The Accidental Anarchist (40 page)

Had I offended him, or was he toying with me?

“Surely you don’t begrudge us one more day of your company.” His smile left me feeling that he was holding something back. “You would not consider staying in Irkutsk a bit longer?”

“Why?”

“Why not? Has anyone done anything to make you feel unwelcome?”

“Heaven forbid! No one could have been better hosts than you and Madame. But my parents have not seen me in over six months, and who knows how much longer I will have them?”

“Is that your only reason?”

I felt like a prisoner given one last chance to make a full confession – a familiar sensation. “No. To be truthful, I don’t feel I belong here, not in your house, nor among your friends. Whatever I had once done for you, you have already repaid a thousand times over.”

For a long moment, his eyes reflected the glowering tip of his cigar. “What if I were to offer you a full partnership in my firm?”

“You’re mad!”

“A millionaire’s life doesn’t tempt you?”

“Of course, it does. But. . .” My mind had gone blank. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say ‘yes’.”

“Maybe one day, when I am no longer a fugitive, when I have a wife of my own . . .” My tongue stumbled.

His shrewd glance seemed, again, to signal that he knew all, that he was testing me. But then his former boyish smile returned, and he allowed me to help him into his overcoat.

For the rest of that day, whenever Vasya was out of the house, Madame and I took care not to be alone in the same room.

At dinner, no place was set for him, so Madame, Pyavka and I ate in silence, measuring each other’s every breath. Feeling banished from our wordless conversation, Pyavka announced that he was ready to retire. I told him that I planned to retire early, too, but he was already on his way to the stairs. I noticed in passing that his face had taken on the color of moldy bread. But I was too preoccupied with my own situation to give it much thought.

My new belongings had been packed in leather trunks so fresh from the factory that they seem not yet to have lost the smell of the animal from which they had come.

Pyavka finally made peace with his new name and would be traveling with me.

We stood in the entry hall, hovering protectively over our trunks, waiting for Vasya. Both of us were so thickly bundled up, I didn’t see how we and our belongings would all fit into the same coach.

Earlier that morning, Vasya told us that he had cancelled all other appointments so that he might escort us to the station. Following which, he promptly disappeared. Now and then, I heard him through closed doors, shouting into the telephone.

Thus far, I had dodged the awkwardness of saying goodbye to Madame. Now, flinching at the click of her descending footsteps, I knew I could not put it off any longer.

My mind groped for something agreeable yet impersonal to say in parting, but my tongue had turned to stone.

Her head motioned me to follow her into her husband’s study. For a moment, I saw her once more as the grand and fearsome lady who had first confronted me in Divanovsky’s office, and I braced myself for what she might have to say.

”I want you to swear to me you will forget what passed between us the other evening.”

“There is nothing to tell.”

“Words were spoken.”

“They will go no further.”

Her throat released a dry sob. “I will never forgive myself.”

"For what?"

“Driving you away.”

“Truly, Madame, it has nothing to do with you.”

Her wounded eyes branded me a liar. I stood, encased in my bulky fur coat, and felt the sting of perspiration as it glided down my neck. Now even my bones were sweating.

I looked at my gold watch. We were late! The train must already be at the depot. But no one seemed to be in any hurry. Other than Pyavka and me.

At long last, Vasya made his ponderous way downstairs, even as Madame presented me with her pulsing, almost weightless hand. Vasya observed this without expression. He merely reminded me that although the train was scheduled to depart at ten-thirty that morning, one could never be certain whether this once, just for spite, it would hold to its pitiful schedule.

The coachman helped Pyavka and me into the carriage and piled our luggage in after us. The last item to be loaded was a farewell gift from Madame, an immense basket, whose warm, meaty aroma overpowered even the icy winds.

While we contorted ourselves to make room for Vasya, he suddenly commandeered a cab. It seemed he had forgotten to take care of a certain matter at the office. I wondered if this was his way of showing displeasure at the length of time I had held his wife’s hand.

Late as we were, Pyavka and I climbed out again and trooped back into the house to await his return. Madame ordered the butler to bring us hot tea. I tried to avoid her look of desolation.

Pyavka whispered, “Why can’t we go without him?”

I reminded him that our host had our tickets in his pocket. He paid for them, and that gave him the right to make us miss the train. At worst, there would be another one two days from now.

“In two days a lot can happen.”

“Like what?”

He gave me the look of a man who knew more than he let on.

I sipped hot tea with jam, and wondered whether everyone in this house knew more than I did.

While Pyavka made use of the toilet for the second or third time that morning, Madame looked at me as though expecting some memorable pronouncement.

“At least neither of us has any cause to be ashamed.”

She nodded, her eyes damp with resignation. “Go in peace. Rejoice in your parents, while you have them. They have mourned and suffered long enough. Only promise me you will be careful. Stay clear of your old comrades. Remember, to the police you are still a marked man. All it takes is for one person to recognize your face and denounce you.”

Her words left me chilled. Had the luxury of the receding few weeks dulled the edge of the fear that had been my constant companion since escaping from Siberia? Perhaps I was acting too rashly. Much as I longed to see my parents, I was seized with a sudden dread of leaving the shelter of Divanovsky’s home.

And this time, there would be no one to come to my aid. Once, an unknown girl at the train station in Warsaw had picked up my scrap of paper with its silent scream for help, and saved me. She was not likely to be there, again.

But being still young and reckless, I made light of Madame’s fears in the next breath. “Dear Madame, being an outlaw is the only trade I know.”

“Come back to us,” she said with more emotion than I found comfortable. “You will be safe here. Cable my husband, and he will send you train fare. And his offer of a partnership remains open. I guarantee it.”

“How did you know about that?”

“You thought he had acted behind my back? The wealth you have seen comes largely from my family. Oh, he too brought money into our marriage. But he destroyed himself with his evil lust for gambling.” For a moment, the sadness bruising her features hardened to scorn. “Now he is nothing without me. I hold the whip. Come back and, much as it will torment me, I will help you find a bride. I need a friend with whom I can at least share what is in my heart. And you are the only true friend I have. I want your word. Will you come back?”

My face felt as though it had been thrust into boiling water. All I could say was, “If I am fated to return, I’ll return.”

“You will if you want to, if you are my true friend. I want your most solemn promise.” While saying this, she tried to press a thick bundle of money into my hand. “Your return fare to Irkutsk. Now there will be nothing to hold you back.”

I tried to refuse the gift. Or rather, the conditions attached to it. “Your husband has already given me more than I need. How can I accept this behind his back?”

“Take it,” she commanded. “Take it, or you will leave me with no hope at all.”

Before I could protest any further, Vasya returned. He and his wife exchanged a dark look whose meaning escaped me. As though to defy his wife, Vasya openly handed me, along with our train tickets and travel permits, another five hundred rubles.

Pyavka had been standing outside, stamping his feet to keep warm. I saw him, through the open door, waving his arms with impatience. By now it was well past ten-thirty. For all we knew, the train might have long since departed.

Pyavka and I climbed into the carriage once again and were joined by Vasya, leaving barely enough room for a deep breath. Our driver was about to start when Madame came fluttering toward us in a cloud of furs. She knocked on the carriage door and demanded that we make room for her, as well.

Poor Vasya. It occurred to me that this lady, for all her beauty and wealth, might not be an easy woman to have for a wife.

Chapter 34:The Cost of Money

The carriage flew at a fearful speed, churning up a spray of snow as high as our windows. I took a stealthy look at my watch. It was nearly eleven o’clock in morning. I shared Pyavka’s annoyance with Vasya and Madame. Not only did they make us late, but I had hoped to have a quiet word with my friend in private to impress upon him that he had been shamefully cold toward his wife.

At the station, we skidded to a halt so sharply that the carriage nearly tipped over. The train was still there, but impatient puffs of steam were hissing out from under its belly.

Although I was strongly tempted to ignore convention, for people of our rank, arriving as we did by coach, it would have been unthinkable to leap out and run along the platform. So we sat back and waited, with varying levels of calmness, for the driver to dismount from his box. Then Pyavka and I were obliged to watch as he shuffled to open our door with all the grace of a snowman come to life, which exposed us to a blast of cold air. Next, he carefully removed and folded the valuable fur blankets covering our laps and legs, and placed them on his seat. Finally, we had to stand by and observe him unloading our immaculate new luggage, repelling with a dog-like snarl the helpful hands of half a dozen idle porters. At last, gasping like a bellows, he carried each trunk to the train, and from there to our first-class car at the far end of the platform.

By the grimy and indifferent station clock, all of this took another fifteen minutes. During this time, our train squatted on its trestles, excreted foul-smelling clouds, and waited for us to do it the kindness of boarding.

Protocol, at last, allowed us to head for our car, unhurried and unburdened with luggage, as befitted our first-class tickets.

Headed toward our car, I swallowed a sudden taste of fear. Three uniformed men were leading a string of chained prisoners down the platform. From the way the victims were dressed and tonsured, they might well have escaped from our camp. I averted my face and nudged Pyavka to do the same.

Sensing my discomfort, Madame laughed. She whispered that I needn’t worry. For one thing, no one looking at Pyavka or me would find a speck of resemblance to the barely human specimens who had turned up in her husband’s office weeks earlier. And if some uniformed thug on the train should dare to question our documents, “all you need to do is send a telegram and—”

“Madame,” I said respectfully. “I’ve been arrested before, and in a civilized city like Warsaw. By the time I was able to bribe one of the guards to let me write a message, I was already on my way to the execution wall.”

She frowned with annoyance. My quibble seemed not to fit the high opinion she had had of my resourcefulness. I could only hope that, when the Revolution washed over Irkutsk, her husband would have had the good sense to see it coming and take her far away.

I was just about to board when Vasya pulled me aside. He wanted to speak with me, alone. Now?

He said that he planned to lose himself in the crowd. And when the train left, he would be on it, too.

I gaped at him stupidly. “What about your wife?”

“She knows how to find her way home.”

“But she won’t know where you are. She’ll be frantic.”

“I doubt it very much. But if it will make you happy, I’ll send her a message.” I couldn’t say that I much liked his casual compromise.

The conductor chanted his final warning of imminent departure. Vasya tipped him a ruble, handed him a slip of paper, and strolled along the platform.

Madame, caught in a rush of last-minute passengers, elbowed her way toward the train and peered through each window, her eyes roving for her husband. She saw me and waved. Her lips formed words I could not decipher. All I could do was curve my hand behind my ear, shrug and shake my head.

By the time Pyavka and I were entrenched amidst our barricade of heavy luggage, the wheels were already pounding under our feet. I had just begun to wonder whether Vasya had changed his mind when our door slid open.

My old comrade, his nose and mouth theatrically muffled, motioned me to follow him to the dining car.

Pyavka, with an accommodating smile, rose to join us. But Divanovsky’s brusque gesture made clear the invitation was meant for me, alone.