“Once you’re on the taiga, money means little. If anything, it’s a liability.”
“That may be so,” retorted Trotsky, “but when I reach the railway they’ll expect payment in cash for a ticket, not in skins. This Zyrian, he will already have the deer to keep for himself. Any money he demands above that will have to come out of your share. Otherwise, I can’t afford it.”
Chewing on a badly bitten fingernail, Goat’s Foot turned this counter proposal over in his mind.
“Agreed,” he said at last.
“And you only get ten roubles now. The remainder will be paid on the day I go. That’s more than enough to pay for the food.”
“What about the clothing? Malitsas don’t come cheap.”
“They do if you buy them secondhand,” Trotsky argued. “That way you won’t attract any attention. Think about it. People won’t be asking you awkward questions, such as ‘How come you suddenly have money to throw about?’ ‘Where are you planning to go to?’ ‘Whatever happened to that new malitsa you bought?’ And so on.”
Taking a last drag on his cigarette, Goat’s Foot nipped off the fiery tip and carefully put the remainder down the side of his boot. Turning sideways to Trotsky, he gave him a look that was almost one of respect.
“Here,” he said, “you’ve done this before, haven’t you?”
Mindful of the sentence of three and a half years’ hard labour that still hung over his head after his escape from Verkholensk, Trotsky smiled and said nothing.
Chapter Fifteen
Friday 16th February
Berezovo, Northern Siberia
Thankful to be back in the warmth of her house, Yeliena Tortsova pushed the front door shut behind her and deposited her packages upon the hallway table. Large snow crystals fell onto the mat at her feet as she removed her outer coat. She felt satisfied at how well her morning’s expedition had gone, despite the worsening weather. She had been able to buy all the things that she had set out to buy, even the half dozen paper shirt collars for Vasili (the one he had put on that morning had shown distinct signs of wear). At the surgery Chevanin had been pleasantly lustful and on the way home, in celebration of the sense of nameless joy she now felt, she had bought four small cakes from Gvordyen’s to share with Vasili upon his return.
Never had she had such an appetite: she was even beginning to put on weight. Catching sight of herself in the hallway mirror, she paused and studied her reflection, smoothing a hand across her midriff and straightening her shoulders like an artist’s model.
I’d pass in a crowd, she told herself, although I’m hardly the “Dark Rose” of Anton’s poems.
As she lifted her hands to remove the pins that had secured her hat from the gusting wind, her maid appeared by her side.
“There you are, Katya,” said Yeliena. “Take my coat into the kitchen and hang it near the stove until it dries, will you? And take that box of cakes also. You may serve them when the Doctor returns.”
“Yes ma’am!” the maid replied.
Edging closer, she whispered hoarsely: “You have a visitor, ma’am.”
Yeliena frowned. She was not expecting anybody and Vasili would be due home within the hour. If it was Anton, she would feel annoyed. It would really be very bad of him to call uninvited.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Madame Wrenskaya, ma’am. She arrived about half an hour ago, and has been waiting for you to return.”
“Madame Wrenskaya?” echoed Yeliena in surprise.
“Yes ma’am. I didn’t like to let her in as you weren’t here, but what with the weather and all…”
“Quite right, Katya,” replied Yeliena. “A lady of her age can’t be left waiting on our doorstep. I trust you offered her some refreshment while she waited?”
“Oh no, ma’am!” replied Katya firmly. “She said that she did not want to be disturbed.”
“Oh dear,” sighed Yeliena.
“Shall I boil up some coffee?” suggested Katya.
“No!” said Yeliena quickly. “I rather think she would prefer some tea, as soon as you can.”
Pausing only to pat her hair into place, Yeliena hurried into the drawing room, her mind already forming an apology for keeping her visitor waiting.
Madame Wrenskaya was asleep in a chair by the hearth. Noting that Katya had neglected the fire, Yeliena stooped and, picking up the fire tongs, carefully placed a small log across the glowing embers. As she straightened up, she involuntarily gave a small cry as a sharp pain shot across the base of her spine. The fire tongs fell from her grip and clattered noisily as they struck the edge of the brass hearth fender. Opening her eyes, Madame Wrenskaya blinked rapidly several times.
Yeliena apologised for waking her.
“I hope I didn’t give you a shock.”
“Shock?” repeated Madame Wrenskaya dully.
Baffled, her pale blue eyes swept around the unfamiliar room.
“You were resting and I woke you up,” explained Yeliena gently.
“No matter, my dear. Come in and draw up a chair.”
The old woman pushed herself up in the chair, brushing a cracked palm over her face as if she were washing the sleep away.
“I was just having a little nap,” she told Yeliena. “How nice it is to see you. Would you take some tea?”
Yeliena looked at her guardedly.
“I have a new maid, you know,” the old woman went on. “I got rid of the other one. She was stealing from me, but this one is just as bad. She is never there when you want her. Just ring for her, my dear, would you? Although,” she added gloomily, “I doubt if she will come.”
Yeliena gave an embarrassed laugh.
“No, Anastasia Christianovna,” she said raising her voice, “you have come to visit me, remember?”
“You?”
“Yes. You are at my house in Ostermann Street. You arrived about half an hour ago and you have had a little sleep. It is nothing to worry about.”
Madame Wrenskaya shook her head in disbelief.
“Sleeping? Nonsense!” she said crossly. “I was just resting my eyes.”
The two women looked at each other and Yeliena watched as recognition slowly dawned upon the old woman’s face.
“Of course! I remember now. You are on my list.”
Reaching painfully over the arm of her chair, Madame Wrenskaya clawed at a misshapen handbag that lay on the floor beside her feet.
“Shall I get that for you?” asked Yeliena quickly.
“No thank you, I can manage,” its owner insisted, straining until, with a final effort, her fingers hooked over the strap of the bag and hauled it onto her lap. She sat quite still for a moment, her eyelids fluttering with the effort, as she fought to catch her breath. When she had recovered herself, she looked at Yeliena and tapped the bag meaningfully.
“It’s all in here, you know,” she rasped.
“Your visiting list?”
“No, no, no!” replied Madame Wrenskaya. “My jewels and my money. I daren’t leave them at home because of her.”
“Who? Mariya?”
The old woman nodded solemnly.
Yeliena looked away. Aware of how quickly her mood could change from eccentric to vituperative, she was loathe to contradict her aged guest but she thought it highly unlikely that Madame Wrenskaya’s maid, after years of faithful service, would suddenly take it into her head to rob her mistress of her jewellery.
Besides, Yeliena thought, the few pieces that you wear, although valuable, are of so old-fashioned a design that they would be virtually impossible to get rid of, or to wear without attracting comment.
She felt momentarily relieved by the appearance of her own maid Katya with a small tray upon which rested two freshly poured glasses of tea and – her heart sank to see them – the four cakes she had bought to share with Vasili. She carried one of the glasses over to Madame Wrenskaya.
“Katya has brought us some cakes. Would you like one?” she asked.
“Cake
s? At this hour? No thank you my dear. But don’t let me stop you having one. I find I can hardly eat anything in the afternoon nowadays.”
Summoning her maid, Yeliena ordered her to take the cakes back to the kitchen.
“I don’t know why she brought them in,” she said as soon as the door had closed behind Katya. “They are meant for Vasili’s tea. She must have been confused.”
“The girl’s a moron,” declared Madame Wrenskaya roundly. “I don’t know why you even employ her. The whole family is quite soft in the head. Father Arkady told me so. One of her brothers can’t even speak: he just grunts like a hog.”
“Father Arkady asked us to take her in,” replied Yeliena lamely. “She is a little slow sometimes, but she does her best.”
“When I am gone,” the old woman promised her, between sips of tea, “I shall give you Mariya. She can look after you and the Doctor far better than that simpleton.”
“I’m not sure…” began Yeliena.
“No arguments now!” insisted her guest. “It’s all settled.”
Yeliena looked at the clock, hoping that Vasili would be back earlier than the time he had told her. He could cope far better with Madame Wrenskaya’s moods than she could. As good as the maid Mariya was – and she could only be an improvement on Katya – the household had neither the space nor the budget to employ two maids and, for all her faults, it was inconceivable that they should turn Katya out, for who else would take her?
“I passed that brute Tolkach on my way here,” announced Madame Wrenskaya abruptly. “The man had the effrontery to raise his hat to me. What do you think of that?”
“I’m sure he meant no disrespect, Anastasia Christianovna.”
“No disrespect? Pah! I know just what he meant,” the old woman replied with a snort. “I suppose you have heard what that fool Pobednyev has done?”
Yeliena hadn’t.
“His Excellency the Mayor has, in his wisdom, raised the wretched man to the rank of Town Councillor.”
“Modest Tolkach, a Town Councillor?” Yeliena repeated, aghast.
“It’s true,” declared Madame Wrenskaya, leaning back in her chair.
“But that’s horrible! Its grotesque! Surely you must be mistaken?”
Her mouth pursed like a creased cloth button, Madame Wrenskaya shook her head.
“As God is my witness,” she replied, “I heard it from Maslov when he brought me my books yesterday morning and later on Pavel Nadnikov confirmed it. He was at that very meeting and saw it all.”
But Yeliena was only half listening. Having recovered from the shock, she was beginning to realise what it would mean to her own household. Now that the Hospital Administrator had succeeded in reaching such a position of influence, he would be even more unbearable, especially to Vasili.
“It’s about Tolkach that I came to see you,” Madame Wrenskaya was saying.
“Oh? Really?”
“Yes, I believe Tolkach is taking part in this play your husband is presenting this Sunday.”
“Actually, Vasili is presenting two plays,” she informed her. “I am in the first play. Modest Tolkach is in the second. Will you be attending the performance on Sunday? It starts at eight o’ clock, at the barracks.”
“Certainly not,” answered Madame Wrenskaya firmly. “It will be well past my bedtime. One play is bad enough but two? And in the barracks! Heavens, no!”
“Yes, I sympathise with you. Vasili is finding it quite a strain. He is holding rehearsals every evening this week,” Yeliena said, adding loyally, “of course, it gives him great pleasure and he does not let it interfere with the Town practice.”
Madame Wrenskaya gave a tut of impatience.
“Men are such dreamers, even your husband. Forgive me, my dear but it is so. It is we, the women, who always have to be practical.”
“Do I take it that you disapprove of what he is doing?” asked Yeliena.
“I have nothing against the stage. On the contrary, when I was younger and lived in St. Petersburg, I regularly attended the theatre. They were splendid evenings, which I enjoyed immensely. Everybody was dressed in their finest clothes and on their best behaviour, even in the boxes,” she recalled nostalgically. “But the managers and the actors, they were professionals. That is the difference. That is what they were paid for: to entertain the audience. The trouble nowadays is that everybody is dissatisfied.”
“I am not sure that I understand,” said Yeliena.
“Nobody wants to do the thing they were born to do,” said Madame Wrenskaya irritably. “It doesn’t seem to be enough anymore. In my day, you were born to do something: you did it and there was an end to it. Nowadays, it’s all so different. That is why there is so much trouble in the country. If everybody just stuck to their own calling and did not try to be better than they were, they would be much happier. Instead they want to overturn everything.”
“But surely this is a little different?” asked Yeliena.
“No it isn’t,” insisted Madame Wrenskaya coldly. “Take your Vasili Semionovich, for example. He is a fine doctor, there’s no use denying it. So why should he want to be a producer of plays, staying out every night, when he should be healing the sick and being a good husband? Admittedly, he is a man, but that is little excuse. And we woman certainly cannot afford to appear to be other than what we are.”
“Are you saying,” protested Yeliena, “that it was wrong of me to accept the part? I can assure you, I was given no opportunity to refuse!”
“There is nothing wrong with appearing on the stage, nothing at all,” repeated Madame Wrenskaya, “provided you are a professional actress. Even such pastimes as charades and other parlour games are relatively harmless if performed in the privacy of your own home and among friends or associates of one’s own class. But a lady hesitates, as a matter of decency, before going further.”
“But I am only doing it for Vasili’s sake,” said Yeliena. “Simply because he is the director and he insisted I take part. It is all perfectly innocent.”
She felt Madame Wrenskaya’s eyes bore in to her, sharp as pins. There was an uneasy silence.
“Are you sure, Yeliena? Are you certain that it is all as innocent as you say?”
Yeliena felt her face grow pale. Guiltily, she looked down at her lap.
“Of course,” she murmured.
Madame Wrenskaya gave a sigh of disappointment.
“I see. Well then, it appears there is nothing more to be said. Would you please be so kind as to summon your maid and tell her to fetch my coat and call my driver? I am leaving.”
“But why? What is the matter? Have I upset you?”
“I am an old woman, Yeliena,” Madame Wrenskaya said in clipped tones. “And I may find it hard to get about, but I am not a fool. When you lied to me just then, I knew I was too late.”
She raised an imperious hand to forestall Yeliena’s protest.
“Oh yes, I know. You have spoken untruths to me before, but they were harmless things said to please. You have told me I look well, that you believed I would feel better when the warmer weather comes, although it is plain to everyone that I am dying. These things do not matter. They are said to avoid the awkwardness of the truth. I ignore them. But just then, when you denied your sin, that was a barefaced lie. It is the first time you have ever lied to me, and the first sign that you are on the road to damnation.”
Yeliena stared at her miserably, but said nothing.
“Tcha! Do you think that just because I am virtually bedridden that I do not know what it going on in this town? That people do not come to me with their hateful gossip? I know everything! It’s that young pup Chevanin, isn’t it?”
Yeliena shook her head violently.
“You are mistaken, Anastasia Christianovna!” she cried. “Anton Ivanovich Chevanin and I are only friends, that is all.”
“No!” Madame Wrenskaya rebuked her. “Don’t deny it for a second time. Are you so blind? Can you not see? It doesn’t matter whatever
you say to me… it will make no difference. After all I will be gone in a few months, maybe less. But when you say that you are not in love with him, you are lying to yourself. And each time you do that, you will find the lies come easier and easier until you become as hollow as that poor little tart Irena Kuibysheva. Only you have a lot more to lose. Look around you, Yeliena,” the old woman commanded. “It might not be much, I grant you, but it is your home, yours and Vasili’s. At my age material things matter very little, but you are still young. You would miss this if you lost it. Without your husband, you would have nothing, you would be nothing. No, even worse, you would be less than nothing.”
Energised by the torrent of her own words, Madame Wrenskaya had risen unaided from her chair and had begun to totter unsteadily towards Yeliena. Alarmed by the old woman’s outburst, Yeliena rose and went to support her. As Madame Wrenskaya’s claw-like hands fastened onto her arms, she saw that her guest’s wrinkled cheeks were wet with tears.
“Yeliena, listen to me,” pleaded Madame Wrenskaya. “I beg you, before it is too late, give him up. You are my dearest friend. Promise me you will end this infatuation.”
Yeliena felt the brittle strength of the old woman’s arms bear down upon hers. Confused, she turned her face away.
“I fear it may be too late,” she confessed in a whisper. “I don’t want to.”
Madame Wrenskaya bowed her head as if in prayer. Then, with a sigh so heavy that Yeliena could feel it pass through her frail body, she said: “In that case, I must ask you not to call upon me again, nor communicate with me by way of note or greeting. My house is not open to adulterers nor fornicators.”
With downcast eyes, Yeliena dumbly accepted her sentence of banishment.
The two women did not exchange another word until Madame Wrenskaya’s sleigh had been summoned. Yeliena guided the old woman down the front steps and across the icy boardwalk to the driver’s waiting arm. Just before she was lowered into the plushly upholstered passenger seat, Madame Wrenskaya placed a dry kiss upon Yeliena’s cheek.
“Don’t lose sight of God,” was her final whispered admonition.
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