Irina was, undoubtedly, mad… But – how much she knew, or guessed, or what Nadia might have told her – under extreme provocation, for instance, this sort of provocation – which after some period of time might wear through even Nadia’s cool self-possession… Schelokov put in – coming to his rescue again – ‘Excuse me, but if we might stick to more immediate business for the moment – so I can have some appreciation of the background to your situation here – your doctor in this letuchka – name of Karavayev? Died of typhus, that fellow Maltsev was telling us?’
‘And that Bolshevik creature survived it.’
‘Did the doctor die here, or—’
‘Here. Yes. And before that we’d lost Anya Prokofyeva, also to typhus. She was a nurse, very experienced, she had become matron when the others were killed, and when she fell sick I took her place. Then Ivan Karpovich – Dr Karavayev – was struck down just after we’d moved to this place. He was dead in three, four days.’
‘And are you alone here now, you and – Ibraim?’
‘There’s a young girl – student nurse – from the village here. Avdotya. Anya Prokofyeva recruited her. Nice child – ignorant, can’t read or write, but—’
She’d checked herself – staring at Bob…
‘Would you be interested in hearing how she came to change her mind back again, and marry my brother?’
‘She’ meaning Nadia, of course.
Not Avdotya. Nadia – who was dead.
It still wasn’t real. One might hope to wake up in a minute, hear Schelokov growl, ‘Time we started, Bob’… Then – God, the joy, to find that it had been no more than a particularly foul dream!
His own voice, though – as if from some other self who was so far detached as to be able to discuss her impartially… ‘I suppose she – loved him.’
‘Rubbish! If she had, why would she have made eyes at you?’ A snort - derision, anger… ‘No – I’ll tell you. It was my doing. That’s to say, she was taking no notice of me – of my entreaties – so I enlisted the help of Maria Feodorovna.’ Schelokov had grunted in surprise: Irina glanced at him, nodded. ‘Yes – the Dowager Empress.’ Back to Bob: ‘Our mother had been very close to her, as you know – as Lady in Waiting, but in any case as friends of long standing. It’s why she’d invited us to join her entourage down there at Kharaks, of course. You may remember, it was where we’d been making for – with my mother – when we ended up at Enotayevsk. Anyway – Maria Feodorovna was of like mind, I’m pleased to say – for the sake of my darling mother, what she’d have wanted – and she was able to persuade Nadia as to where her duty lay.’ Irina’s look was triumphant, as she finished. ‘See?’
‘Yes, I do see.’
And it was – something, to have it explained, after all this time. It was the truth, too, made unmistakable sense because Nadia had put a lot of it into that letter. For instance, where she’d written:
Just as Nikki would be broken in his heart and spirit if I had held myself back from his long-held expectation that I would marry him, I would be in torture if I had to wait in safety…
He could see it, now, understand it – as he had not understood it until now. Nadia would have been impervious to Irina’s attempts at persuasion: she’d had Irina’s measure, all right. But Maria Feodorovna, no doubt with the finest of motives but she herself on the point of embarking in HMS Marlborough for passage out of Russia, had persuaded her where her duty lay.
And she’d listened, and was dead.
‘The point we have to decide—’ Schelokov broke in again – ‘is what to do now. For instance – if we waited here a few days, would you come with us? A few days to make arrangements for your patients, or get them on their way?’
‘You’d wait here?’
‘Not necessarily—’
‘No.’ Bob reminded him, ‘Mishka – she’ll need feeding, and—’
Schelokov told Irina, ‘Mishka is a horse. We’ve made camp in the woods back there, left her tethered… Look – if we said we’d wait one week would you commit yourself to coming with us then?’
‘A week.’ She was frowning. ‘I don’t know. If the last of them is strong enough by then—’
‘Again – no.’ Bob didn’t look at her. ‘You’d have to make the decision now, and stick to it. Personally, Boris, I think a week’s far too long. Another thing is we can’t take any walking wounded with us. We’d take Irina – and Ibraim, I suppose—’
‘Even a week—’ Irina reached to poke the stove – ‘I couldn’t promise—’
‘In that case—’ looking at Schelokov – ‘there’s no point in our waiting even a day.’
‘You see—’ Schelokov began explaining to Irina – ‘the Bolsheviks are moving south in strength now. Cavalry, as we’ve been seeing for ourselves, but also by this time no doubt on the railways.’
‘Yes. Avdotya gets news from the village. Her aunt’s there still. It seems they’re going to use the farm we were at, too. Some – as you say – cavalry use or other. We’d anticipated it, anyway, it was the main reason Dr Karavayev decided we should move to this place. Formations of cavalry had been passing southward on the valley road, and a place like that – with stables – naturally they’d make use of it.’
‘Your Dr Karavayev would have been much wiser to have pulled out altogether.’ Schelokov added, ‘I imagine the move itself wouldn’t have been too easy, anyway – short-handed, and with no road?’
‘There was the doctor, and Ibraim, and another driver. He’s also died, since… We had one telega and one fourgon – the other fourgon we’d sent directly to Kharkov with wounded – from Bogodukhov, before we left. So we lost that cart and its driver. And our other dvukolki smashed itself up – the axle and one wheel, on the way down here. That was the second one; the other – I told you… But with those two carts we were able to move the patients and all our material as far as the ruin – you know where I mean, the wall with the chimney on it, like some kind of monument – and then from there – on foot, and with stretchers.’
‘Where are the carts and horses now?’
‘I sent them into Valki, in exchange for food. One of the horses they may have butchered – what they sent us first was certainly horsemeat. Now we get flour, and whatever they can spare – very little, I may say. In fact if it wasn’t for Avdotya’s aunt—’
‘You must have realized you wouldn’t be able to move again, without your transport.’
‘Moved where?’ The wild stare… ‘Look – right after the move, we’d sent the horses and carts back to the farm. I don’t know what Dr Karavayev would have done later, but he fell ill then and died, and it was all up to me – with one young girl to help me – oh, and Ibraim of course…’
She’d glanced round – as Ibraim crept into the shelter and squatted just inside the tent-like entrance, with his eyes fixed on her. Bearded, long hair tied in a knot at the back of his head, savage-looking, but the dark, slanted eyes never leaving her. A phrase for it might have been ‘dog-like devotion’… If that was devotion? She went on – addressing Schelokov – ‘I had no feed for the horses, and it wouldn’t have been safe to let them graze freely. Then we had snow… But in any case I’ve no use for transport, now. When the last of our patients leaves, that’ll be the end of this letuchka. If we can only be left alone that long…’
Schelokov nodded. ‘Brings us back to the question of whether you’re coming with us. If we did wait a week?’
He looked at Bob, who held his gaze for a moment and then turned away. He’d already said he thought a week was too long. The thought of spending a week here – even a day – was sickening.
If Nadia had been here, he’d have waited a month – a year…
And if he’d been here alone – without Schelokov, who was suggesting to Irina that she might think about it, give them a firm decision by this evening – he’d have left now, this minute.
A chemodan. The shrieking plunge of it, out of nowhere. Nadia, and the matron and a Tartar d
river, a dvukolki and a horse. On an errand of mercy, incidentally. Flash and thunderclap, a cloud of smoke quickly dissipating, the hot reek of explosive. Debris: blood staining the surrounding snow. At that time, that moment, he’d have been in Constantinople: at work – or play…
She’d been married. It hadn’t been a monastic life, in Constantinople, not by any means.
‘Robert Aleksandr’ich—’
Back to earth
‘Most of the night’s gone. We wouldn’t want to be caught blundering around on that hillside, would we? If there’s a platoon at the farmstead now? Suppose we spend the day here – sleep, enjoy a meal if we’re offered it. Mishka’s a tough old bird, she’ll last one day without us…’
*
The stove had been hot enough by then for a pot of kasha – gruel, containing scraps of bacon – to be heated on it. Irina had left the candle with them, and retired to her tent. They’d sleep in this shelter when they’d eaten. She’d warned them against letting the stove overheat; it was at the back of the shelter where the roof was highest, but that was still timber and tarpaulin right above it.
Schelokov had murmured when she’d gone, ‘Plenty of bees in that bonnet.’
‘She’s mad…’
‘Robert Aleksandr’ich, I’m extremely sorry.’
‘You warned me, didn’t you?’
‘Oh… One didn’t actually believe—’
‘I don’t believe it now. At least – I do, I know it’s a fact – but it’s unreal, I keep feeling I’ll wake up and—’
‘Another warning – with apologies. When you do wake up, it’ll be worse.’
He could see the truth in that. Dreading it. Thinking, Better stay awake…
‘Grit your teeth, Robert Aleksandr’ich. Remember it’s happened to other men – many others. Different circumstances, but—’ a shake of the greying head – ‘all you can ever do is grit your teeth.’ Stirring… ‘This may be hot enough, I think.’
‘Boris Vasil’ich – if when the evening comes she’s still not certain about coming with us in a week – don’t press her?’
‘No. We do have some – obligation, though. And—’ glancing round at him, from the stove – ‘we both have to think how we might feel in – say, a year’s time, if we hadn’t done all we could?’
‘If we’re alive in a year… But – such a bitch…’
‘Volchitsa. Wolf-bitch… Here, it’s plenty hot enough… Jealousy, is it?’
‘Of Nadia. Yes. And a sort of crazed devotion to her brother. She’d have preferred to have him all to herself. Resented Nadia for that reason. That was how it was… Since then, I’d guess the possibility of Nadia preferring someone else – me – and rejecting her brother – that would have appalled her, too. Nadia told me once that they were both crazy. And he began to crack up a little, at one stage… I think she’d still have hated Nadia, but even more the idea of Nadia turning her beloved brother down.
In a sense turning them both down, as she might see it…’
‘Pity you couldn’t have kept Nadia with you, after the other business.’
‘I know. But—’
‘Wouldn’t have been possible, I suppose.’
‘Hardly… But incidentally – in case you had any other impression from Irina – Nadia and I did have an understanding, but we’d done nothing, absolutely nothing—’
‘You don’t have to tell me, Robert Aleksandr’ich. Here. It’s ready, help yourself… Changing the subject – I think the volchitsa made a grave error in throwing Maltsev out.’
He needed a moment, to readjust, shift wavelengths… Then he nodded. ‘I was trying to tell her so – if you remember.’
‘And I said leave it, it’s their business. I was wrong there, if the worst came to the worst it could be very much our business. But I doubt if you’d have changed her mind, in any case.’
‘In a rage, wasn’t she? Absolute fury. Here you are…’ Offering him the ladle. ‘Wolf bitch is right.’
‘Except wolves aren’t stupid. To have Maltsev out there now on the loose – the farmstead as his alternative abode, presumably, and Bolsheviks moving in – if they are – lots of them around anyway – and he knows all about this place, must hate her now – if he didn’t before, but she was his meal-ticket then – and no reason to love us, poor fellow.’ He was helping himself to the porridge… ‘Come to think of it, I’d sooner not wait here a week.’ Glancing at Bob. ‘Another mistake I’ve made, eh?’
*
Even half-sleep was bad. Half-dreams, in half-sleep. In one of them Nadia asked him, ‘Why could you not have kept me with you?’, and in his subconscious or semiconscious thinking the answer seemed to be that he could have, could have brought her with him to Krasnovodsk – which was where he’d ended up himself and been greeted as some kind of hero. He could have married her there, just as Nick Everard had married his girl, a week ago. It would have been easier, in fact – in those circumstances, with temporary hero status, there’d have been no problem about getting permission. All above-board, proudly fluttering White Ensigns and an arch of his brother-officers’ swords.
Awake, he’d asked himself Could I have?
Only if he’d more or less kidnapped her, at sea. The Solovyevs wouldn’t willingly have transferred to the other ship without her. And although there’d been something going between himself and Nadia by that time, they hadn’t arrived at any clear understanding, they’d barely had a minute alone together. She might well not have been ready to defy them.
The three of them had been as sick as cats, too. And he’d had his own technical preoccupations…
But Nick Everard would have managed it – grabbed his chance while he had it – wouldn’t he?
Spilt milk. More literally, split blood. One life thrown away, and the other—
Time would tell. At this stage its value seemed – questionable.
As daylight came he was awake and sitting in the shelter’s entrance, with the stove’s warmth behind him and a frozen section of the camp-site taking shape outside in steel-grey, cloud-filtered early light. In his close-up view was the end of the tent in which Irina slept, and to his right an earth-wall on the other side of which there had to be a shelter like this one. Ends of cut branches protruded over it, with a tarpaulin lashed to them. Beyond – visible through the gap between the tent and the end of the wall – uneven snow-covered ground with patches of undergrowth and saplings and the stumps of other saplings – a lot of those, it would be where these roof-beams had come from – and behind, hardening out of the darkness as it faded, the encircling backdrop of forest.
There’d been no snowfall in the last twelve hours. Their own tracks would be leading clearly in this direction not only across the area now in his view but also across that much larger stretch of hillside which they shouldn’t have crossed. Maltsev’s would be there too, he guessed, leading back the other way. Unless on his return journey to the farmstead he’d obeyed orders, taken the long way round. It seemed unlikely that he would have. And surely he would have gone back to the farm: seeing that there was no other shelter except for the forest itself.
A male voice called, ‘Zdrastye, Sestritsa! Sestritsa – pojal’sta!’
He’d heard – he realized now – some kind of domestic activity a moment or two earlier – a clatter of pots or perhaps it had been a stove’s iron lid – when he’d been preoccupied with those other thoughts. But a girl’s voice now… ‘Da – momyent, momyent…’
‘We’re hungry in here, Sestritsa, little darling!’
‘You’ll stay hungry too, if you’re cheeky!’ Then she was in his field of view, and had seen him too. ‘Oh. Oh…’
‘Dobroe utro.’ He lifted one hand in greeting. She was crossing the open ground towards Irina’s tent, carrying a tin mug that had steam rising from it. A short, sturdy-looking child with a round, pink face encircled by a scarf that covered her head and was tucked inside the raised collar of a military greatcoat. Locks of yellow hair showed under t
he scarf, and the coat had frayed lower edges where a foot or two of material had been lopped off. She’d stopped, was staring at him, her mouth slightly open. He’d look to her like some kind of bearded ogre, he realized. Although she ought to be used to such apparitions – the country being so full of them… He smiled. ‘You must be Avdotya.’
‘Yes. I am!’ Big smile – ingenuous and infectious. ‘Like some tea?’
‘That would be very kind. But you’d better see to your hungry patients first?’
He went inside. His undervest and the socks which he wore inside his seaboot stockings had been hanging above the stove, and they were now warm and dry. He pulled off his sweater and shirt, put on the vest and hung the shirt where it had been. Socks on, then: the oiled-wool stockings could have an airing now. First time they’d been off his feet in a week… But this was luxury, one had to make the most of it.
Schelokov was half awake. He told him, ‘Tea coming in a minute.’
‘Uh? Tea, you say? Did you say—’
‘Yes, I did. Hang on.’ He’d heard the girl passing back the other way, humming to herself. ‘Avdotya!’
‘Hello…’
‘There are two of us in here, Avdotya. Thought I should mention it – in case you really meant it, about tea?’
‘I know.’ She nodded towards the tent. ‘Mamasha told me. Ibraim will bring it to you, though.’
Back inside, he told Schelokov – he was sitting up now, stretching – ‘Mamasha’s orders. Did you hear? No young girl’s safe with us. With me anyway.’
‘She’d have nursing duties that keep her busy, I imagine… Are you all right, Bob? Did you sleep?’
He nodded. ‘Thanks.’
‘Gritting the teeth?’
‘You’re a good fellow, Boris Vasil’ich. Extremely kind. But – let’s forget my problems now?’
‘Excellent! Life goes on – uh?’
On the surface, it had to.
Ibraim brought them black tea and chunks of black bread. His family home had been on the Nogai Steppe, he told Schelokov in his broken Russian, but he hadn’t seen either it or them since 1916, had no idea whether any of them were still alive. He called both of them ‘Your Excellency’ – Vashe Prevoskhoditeltsvoli – but never cracked even a hint of a smile. Bob commented when he’d left them, ‘Face like a mask.’ Thinking, Hallow’een mask, at that… Schelokov had muttered with his mouth full of bread that Tartars invariably called you ‘Excellency’ right up to the moment they cut your throat.
Look to the Wolves Page 25
