The Little Russian (20 page)

 

IT WAS nearing dawn and only the members of Berta’s inner circle were left lounging about on the settees and chairs, among the ferns and orchids, with their ties loosened and shirt collars unbuttoned, tiaras and ostrich feathers lying where they had dropped them. Olga and her lover, Valya, were on the floor sitting on cushions. She was using her considerable talents as an artist to paint his toenails. Her bobbed hair fell around her face as she leaned over his bare foot resting in her lap. There was a bottle of nail varnish wobbling precariously on the rug next to her.

“Stay still,” she said impatiently. “How am I supposed to do this if you keep moving?”

“I hope you know this is ridiculous.”

“Oh, stop being so dull.”

“It’s going to spill.”

“It’s not going to spill. Not if you stay still and let me ply my trade.”

“You’ve already got it on your dress.”

“Olga . . .” Berta said with annoyance. “Do you have to?” She was standing by the window watching the horizon turn from black to a deep blue. She had been expecting Hershel to walk through the door all evening. He told her that he had to go out and wouldn’t be home for her salon. Still, she didn’t expect him to stay out all night.

“I’m almost done,” Olga replied. “But he keeps moving.”

“I’m not moving. You’re drunk.”

“I am not drunk.”

“Yes, you are. It’s so like you to think that it’s the world that’s swaying and not your own body. She’s drunk,” announced Valya to the
assembled. “Let the world know that the great painter and love of my life, Olga Nikolaevna,” he took her chin in his hand and leaned over to kiss her lips, “is nothing but a common drunk.”

Valentin Guseva was stretched out on the sofa, his arm thrown back supporting his head, his girlish mouth plump and slightly open. Across from him on a matching sofa was Aleksandra Dmitrievna, bundled up in a blanket, her arm resting on a pillow beside her, the rings on her fat fingers winking in the firelight. Yuvelir was seated in a chair at the edge of their little circle with his bare feet propped up on a hassock. His toenails were painted purple.

Valya looked down at his blood red toenails and wiggled his toes. “I actually do like them.”

Olga laughed. “Told you,” she said triumphantly. “And you put up such a fuss. You never listen to me.”

“I always listen to you. I have no choice. You never stop talking.”

She ran the brush up from his toe to his ankle, leaving a line of varnish on his leg. “Olga!” he said, pulling his leg back.

“Yes, my darling?” she said feigning innocence.

“Such a child.” He took out a handkerchief and tried to wipe off the varnish, but it smeared all over the hair on his legs.

“I’m bored. What should we do now?” Yuvelir said.

“Something fun,” said Olga, returning the brush to the bottle with the deliberate concentration of a drunk. “Something dangerous and morally reprehensible. Maybe we should kidnap someone.”

“Who shall we kidnap?” asked Yuvelir with growing interest.

“Someone helpless. Someone who couldn’t put up much of a fight. A child perhaps. I know, a Christian child. We’ll make matzos out of his blood. Berta will show us how.”

Berta turned back from the window. “You seriously think that’s funny, Olga?”

“We’re just having fun,
zaichik.
Don’t be such a sourpuss.”

Berta wandered back to the little circle and took a seat. “It’s late. I want to go to bed.”

“Why don’t we all go to bed?” said Yuvelir. “I’m sure there’s one around here big enough for all of us.”

“Now that’s an idea,” said Olga, standing and stretching her little body and nearly falling over.

“Even for me?” asked Alix. She had persuaded Lenya to go home without her. Now she could stay up with the young people and get into all kinds of mischief and he couldn’t do a thing to stop her.

“No, not for you,
maya krasavitsa
,” said Valentin with a yawn. “You’re much too refined for that.”

“You mean old and fat,” she replied glumly.

Berta was bored with her friends and wished they’d go home. She wanted to go to sleep. She wanted Hershel by her side, safe and warm in their bed. She wanted him to curl up behind her and wrap his arm around her waist.

It had been three weeks since she found the pistols in Hershel’s office and since then everything had changed. Now she was always on edge, anxiously awaiting the next calamity. He had tried to reassure her, telling her that it was only the one time, a favor for a friend, but she didn’t believe him, not really. She kept hearing boots on the front steps and watched for the Okhranka at the door. She couldn’t sleep and when she did she had nightmares of blue men galloping across frozen landscapes.

“I know,” Olga said with a childish clap of her hands. She ran to the drapes and pulled off the tieback cord. “I’ll go and hide and whoever finds me can tie me up and do whatever they want to my body.”

Yuvelir said, “Now, that’s a wonderful idea.”

“Yes, I’m all for it,” Valentin chimed in.

“I thought you only played that game with me,” Valya said sulkily. He wasn’t having much luck with the varnish.

“
Tryn-trava
, darling,” Olga said with a wave of her hand.

Berta hated that phrase. Loosely translated, it meant that everything was going to hell anyway, so what did it matter? But it did matter. Her life mattered; her family and home mattered. They mattered very much.

“It’s late,” she said to the others. “It’s time for all of you to go home. I’ll call a cab.”

“Oh, don’t be like that. We’re just having fun. You could hide with me,” said Olga.

“Doesn’t sound like much fun to me,” Alix said, rolling over and pulling the blanket up over her shoulders.

Yuvelir said to Berta, “I’d find you first, I promise. You wouldn’t have to bother with these lice.” He nodded in Valentin’s direction.

“I’m not playing your stupid game,” Berta replied. “I’m tired and I want to go to sleep.”

“Then we’ll just have to play without you,” said Valentin.

Olga said, “Yes, we’re very sorry, Berta, my sweet. But we won’t let you kick us out. We’re here to stay. It ’s for your own good. We can’t let you waste your life sleeping away your days.” With that she grabbed the cord and ran from the room shouting, “Give me to the count of thirty. No fair cheating. Count to thirty.”

Yuvelir and Valentin counted out loud in unison, then ignored her wishes, skipped to thirty, and ran after her. Valya sat back on the cushions and looked over at Berta with half-closed eyes. “I’ve played that game one too many times with her. Now, if you were to play . . .”

Berta shot him a look and walked back to the window. She could see fragments of the cold dawn through a jumbled tracery of ice crystals on the window. The tracks from the sleds were nearly obliterated by the last of the storm. The only evidence of her guests’ comings and goings were faint definitions under the new snow in the road.

Alix sat up with a heavy sigh and swung her feet to the carpet. “Poor Berta. I’m afraid we haven’t been very good guests tonight. Well, I’m going home. I’m exhausted.” She stood up and leaned her fingertips against a little table for balance. “I’ll probably have to ring up for the car. I can’t imagine Lenya remembered to send it back for me. That would be his revenge. Keep me waiting for it.”

A sleigh glided up the road and pulled into the drive. At this hour Berta knew it had to be Hershel and hurried to the front door. Stepping outside she stood under the portico, shivering with her arms clasped over her chest while she watched him climb out of the cab. “Hurry up, it’s freezing out here,” she called to him.

The horse stamped his feet and shook his head, jingling the bells on his harness. When Hershel straightened she saw in the growing light that his coat was stained black in the front, that he wasn’t wearing a hat or gloves, and that his hair was wet and matted against his scalp.

“Where have you been?” she asked, once he had joined her at the door.

“When we get inside.”

“What’s that stain? Is it blood?”

He didn’t answer her but led the way into the house. Alix was in the foyer putting on her coat. “There you are,” she said. “Everybody was asking about you. I hope you told that cabman to wait. Lenya took our car and stranded me here. Isn’t that just like him?”

“You’ll have to call your own cab,” Hershel said, striding past her to the stairs. “I’ll need that one.”

“You’re going out again?” Berta asked.

“Come up, I have to talk to you.” His tone was flat and chilling. The two women stood there a moment watching him climb the stairs. “I’m sorry, Alix,” she said without taking her eyes off her husband.

“Don’t be,
milochka
. They want what they want. What ’s the point of arguing? Go up to him. I’ll be all right.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. Go on, I’ll ring you tomorrow.”

Berta kissed her on both cheeks and hurried up the stairs.

She found Hershel in his bathroom with his shirt off and the hot water running in the sink. Steam curled up and clouded the mirror. He was using her good scissors to cut his beard close to the skin. There were curly black hairs on the counter, more floating in the water, and even more stuck to the blades.

“What’s the matter, Hershel? You couldn’t give Alix the cab? That ’s not like you.”

“No, I suppose it isn’t.” He applied a thick layer of shaving soap over his face and chin.

“Why are you shaving off your beard?”

There was a knock on the door.

“That ’ll be Vera,” he said. “Tell her to bring up three suitcases. Not the big ones. I want them easy to carry.”

Her stomach churned. “Are you going somewhere?”

He dipped his razor into the hot water and then, leaning forward
to get a better look, scraped a swath off his cheek. The beard made a crackling noise as the razor wiped it away. “Please, Berta. Just do as I say.”

She opened the bedroom door and found Vera standing there wearing her nightdress with a shawl thrown over her shoulders. After Berta explained what she wanted, Vera asked, “Shall I pack them for you, Madame?”

The question threw her for a moment. It hadn’t occurred to her that she might be going somewhere. “No, that’s all right. Sorry to bother you this early.”

“S’all right, Madame. No bother.”

Back in the bathroom, Berta found a stranger standing in front of the mirror, dabbing at a dribble of blood on his chin. With his beard gone, Hershel’s face was pink and vulnerable like the underbelly of a newborn animal. The oval forehead was familiar, as were the dark eyebrows, the Tartar ’s eyes with the long lashes and the high-bridged nose. But the mouth was new, a surprise, a complete stranger, and it changed his whole appearance. She had never seen it before.

“Why did you shave?” she asked him again. She stood at the bathroom door, the steam hot on her cheeks, her back cold from the unheated room.

He rinsed off his hands and face and then splashed water over his chest and under his arms. He grabbed a towel off the rack and dried himself, smearing it with the blood from his shaving cut. Then he stuck a little tissue on the wound to stem the flow and when he was satisfied he looked over at her. His eyes were black and cold like pebbles. “We broke into a police warehouse tonight.”

Her face went flat. “Why?”

“They had guns and we needed them.”

“But I thought—”

“I know what you thought.” He pushed past her and left the bathroom. She followed him into the bedroom and found him searching through the armoire. “There was a boy. Not much over eighteen. We thought he was experienced. We were told he was reliable and would make a good lookout, so we stood him outside, across the street from
the warehouse.” He found a shirt and put it on, squaring his shoulders to make it fit better, and then started buttoning it up.

Down below in the alcove off the foyer the telephone began to ring. They stopped when they heard it. Hershel went to the door and listened. He left her standing in the open doorway and called down: “Who is it, Vera?”

Vera had been taught never to shout and ran up the stairs to deliver her message properly. “He didn’t say, Excellency. Only that he wishes to speak with His Honor. He said it was urgent.”

Hershel glanced back at Berta and then followed Vera downstairs. Berta waited for him in the hallway, while her heart began to pound. She had no idea what was happening, but she knew it was something awful, something to be feared. Her world was under assault, that much was clear. Her beautiful house in the Berezina, her family, her friends, and all her precious things were vulnerable and could be taken away. Hershel had gambled with them and, judging by his behavior, had lost.

When he came back to her he was carrying a small suitcase. “What is it? What’s happening?” she asked.

“It’s Scharfstein.”

“Who?”

He went back into the bedroom and she followed him inside. “They ’ve arrested him. There’s no time to pack now. Get the children ready. We’re leaving in ten minutes.” He was fumbling with the button on the back of his stiff collar.

“Leaving? Where?”

“To America.”

She stared at him. “I’m not going to America.”

He draped his tie around his collar and looked at himself in the armoire mirror while he tied it. “You have to come. You have no choice.”

“I’m not leaving my home, Hershel. Everything is here. My life is here. You expect me to walk right out the door on a moment ’s notice?”

“Yes, I suppose I do. Now, hurry, we don’t have much time.”

“Well, I won’t do it. I just won’t.”

He sat down on the bed and began pulling on his boots. “You’re going to have to, Berta. We can’t stay here. If we do, I’ll be arrested.”

Berta couldn’t believe this was happening. Everything seemed so unreal, slowed down, as if underwater. He was telling her that her life in Cherkast was over, that everything that was important to her was gone and there was nothing she could do about it. “Then you go,” she said firmly. “I’ll come later.”