‘What do you mean? I’ve got to –’
‘Don’t, Anna. Keep away from them. Queue up with a parcel, but believe me, it’s not a good idea to go “making inquiries” in a place like that. Your name gets into the system. The next thing you know, you’re part of the investigation too.’
‘So you’re saying I should just do nothing – not even try to help him?’
‘Anna!’ Julia leans forward, crushes her cigarette out in the ashtray, and seizes hold of Anna’s wrists, shaking them gently. ‘Anna, listen. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. Do you want that baby to be born in prison and shoved into a children’s home? They give them new names, you know. You can never find them again.’
‘But Andrei –’
‘All he cares about is you and the baby. And Kolya, of course,’ adds Julia quickly.
‘I’ve got to do something. I went to see his professor but that was no good. If I can just find out what the charge is –’
‘No, Anna, it doesn’t work like that. Drink your tea, for God’s sake, you look as if you’re going to pass out on me.’
Anna swallows hot, sugary tea. Warmth spreads through her veins but her head feels icy.
‘You’ve got to disappear,’ says Julia.
‘Disappear! How can I disappear? My papers have to be in order, I’ve got my residence permit here, my job – we can’t live on air. I’ve got to support Kolya as well as the baby –’
‘For heaven’s sake, Anna, don’t be so naive!’ says Julia in a ferocious whisper. ‘What do you think is going to happen to them if you’re arrested as well? It’s because of them that you’ve got to stay on the outside. Do you think you’ll be getting three meals a day in prison, and a nice nurse coming in to make sure the baby’s all right? You’ll get bread, and a bowl of soup made with fish that’s gone off. If you’re lucky and anyone on the outside has got any money to send you, you can buy some sugar from the prison shop. As soon as the baby’s born, it’ll be taken away. What’s Kolya going to live on if you’re arrested? Oh no, I forgot, he’s already sixteen. That problem will soon be solved. They’ll arrest him, too. He’s getting a bit old for a Home for Juvenile Delinquents, so it’ll be prison for him as well.’
‘Julia –’
‘No. Listen. You’ve already made one serious mistake. You mustn’t go traipsing around asking people to help you. All you’re doing is creating witnesses to testify against you. I don’t mean me, I’m glad you came here. But that professor you were talking about – I don’t suppose he was falling over himself to offer his support, was he?’
‘No.’
‘Exactly. And if he thinks it will protect his own position he’ll tell them all about your visit, and every word you said. He wants to survive. He’ll throw you to the wolves.’
To the wolves. Sonya Maslova’s expression flashes through Anna’s mind. ‘Get out and don’t come back.’ Julia’s right. If it would benefit Maslov, Sonya would certainly denounce Anna. But that doesn’t mean that other people won’t help – they aren’t all the same –
‘I know what I’m talking about, Anna,’ says Julia, in a tone of weary certainty that silences Anna’s protests.
‘Julia?’ she says at last, tentatively.
‘Yes?’
‘Tell me …’
‘There’s nothing to tell. It’s the same story as everybody else’s, only in my case a miracle occurred.’ Julia smiles ironically. ‘Are you sure you want to hear about my little odyssey? All right then, but I’ll keep it brief. It’s not so lovely that you’d want to dwell on it.
‘My father was arrested in ’35, when I was seventeen. My parents had already been divorced for years, as you know, and they were poles apart. My mother had got herself into a very strong position one way and another, and she made sure she stayed in it.’ Julia’s left eyelid twitches. ‘She had no contact with any of us, and she changed her name. No doubt she rewrote her entire autobiography so that my father didn’t feature. I suppose it’s possible that she denounced him; but I’ve no proof of that and I don’t want to think about it.
‘He got five years, which didn’t seem too bad, except that he had angina and so I was very worried about that. You know I told you I was with the Kazan Ballet Company? Well, I was, but not for as long as I said. I had a fantastic stroke of luck. I got into Moiseyev’s new company – you’ve heard of it?’
‘Yes, I think so –’
‘It was a new world. It was wonderful. Exactly the kind of dancing I’d always wanted to do. I’d begun to feel so dead and stuck. I’d never realized dancing could be so – oh, I don’t know. Witty. Funny. Full of life. He was exacting, of course he was, but he had something you don’t come across very often – just once or twice in a lifetime. He had fire. Georgii has it too – that’s why –
‘Moiseyev had a vision and he would do anything to fulfil it, and he made you see what it could be like. We worked and worked and worked. I loved it, Anna! I was so happy. I realized that I’d never been happy in my life before, not really. You know what it’s like when every part of you, every fibre, is used – not used up – but used for a purpose – so that you can go on and on and you’re not worn out, you’re getting stronger all the time?’
Julia’s eyes shine as if they are full of tears. Anna is impatient. Why is Julia going on like this, when Andrei has been arrested? At any other time she’d have been glad to hear Julia’s story. But Moiseyev has nothing to do with what’s happening now, today, to Andrei.
‘It doesn’t happen very often,’ Julia goes on more quietly, as if she senses Anna’s thoughts. ‘And it soon came to an end. Late in ’37, just when everyone was going crazy about us – the Company, I mean …’ Julia pauses. The light goes from her face. She coughs, and swallows. ‘You remember those times. They started doubling everyone’s sentence, or worse. You were afraid all the time. It was like a disease. So many people were being arrested. I can’t imagine why I thought that being in the Company would make me any safer.
‘They asked me to come in for an interview, because they needed to make “certain inquiries”. I remember those exact words. I really thought it was just a formality – or at least, I convinced myself that was what I thought. I didn’t take anything along with me, no money, not even a spare pair of knickers. Can you imagine? I hurried along dead on time for my appointment because I had a rehearsal that afternoon and I didn’t want to be late for it. That’s how much of an idiot I still was, in spite of what had happened to my father. I could at least have given them the trouble of coming to look for me! But no. They only had to pick up the phone and I trotted along, as good as gold. Don’t you think, Anna, if they’d had to do all their own dirty work, it might have slowed down the process a bit at least?’
‘I don’t know, Julia.’ Anna looks into Julia’s dilated, glittering eyes. ‘You had no choice really. We didn’t fight. I’d have done the same as you.’
‘Would you? I don’t know. It still seems to me that we make it too easy for them. If everyone fought right from the first moment then they’d need a lot more Blue-caps. And a lot more guards in the prisons too. The whole performance might even become uneconomic.
‘But all that’s beside the point. If you don’t betray yourself, there’s usually someone ready to step forward and betray you. Anyway, so there I was, with my little pale blue leather bag which had nothing in it but a few sticks of stage make-up, some tights and a couple of pairs of dance shoes. The guards who searched me didn’t seem in the least surprised by my collection. I suppose they’d seen everything.’ Julia seizes hold of Anna’s hand. ‘Listen. Are you thirty-four now, or thirty-five?’
‘Thirty-four.’
‘The same as me. And I was nineteen then. We’ve nearly lived our whole lives all over again, and it’s still going on the same. But you mustn’t be like me.’ Julia drops her gaze. ‘Sometimes,’ she murmurs, ‘it doesn’t seem like any time at all. I wake up and I think I’m there.’ Her voice quivers, while her grip o
n Anna tightens.
The moment breaks. Julia reaches for another cigarette and lights it, narrowing her eyes against the smoke before she resumes her story in a calm, matter-of-fact tone. ‘As it turned out the charge wasn’t connected with my father. It was about a joke someone had made at a party. I could prove I wasn’t there, because I’d been sick that day and so I’d only just got through the performance and then gone straight home. But they still got me for “insufficient vigilance”. However, and this is where my miracle occurred: I only got a year, can you imagine that? In ’37! It was like being handed a bunch of flowers. Maybe the judge was a fan of the Company. Every day I expected to be hauled in front of another court and given an additional sentence. It was happening all the time. They were giving ten years, twenty years, anything that came into their heads by then, and of course the prisons were stuffed full so everybody was being sent off to the camps. But, do you know what, my sentence stayed the same. I came out.’
Anna reaches out and takes Julia’s hand, squeezes the soft, slender fingers.
‘My father died in ’39,’ says Julia. ‘Heart disease. He was out east, at a place called Elgen. We got the notification.’
‘Oh, Julia.’
‘You remember him?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘I was such a fool. I should have run away, but I stayed in Moscow, like a plum on a tree, waiting for them to pick me. I was like nearly everyone I met in prison. Until the very last moment I couldn’t believe it would happen to me. But there were a few who saw clearly, right from the start. They just dropped everything, stepped out of their lives and went as far away as they could, as soon as they caught wind of trouble. They went off to any little place they could find in the back end of beyond. There were so many easy fruit to pick – the authorities only had to reach up a hand – and so the ones who’d vanished weren’t always pursued.
‘I heard about a university professor who went out to Central Asia, slept under the stars and lived on mare’s milk and wild honey – he must have had contacts out there, I suppose. It’s difficult, I know, especially for us, because we’ve all been brought up to fill in all our forms and have the right papers and notify everybody of everything. That’s one of the things that drew me to Georgii. He’s not like that, he cuts through everything.’ Julia leans forward and whispers almost inaudibly, ‘I know, you’re thinking about that Stalin Prize. But Georgii didn’t crawl for it. He made the films he wanted to make, that was all. He likes what it brings, of course, and it means he can keep on doing the work he wants. The one thing I know about Georgii is that he would always put me first, whatever happened, and try to keep me safe.’
Anna’s mind whirls.
‘So … after you were released, did you go back to the Company?’
‘No.’ Julia stares down at her feet, and in a flash Anna remembers. I kept getting injuries … everything was messed up … Dancers’ feet are horrible … Something else happened to Julia in that time; something bad. That limp she has … They did something to her, in there. Anna’s skin crawls.
‘Anyway,’ says Julia, ‘it wouldn’t have been good for the Company to have me back.’
Anna takes a deep breath. Even as she begins to speak, she knows it’s no good. ‘I was going to ask, Julia, if your husband might be able to … Well, you know. Put in a word for Andrei somehow. But now I see …’
‘No,’ says Julia quietly, ‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t ask him, after everything he’s done for me. You can imagine, for example, what he had to do to get my papers sorted out so I could live here in Leningrad. That was my second miracle, when I met Georgii.’
Anna understands. Georgii and Julia are in their little boat, and only they know how low it lies in the water. One more passenger might send them all to the bottom.
‘It’s all right, Julia, I do understand.’ Her body feels so heavy, as if she’ll never be able to move again. ‘But if I go away, Andrei will think I’ve abandoned him.’
‘Drink your tea. You’re so pale, Anna, you’ve got to look after yourself. Andrei won’t think anything like that. He’ll guess what’s happened. In prison, you learn a lot of things very quickly. But until you’ve been “there” you can’t have any idea. There was a woman in the Lubyanka who’d been outside, standing in a queue to deliver a parcel for her husband. Or maybe there were two parcels … Yes, that was it! They accepted one parcel but started to make a fuss about the other. All at once, she was pulled out of the queue and taken inside “for interview”. That was that. She was arrested too. There was no one left on the outside to bring parcels for her. The worst of it was she had two children. Remember, there’s nothing easier than for them to arrest you too. Don’t think it can’t happen.’
‘But I can’t let a chance that I might get arrested as well prevent me from trying to do anything for Andrei. I’m not talking about causing trouble, just making inquiries.’
‘You really don’t know anything! How can I help you when you won’t even try to help yourself? Listen. There was a woman in our cell, Anna, who was pregnant. A bit further on than you, about six months I think. That didn’t stop them putting her on the conveyor belt.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s a form of interrogation. They kept her awake, standing up, all day and all night for two days – it’s something they do, and sometimes it’s not two days, it’s five or six or even more. When she came back to the cell she vomited all over the floor, and then collapsed. The next night she miscarried. She stuffed her blanket into her mouth because she didn’t want anyone to hear. I think she thought there was a chance the baby might be born alive. But it was dead, of course. They took it away. The guard put it in a bucket. They took her away too and I didn’t see her again. You haven’t been there, Anna. You think it can’t happen to you. But I tell you they can do anything. Anything at all.’
A long silence. The air of the room bristles with what Julia has tried to forget. Julia sits, head bowed. At last Anna stirs, leans forward, and strokes Julia’s hair. Her hand remembers the feel of it so well. In the old days, playing under the table in the communal apartment, they used to plait and unplait each other’s hair. Julia’s was always longer and thicker, like the hair of a princess.
‘Thank you, Julia. You’re a good friend. I’d better go now, before Georgii comes home.’
20
‘Prisoner Alekseyev, A. M., has been transferred to the Lubyanka Prison, Moscow.’ The official does not look up. He makes a mark on a form, his face blank.
‘But –’
‘Next!’
The woman behind her in the queue pokes Anna in the small of her back. Anna turns and sees the muffled face, the shadowed eyes. The woman’s expression is not impatient, but warning.
Anna stands aside, still clutching her parcel. The queue shuffles forward. Everyone watches the little opening where the official’s face is framed, and the shutter above it, which can be opened or closed only from the inside. At any moment, the official might slam down the shutter. It often happens. And then you wait an hour, two hours, hoping against hope that your turn will come. The snow is trampled flat, and has the thick blue glisten of ice. Cold strikes up through your boots as you wait and wait and wait. Sometimes the inquiry window opens again and the official begins to ‘deal with’ the queue. Sometimes it doesn’t. You come back the next day. You come back again the day after, and if you have to you’ll keep on coming day after day, with the same parcel. You shift from foot to foot. Sometimes you have to stamp your feet to keep the circulation going, but you try not to draw attention to yourself.
The first time, you can’t believe that so many people would wait for so long, and yet the window would fly shut, spitefully, while a long line still snakes across the snow. It seems as if the official has calculated exactly the amount of despair that each person in the queue needs to feel, each day. Soon you get used to it. You know the ropes and you just shrug wearily when someone new tries to question the officials. All qu
estions achieve is to make trouble for everyone else. If an official gets into a bad mood, the window will soon slam down.
That woman standing over there with her parcel in her hands, looking lost, you can tell she’s new. She hasn’t learned her lesson yet. Those officials are all the same, even though the faces change. None of them has the slightest interest in pleas or tears. They have a job to do, and that’s that. What do you want? Special treatment?
Anna stares down at the parcel. In it are two sets of clean underwear, cigarettes, a bar of chocolate, a warm sweater and a pillowcase. She packed them in so carefully. She knew she couldn’t risk enclosing a letter, or even a note. Julia had told her what to do.
Transferred! She never imagined that. Oh God, to the Lubyanka. She never thought of them taking him away from Leningrad. Why have they done it? What does it mean?
She stands still, irresolute. The cold sinks into her mind, paralysing it. Should she join the queue again, and beg the official to tell her more? But she’s had to wait for over two hours to get to the front, and there are many more people waiting now than there were when she first arrived. She couldn’t possibly reach the window again before closing time. Why should they care? It’s a job. They have to take their lunch breaks and go home dead on time. Why should they put themselves out for the families of prisoners? Especially prisoners of Andrei’s type. Common criminals are one thing. Even if you don’t steal or rape or murder yourself, you can understand such crimes, and you know what to do with them. Prisons have been dealing with those types since time began. But these wreckers and spies, saboteurs and socially dangerous elements are a completely different matter. No matter how many you deal with, they keep on coming, like bedbugs.
Anna could come back tomorrow. On the other hand she daren’t take another day off work without a certificate. Morozova is rigid about such things. If Anna can’t produce one …
There mustn’t be any inquiries. If Morozova hears even a whisper about Andrei’s arrest, she’ll soon find a way of getting rid of Anna. Her pioneering model nursery can’t be contaminated by association. It’ll be obvious that Anna can’t have been ‘sufficiently vigilant’ herself, otherwise she would have denounced her husband. The authorities would support Morozova in sacking Anna, given that she’s in charge of impressionable young minds.
Betrayal Page 27
