Under a Blood Red Sky (51 page)

‘Who are you?’ he asked again in a low voice.

‘I told you, I am a friend.’

Abruptly he walked to the front door and held it open. Outside, the wolfhound lazed in the sun. ‘Get out before I throw you out.’ He didn’t shout. Just quiet words.

Sofia rose and moved closer. She noticed a rip in the collar of his shirt, a rust-coloured smear on one cuff that looked like dried blood. He was in need of a shave. Her heart went out to him, this man she’d both loved and hated.

‘Vasily, I am a friend of Anna Fedorina.’

She saw the shock hit him. A shudder. Then so still, not even his pupils moved.

‘You are mistaken, comrade.’

‘Are you telling me that you are not Vasily Dyuzheyev, only son of Svetlana and Grigori Dyuzheyev of Petrograd? Killer of the Bolshevik soldier who murdered your father, protector of Anna Fedorina who hid under a chaise longue, builder of snow sleighs and agitator for the Bolsheviks. That Vasily. Is that not you?’

He turned away from her, his back as straight as one of his field furrows. For a long time neither spoke.

‘Who sent you here?’ he asked at last without looking at her. ‘Are you an agent for OGPU, here to entrap me? I believe it was you who placed the sacks under my bed. I could see the hate in your eyes when the soldiers came for me.’ He breathed deeply. ‘Tell me why.’

‘I thought you were someone else. I am not with OGPU, have no fear of that, but I did make a terrible mistake and for that I do apologise. I was wrong.’

Still he gazed out at the soft evening clouds, at a skein of geese that arrowed across them. ‘Who did you think I was?’

‘The boy soldier who shot both Anna’s father and Svetlana Dyuzheyeva.’

No response. Her heart pounded. ‘Vasily, speak to me. She’s alive, Vasily, Anna Fedorina is alive.’

It was like watching an earth-tremor, a quake from somewhere deep below the world’s surface. His broad shoulder blades shifted out of alignment and his muscular neck jerked in spasm but he didn’t turn. He just tightened his folded arms around himself as though holding something inside.

‘Where?’

‘In a labour camp. I was there with her.’

‘Which one?’ Barely a whisper.

‘Davinsky Camp in Siberia.’

‘Why?’

‘For nothing more than being the daughter of
Doktor
Nikolai Fedorin, who was declared an Enemy of the People.’

No more words. Neither of them could find any. The black shadow of Vasily lay across the wooden floor between them like a corpse.

They drank vodka. They drank till the pain was blunted and they could look at each other. Sofia sat in the chair, upright and tense, while Fomenko fetched a squat stool from the bedroom and folded himself on to it, his lean limbs orderly and controlled once more. She wanted him to shout at her, to bellow and scream and accuse her of false betrayal. She wanted to be made to suffer the way she’d made him suffer.

But he did none of these things. After the initial shock, he snapped back from the edge of whatever abyss had opened up and his strength astounded her. How could he hold so much turmoil within himself, yet seem so calm? His self-control was iron-clad, so strong that he even smiled at her, a dry, sorrowful smile, and ran a steady hand over the head of the dog now stretched out at his feet. Its brown eyes watched his face as attentively as Sofia did.

‘Comrade,’ he said, ‘I am glad Anna has a friend.’

‘Help me, Vasily, to be a true friend to her.’

‘Help you how?’

‘By rescuing her.’

For the first time the firm line of his mouth faltered. ‘I have no authority to order any kind of release in-’

‘Not with orders. I mean together, you and I, we could go up there. You could authorise travel permits and we-’

‘No.’

‘She’s sick.’

‘I’m very sorry,’ he said quietly.

‘Sorry means nothing. She’s going to die. She’s spitting blood and another winter up there will kill her.’

A dull mist seemed to settle behind his eyes, blurring them. ‘Anna,’ he whispered.

‘Help her.’

He shook his head slowly, full of regret.

‘What happened to you?’ she demanded. ‘When did you lose your ability to care for another human being? When your parents were shot, was that it? Did that moment smother every feeling in you for the rest of your life?’

In the gathering gloom he stared at her in silence.

‘You don’t understand, comrade.’

‘Make me, Vasily, make me understand. How can you abandon someone you loved, someone who still loves you and believes in you and needs you? How does that happen?’ She leaned forward, hands clasped. ‘Go on, tell me. Make me understand.’

‘I traced Maria, her governess. I wanted to…’ Suddenly words failed him.

With a groan he rose to his feet, walked over to the vodka on the table and took a swig straight from the bottle.

‘Comrade Morozova, my feelings are my own business, not yours. Now please leave.’

‘No, Vasily, not until you tell me-’

‘Listen to me, comrade, and listen well. Vasily Dyuzheyev is dead and gone. Do not call me by that name ever again. Russia is a stubborn country, its people are hard-headed and determined. To transform this Soviet system into a world economy – which is what Stalin is attempting to do by opening up our immense mineral wealth in the wastelands of Siberia – we must put aside personal loyalties and accept only loyalty to the State. This is the way forward – the
only
way forward.’

‘The labour camps are inhuman.’

‘Why were you sent there?’

‘Because my uncle was too good at farming and acquired the label
kulak
. They thought I was “contaminated”.’

‘Do you still not see that the labour camps are essential because they provide a workforce for the roads and railways, for the mines and the timber yards, as well as teaching people that they must-’

‘Stop it, stop it!’

He stopped. They stared hard at each other. The air between them quivered as Sofia released her breath.

‘You’d be proud of her,’ she murmured. ‘So proud of Anna.’

Those simple words did what all her arguments and her pleading had failed to do. They broke his control. This tall powerful man sank to his knees on the hard floor like a tree being felled, all strength gone. He placed his hands over his face and released a low stifled moan. It was harsh and raw, as though something was ripping open. But it gave Sofia hope. She could just make out the murmur of words repeated over and over again. ‘My Anna, my Anna, my Anna…’ The dog stood at his side and licked one of its master’s hands with a gentle whine.

Sofia rose from her chair and went over to him. Tentatively her fingertips stroked his soft cropped hair, and a sweet image of it, longer, with young Anna’s fingers entwined in its depths, arose in her head. He had cut off Vasily’s hair as effectively as he’d cut off his heartbeat. Time alone was what he needed now, time to breathe. So she walked into his tiny kitchen to give him a moment, filled a glass with water, and when she returned she found him sitting in the chair, his limbs loose and awkward. She wrapped his hand round the glass. At first he stared at it, uncomprehending, but when she said, ‘Drink,’ he drank.

Then she squatted down on the floor in front of him and in a quiet voice started to tell him about Anna. What made Anna laugh, what made her cry, how she raised one eyebrow and tipped her head at you when she was teasing, how she worked harder than any of his kolkhozniki, how she could tell a story that kept you spellbound and carried you far away from the damp miserable barrack hut into a bright shining world.

‘She saved my life,’ Sofia added at one point. She didn’t elaborate and he didn’t ask for details.

Gradually Aleksei Fomenko’s head came up and his eyes found their focus once more, his limbs rediscovered their connection and his mind regained control. As Sofia talked, a fragile smile crept on to his face. When finally the talking ceased he took a deep breath, as though to inhale the words she had set free into the air, and nodded.

‘Anna always made me laugh,’ he said in a low voice. ‘She was always funny, always infuriating.’ The smile spread, wide and affectionate. ‘She drove me mad and I adored her.’

‘So help me to rescue her.’

The smile died. ‘No.’

‘Why not?’

He stood up, towering over her where she still crouched on the floor and he spoke quietly, the turmoil hidden away, concealed deep inside. His wolfhound leaned against his thigh and he rested a hand unconsciously on its wiry head.

‘You have to understand, comrade,’ he said. ‘Sixteen years ago, to satisfy my own anger and lust for vengeance, I slit a man’s throat. As a result Anna’s father was shot and her life destroyed. That taught me a lesson I will carry to my grave.’

His grey eyes were intent on Sofia’s face. She could feel the force of his need to make her understand.

‘I learned,’ he continued, ‘that the individual need doesn’t matter. The individual is selfish and unpredictable, driven by uncontrolled emotions that bring nothing but destruction. It is only the need of the Whole that counts, the need of the State. So however much I want to rescue Anna from her… misery,’ he closed his eyes for a second as he said the word, ‘I know that if I do so-’

He broke off. She could see the struggle inside him for a moment as it rose to the surface, and his voice rose with it.

‘You must see, comrade, that I would lose my position as Chairman of the
kolkhoz
. Everything that I have achieved here – or will achieve in the future – would be destroyed because they would revert back to old ways. I know these people. Tell me which counts for more? Tivil’s continued contribution to the progress of Russia and the feeding of many mouths or my and Anna’s…?’ he paused.

‘Happiness?’

He nodded and looked away.

‘Need you even ask? You’re blind,’ Sofia said bitterly. ‘You help no one, nor do you think for yourself any more.’

Something seemed to snap inside him. Without warning he bent down and yanked her to her feet, his fingers hard on her arms.

‘Thought,’ he said, his face close to hers, ‘is the one thing that will carry this country forward. At the moment Stalin is pushing us to great achievements in industry and farming but he is at the same time destroying one of our greatest assets – our intellectuals, our men and women of ideas and vision. Those are the ones I help to…’ He stopped and she saw him fighting for control.

His hands released her.

‘The radio in the forest,’ she said in a whisper. ‘It’s not to report to your OGPU masters. It’s to help-’

‘It’s part of a network,’ he said curtly, angry with her and angry with himself.

‘The previous teacher here who spoke out of turn?’

He nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘And others? You help them escape.’

‘Yes.’

‘Does anybody else in Tivil know?’

He drew in a harsh breath. ‘Only Pokrovsky, and he is sworn to secrecy. No one in the network knows of more than one other person within it. That way no one can betray more than one name. Pokrovsky provides… packages… and forged papers for them. Where he gets them, I don’t ask.’

Sofia recalled the ink stamp and magnifying glass on Elizaveta Lishnikova’s desk. She could guess. She also recalled Pokrovsky’s hard face when she accused him of working for both sides. She was angered at her own blindness and walked over to the open door, where she stood looking out at the village.

‘Chairman Fomenko,’ she said softly, ‘I feel sorry for you. You have hidden from yourself and from your pain so deeply, you cannot-’

‘I do not need or want your sorrow.’

But he came up behind her and she could feel him struggling with something, a faint hissing sound seemed to emanate from him. She could hear it clearly, though the room was silent.

‘What is it?’

She turned and looked into his grey eyes, and for a moment caught him unawares. The need in them was naked.

‘What is it?’ she asked again, more gently.

‘Tell her I love her. Take my mother’s jewels, all of them, and use them for her.’

She slid the damaged necklace from her pocket and slipped a single perfect pearl off its strand, took his strong hand in hers and placed inside it the pale sphere that had lain next to his mother’s skin. He closed his fingers over it. His mouth softened and she felt the tremor that passed through him. In the same moment she replaced the necklace in her pocket and removed the white pebble. With her other hand she rested her fingers on Fomenko’s wrist and pressed deep into his flesh as she’d seen Rafik do, touching the hard edges of his bones, his tendons, his powerful pulse, seeking him out.

‘Vasily,’ she said firmly, fixing her gaze on his, ‘help me to help Anna. I can’t do it alone.’

Something seemed to shift under her fingers. She felt it, as though his blood thickened or his bones realigned. A tiny click sounded in her head and a thin point of pain kicked into life behind her right eye.

‘Vasily,’ she said again, ‘help Anna.’

His eyes grew dark but his lips started to curl into a soft acquiescent smile. Her heart beat faster.

‘Chairman Fomenko!’ A boy’s voice shouted out from the street and a scurry of footsteps came hurtling up to the doorway. It was a clutch of seal-haired youths still wet from the pond. ‘Is it all arranged for tomorrow?’

Fomenko jerked himself back to the present by force of will and wrenched his wrist from her hold. His eyes blinked again to refocus on the world outside his head.

Sofia stepped out into the street. She’d lost him.

‘Is what arranged for tomorrow?’ he demanded.

‘The wagons to take everyone to Dagorsk. Like you promised last week.’ The boy’s face was grinning eagerly.

‘A holiday,’ chirped a blonde snippet of a child. ‘To see the
Krokodil
aeroplane and hear our Great Leader’s speech.’