consider here. No one wants to start World War Three.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ came the response. ‘You think Russia will make war on you because of a handful of students. I don’t think so!’ Ivan was beginning to lose his temper.

  ‘There are many things you don’t seem to understand my young friend. First of all, Britain owes you nothing. You dumped yourselves on our doorstep without warning so you can’t complain you’re being hard done by, You can always go back to Russian. That’s where your families and friends are. Why do you think it’s so much better here?’

  ‘Do you think Russia will welcome us with open arms and let us continue our studies where we left off? They’ll find us a set f cubicles in a labour camp in Siberia and force us to spend the rest of our lives thee in misery.’

  Morton shook his head slowly. ‘You knew the risk in the first place yet you took the chance. The eyes of the world are on you now. If you won’t go back, you’ll have to wait until diplomatic pressures subside and that could take a long time. If ‘you’re willing to establish a low profile, I could arrange for you to stay in Cornwall and work temporarily on the land.

  ‘To make an impact on sheep and cows!’ returned Ivan contemptuously. ‘How long would we be expected to do this ‘temporary’ work?’

  The politician heaved his shoulders aimlessly. ‘It’s hard to say..’

  ‘Are you saying months, years, decades or what? I see it all now. You’ll let us all rot here until we’re forgotten.’

  Morton stared at him coldly. ‘I find your attitude very abrasive for someone desperate to obtain help,’ he countered curtly. ‘I’m spending a great deal of time on your case and all you can do is gripe. Your manners are appalling and your voice is loud. I’m well-known in this hotel and I’m not going to have my reputation spoiled by an opinionated prig!’

  Ivan shook his head in disbelief. He had expected such high hopes from the meeting and it was turning into disaster. ‘You’re not a real person,’ he retaliated. ‘The lives of all the students depend on you and you are more concerned with your reputation.’

  The waiter brought the first course which consisted of a Russian salad and laid the plates down on the table in front of them.

  ‘Your problem is that you can see only one side of the story,’ complained the politician after the waiter had gone. ‘Look... you’ll be housed and fed. You have no fears on that score.’

  ‘We didn’t come here for charity,’ snarled the Russian raising his voice again. ‘What are you really going to do to help us?’

  Morton sighed slowly. It was like talking to a brick wall. ‘You’re not listening to me! We have a number of major diplomatic problems with your group... ‘ he stopped momentarily as he realised that he was raising his own voice to smile sheepishly at curious diners staring in his direction.

  ‘We’re an embarrassment to the British Government... that’s what it is! You don’t know what to do with us!’

  ‘Your words, not mine, Mr. Obsiovitch. Indeed... you are an embarrassment and if you refuse to keep a low profile, the Government may be obliged to send you back to the USSR. Therefore if I were you, I’d say nothing, hear nothing and see nothing until advised further.’

  Ivan reacted quickly to the observations. He stood up and tipped the plate containing his salad into the lap of the politician. ‘If you can’t help us,’ he snapped angrily, ‘then do something to help yourself!’

  He stormed out of the restaurant furiously followed by his colleague who had not understood one word that had been spoken. As they walked through the streets of Plymouth, Ivan translated the essence of the conversation.

  Peter shook his head with disappointment. ‘Our men and women are young and strong,’ he said firmly. ‘They are willing to learn and work hard Why didn’t you tell him that. We do not want something for nothing!’

  ‘You don’t understand, Peter,’ explained Ivan informatively. ‘He’s not interested. This is a developed country. It doesn’t consist of a multitude of peasants. Life runs in political and economic terms not just by hard manual labour.’ However Peter failed to understand the logic and he allowed the argument to lay fallow.

  That evening, they strolled around the streets of Plymouth impressed by the beauty of the city, Neither was willing to admit to the other that the noise of the traffic and the hustle and bustle of people milling about added t the excitement of the trip. For Ivan it was a revelation. He walked on relentlessly enjoying the absolute freedom of nonentity as he pushed through the crowds and stared in to the windows of the well-stocked shops and stores. The same spirit of adventure filtered through to Peter as well. For the first time in years he felt that life was coursing back through his body again. Arrangements had been made for them to sleep in a hotel but on the following morning Ivan turned to his colleague thoughtfully.

  ‘What would you say if we stayed here a few days longer,’ he asked his colleague.

  Peter was surprised at the suggestion. They were the representatives of the group and it was unconstitutional to change plans without a reason.

  ‘But there’s nothing more we can do here,’ exclaimed Peter mournfully.

  ‘I think we should investigate whether that’s the case or not while we’re still here,’ retorted Ivan quickly.

  ‘We’re supposed to be helping the others.’ For the first time since leaving Russia Peter raised his voice with an element of anger.

  ‘We’re independent people now, Peter. We can do as we like.’.

  ‘Independent! You clown! You’re more trapped here than you ever were in Russia. Everything you told us is an evasion of the truth. Everything you say is twisted by deviousness. I think you ought to look at yourself in a mirror. You may not like what you see. Maybe then you can face the truth.’

  ‘The truth! What do you know about the truth? You think a person gets born, grows up, gets married, has children and eventually dies. Is that the truth? Well there’s a lot more to life than that. I don’t need anyone to judge me for my actions... least of all you!’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘If you’re so perfect, why did your wife leave you. Go on, answer me that!’

  Peter’s complexion turned purple. He stood quite still, stiffly, and then his eyes glazed over. ‘Enough!’ he hissed furiously. ‘Enough!’

  ‘No it’s not enough! ‘snapped Ivan dangerously., ‘I refused to be reproached by a man who failed in his own. Your wife knew you better than you know yourself. That’s why she left you for someone else.’

  The comment caused Peter to fume and become beside himself with rage. He moved closer to his colleague, gripping the collar of the other man’s shirt with such ferocity that he tore it. They struggled violently for a while with Peter hardly realising what he was doing. He placed his hands around the throat of his younger friend and started to press firmly. Ivan stared at him in amazement too astoni
shed to release himself. Peter continued to squeeze more tightly until the other man felt a tingling sensation all over his body as he gasped for air. He tried to call out for mercy but no sound escaped from his lips. Then, when he thought that the last essence of life had been drained out of him, he pulled himself together and forced his arms upwards to release the other man’s grip. The air coursed back into his lungs and he delivered a solid blow to Peter’s solar plexus following it up with a left hook to the jaw knocking his assailant unconscious to the ground. Picking up his overnight bag, he raced to the doorway, drew in a deep breath to settle himself, and then disappeared out of the doorway. His association with Peter had ended in a flash. They would no longer accompany each other on this particular excursion!

  It was twenty minutes later when his bravado dwindled and he felt an element of remorse. He had injured his friend both physically and emotionally in a very callous unthinking way... now he was about to act even more selfishly. He intended to desert the others... even Anna. He paused to reflect the memory of her stepping off the bicycle and waving to him from the brow of the hill as the train pulled out of the station. She would be waiting for him to come back and, in his mind at that particular moment, there was doubt whether he would do so. As he sauntered along the pavement of the streets of the city, life seemed to hold much less for him than it did the day before and, for the first time since his arrival in Britain, he felt alone, vulnerable and dispirited.

  ***

  Anna sat on a wooden bench on the railway platform waiting for the train to arrive from Plymouth. The station was empty and she basked in the warm sunshine with her eyes closed. It was four months since Ivan had left her but she went to the station every day to wait for the train in the hope that he would return. Her intuition that he might never come back still remained undaunted yet there lived within her the believe that she may be wrong... and so she waited. There was always the possibility that one day the train would enter the station and he would alight jauntily with a smile on his face, a large present for her under his arm and a multitude of excuses as to what had happened during his absence. Peter was less optimistic. He had returned on that fateful day with the absurd story that Ivan had attacked him before disappearing into the city, abandoning all of them in their time of need. It wasn’t long before the group began to brand their erstwhile leader as a traitor. Glory, apparently, was ephemeral. It reflected the deeds of a single day... nothing more, nothing less! Anna preferred to believe that there wee two sides to every story although she could not fathom Ivan’s side of the story or any reason why he had abandoned the group. The only redeeming feature, as far as she was concerned, was that Ivan was still alive because she had received a letter from him. It was the only communication he had sent her but she was delighted because it proved that he had not dismissed her from his mind altogether.

  The shrill whistle screaming through the country air alerted her to the approach of the train. She stood up and watched it grind slowly to a halt. Only two doors opened. An old man and his wife emerged from one carriage The other door moved at an angle so that the window reflected the bright sunlight and she could vaguely make out the shape of a young man holding a suitcase as he stepped out onto the platform.

  ‘Ivan!’ she called out joyfully, her heart thumping with excitement as she ran forward. However the trick of the sunlight had created an illusion and she stopped in her tracks as the stranger touched his hat courteously and smiled before moving on.

  The train pulled out of the station and she sat down again filled with sadness. For a moment she had become overjoyed only to suffer disappointment once more. He hadn’t come! Large tears rolled down her cheeks. She was sure that he would be delighted to learn that she was carrying his child. Yet there was another option open to her. She could travel to Plymouth to find him herself. All she had to do was to catch the next train! She fingered his letter in her pocket lovingly. He had apologised for not returned without giving her any reasonable excuse saying that he would soon come back and make up for everything. She had no idea of his situation... whether he had found work or where he was living, but she knew that things were not too good for him because the envelope did not bear a postage stamp. If only he would return it would all fall into place as before but he hadn’t turned up and another day had passed.

  Peter climbed the ridge on the hill and started to walk down towards the railway station. He knew that Anna went there to meet the train every day. When he learned that she was pregnant, his anger increased intensely. Above all, he wanted her to be happy. She looked up at him as he approached and smiled allowing him to take her hand.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised. ‘The time passed by so quickly I didn’t realise that you had gone..’ The began to walk away from the station. ‘Anna.’ he ventured softly. ‘Why don’t you forget him. He’s no good to you. Not any more!’

  She couldn’t bring herself to look into his face. There had been too many disappointment over the last few months. So many trains... so many empty carriages... as well as pressures from Josef, her brother, and some members of the group. ‘Please, Peter!’ she chided gently in a trembling voice. ‘Not now... not now!’

  There was a moment of silence and then he tugged at her arm. ‘If you’ll have me,’ he offered gallantly, ‘I’ll marry you!’

  She stared at him in surprise. ‘You’d do that for me... with the baby,’ she managed to say.

  ‘Gladly!’ he responded. ‘I’m in love with you!’

  She smiled at him sweetly. ‘You’re a very kind man, Peter. You rezlly are and I appreciate it.’

  ‘I want to marry you, Anna,’ he told her more emphatically.

  She shook her head slowly. ‘Ask me that after the baby’s born and I’ll give you an answer.’

  ‘It won’t make any difference to me.’ he told her. ‘After my wife died... ‘ His chest heaved as emotion built up inside him in a torrent.

  ‘Come on!’ she urged, changing the subject. ‘Let’s get back or we’ll be late for lunch.’ She pulled him by the hand and they continued up the hill back to the hotel.

  ***

  Ivan strolled lazily into the park. Beside the lake, the tall sycamore trees bowed their heads below oncoming banks of clouds which drifted slowly across the sky. Nearby, flowers grew scantily in the parched earth sensing the presence of water as they turned their heads towards a drinking fountain. A small boy ran to it dragging his feet and, disregarding the metal cup hanging by a chain, dipped his head under the broad nozzle until the top of his shirt was saturated with water. In the background, the sound of music wafted on the breeze, churned out by an old barrel-organ beyond the main gate where an old man turned the handle mechanically.

  As the sun broke through the clouds, Ivan laid down on a bank of grass which rolled gently down to the edge of the lake. He was on the verge of falling asleep, having tucked his jacket under his head when he heard footsteps halting a few feet away. He opened his eyes shielding them from the glare of the sun with the back of his hand to notice a young boy staring at him appealingly. He sat up drawing his legs to his stomach and clasping them with his hands. The boy copied him watching every movement he made. They listened to the barrel-organ for a while until the music faded away and then Ivan threw a pebble into the water observing the ripples waltzing away to the opposite shore. Shortly, he stood up and walked along the grass towards the wooden boating hut at the edge of the lake with the boy following at a distance of three paces behind. The Russian entered the turnstile and paid for the hire of a boat. He stared at the boy who stood watching him with his arms hanging over the railings and then clapped his hand.

  ‘Come on then!’ he called out with compassion.

  He boy’s eyes filled with excitement and he clambered eagerly over the railings, jumping into the small wooden boat with an excess of enthusiasm. Ivan took the oars and pulled away from the quayside quickly but the exerti
on of rowing at a pace in the heat soon discouraged him from greater effort. ‘Hold the rudder ropes!’ he commanded with his chest heaving. The boy rescued the two ropes which trailed in the water behind the boat and focussed his mind on guiding the vessel around the lake. The water gently rushed the side of the boat leaving a long white wake trailing behind it. The boy let his arm drag over the side pretending that he was a fisherman, looking down into the water trying to detect a silver gleam beneath the surface which would identify the presence of a fish. He soon became bored when nothing happened and, wiping his wet arm on his shirt, he took hold of the rudder ropes to direct the craft again.

  After a while, the sun went behind the clouds and a strong breeze wafted over the lake. The boy stood up in the boat, causing it to wobble, brushing the fringe of hair on his forehead away from his eyes. As a result of his lapse of concentration, the vessel veered out of control crashing into one of the island in the middle of the lake.

  ‘I want to go for a pee!’ stated the boy urgently.

  The Russian sniffed angrily, blaming himself for taking the boy on the trip. He gripped a rock at the edge of the island and motioned for him to jump out. ‘There’s a place by the hut in those trees,’ he told him. ‘Hurry up! We haven’t got all day!’

  The boy leapt out of the vessel and ran behind a cluster of trees, eventually reappearing pretending that to be the king of the island.

  ‘Get in the boat!’ Ivan grabbed the front of the boy’s shirt and hoisted him aboard.

  ‘How did you know about the hut? You can’t see it from here.’

  ‘I live there,’ admitted the Russian blandly.

  The light began to fail under the weight of a thick cloud which stretched across the sky and they both looked up apprehensively.

  ‘It’s going to rain,’ forecast the boy unnecessarily.

  Ivan nodded and rowed as fast as he could as the rain began to fall in torrents. They reached the quayside, leaping ut of the boat for the nearest shelter where Ivan dabbed at his wet face and hair with a handkerchief. ‘Come on,’ he said to the boy. ‘I’ll take you home.’