Constant Nobody

by Michelle Butler Hallett

  Below, the heavy lobby door opened, wood and glass. Keys jingled.

  A hoarse voice called a greeting. —Good afternoon, Comrade Yaroslav.

  — Good afternoon, Grandmother.

  — You’re home early today.

  — Yes, Grandmother.

  Yaroslav, a man in his twenties taking the stairs two at a time, soon passed Temerity. He ignored her. She watched him open his flat on the fifth floor; the door bore the same number as Kostya’s.

  Each floor has the same numbers on the flats?

  — Who hides in the dark on my stairs?

  Blast. Blasted blasted bloody hell.

  — Come here, so I can see you.

  Holding the trouser cuffs above her feet so she would not trip, Temerity stepped into the lobby. Then she let the trousers fall to their full length. —I do not hide, Grandmother.

  The older woman kept rocking in her chair. Her dress, buttoned to her neck, draped down past her ankles and ended in a wrinkled mound. She kept her long hair in a low bun at the back of her neck, like Ursula Friesen. Her eyes, deep set and brown, seemed to be studying a different place and time. Then she smirked. —You’re dressed as a man. And you’re barefoot.

  Temerity noticed the window which showed a reflection of the stairs. The older woman would have seen her hitch up the trousers. —Yes, Grandmother.

  — I wondered when I’d see you. Come closer, child.

  The light bulb in the ceiling high above flickered, darkened again, as Elena squirmed and retrieved an object from a pocket in her skirt: one of Temerity’s shoes.

  — Why, Grandmother, where did you get that?

  — Left behind in my lobby. And this is the first I’ve seen of you. Where did you get the courage to come downstairs, out of a bottle? We have an NKVD officer living in this building. Shall I tell him about you? No, no, I’ll likely forget by the time I see him again. He looks so handsome in that uniform. He must look even better naked. I could sell these pretty shoes on the black market for a small fortune. I could sell them to the NKVD officers outside.

  Temerity saw them: two uniformed officers leaning on their black car, looking up, smoking, bored.

  Oh, God.

  The officer on the right lowered his gaze to the lobby. He flicked the remains of his cigarette to the street, then ground it out with his boot. Then something distracted him. He saluted, then elbowed his fellow to do the same.

  Elena tucked the shoe away. —Do you not hear them coming? Go back. Go. Go!

  Temerity ran up the stairs, peeked at each landing; the flat numbers repeated over and over. Which floor? Which blasted floor? Gasping, ribs tight, she wrenched the doorknob of a flat marked seven.

  In the lobby, Kostya held the door open for Efim. Both men nodded to Elena in the rocking chair. She, in turn, laughed.

  Arms full of shopping packages and a bag from Babichev’s, Kostya gave her a light bow. —You’re jolly today, Grandmother.

  Far above, someone’s flat door clicked shut.

  Elena nodded. —Yaroslav just got home.

  Who the hell is Yaroslav? Kostya looked to Efim, who shrugged. Stifling a sigh, Kostya gave Elena a second light bow. —Thank you, Grandmother.

  Efim started up the stairs, and Kostya rearranged his bags as he prepared to follow.

  — Comrade Nikto?

  — Yes, Grandmother?

  — You need a perhaps-bag, one of those collapsible ones made from string. Then you can always carry it with you, and perhaps you’ll see something you want to buy.

  — I’ll keep that in mind.

  — You don’t look well. Do you get enough sleep?

  — Please don’t worry about me, Grandmother.

  — Ah. Welcome home, then.

  His fever dream on the train into Moscow in 1918: Arkady had taught Kostya how to use the worry beads, to keep him quiet. Kostya got so cold, yet the amber seemed to shimmer and melt. Then the train ran on fowls’ feet, and Baba Yaga spoke to him. Welcome home, bezprizornik, welcome home.

  Elena laughed some more.

  — I hope you have a pleasant evening, Grandmother.

  — And for you, Comrade Nikto, I wish sweet dreams.

  In the flat, Kostya joined Efim in admiring the ingenuity behind the kitchen clothesline, even as a flushed Temerity apologized for the sight of both her laundry and herself in Kostya’s clothes. She left the room without saying anything else, and, in a moment, the shower ran.

  Efim decided not to question why someone who needed a shower had already changed into clean clothes, just as he’d decided not to question why his key had slipped, why the door seemed to be unlocked. He beckoned Kostya into his bedroom. —Let me see your shoulder.

  — It’s fine.

  — The pain scowl on your face could cut glass.

  Scowling all the more, Kostya acquiesced, and closed Efim’s bedroom door behind him.

  Efim opened his medical bag. —If I invite you to call me Efim Antonovich, then may I call you Konstantin Arkadievich?

  Kostya looked around the tiny room, much smaller than his: enough space for a single bed and one person to move around it, even then only with some care. He sat on the bed and extended his left arm. —Yes, of course. I’m not sure why we’ve not done that already. Don’t bother with the patronymic. Not for me.

  Efim moved Kostya’s shoulder this way and that. —Konstantin, I must be blunt.

  — Me, too. I can’t keep taking morphine like this.

  — Why is she wearing your clothes?

  — You saw hers hanging on the line. She can’t go naked. Besides, I told you, she’s staying with us for a while.

  Efim examined the ampoule: nearly empty. Then he drew the liquid into the syringe. —And she came with nothing? Your mistress is your own concern, but why does she not get the rest of her things and just move in? You’re NKVD. You can jiggle registration and residency permits, update her propiska.

  — Doctor…

  — My name.

  Kostya took a deep breath as the tourniquet tightened on his arm. —Efim, please. I don’t want to see you come to any harm. This is a temporary arrangement, very temporary. Next month you’ll have forgotten all about her.

  Holding the needle away from them both, Efim sat down next to Kostya. —I am under significant pressure to take care of you, to keep you fit to work. Major Balakirev—

  — I know. I know how he can be. Please, if you complain or even just comment to the wrong person, all three of us are in trouble. You live here, the logic goes, therefore you must know something about it.

  — I know nothing.

  — And I wish to keep it that way.

  Sighing, Efim looked at the ceiling.

  Kostya reached for Efim’s shoulder and stopped as Efim turned to examine Kostya’s other arm. —We understand each other, yes?

  — I understand very little, beyond first my need to fear Balakirev, and now my need to fear you.

  — I’m sorry.

  Efim studied him for a moment. —Then I’m damned thrice over, because I believe you. Now keep still. I think I found a good vein.

  As Kostya set out supper from the deli, a feast of bubliki, butter, yogurt, pickles, and shredded fowl, Temerity joined him. Her damp curls sprang up. —I’ll get my skirt and blouse down right away.

  — Are they dry yet?

  She took her hand from her skirt. —No.

  — Then leave them. You’re shaking.

  — The water ran cold. I caught a chill.

  Overhearing them as he left his bedroom, Efim glanced into the bathroom; steam fogged up the shaving mirror. He joined them at the little table, saying nothing.

  Bouts of chewing, bouts of silence.

  Temerity paused to remove a bone from her mouth. —Is this duck?

  Kostya swallowed. —Could be. Might be some pigeon in there, too.

  He noticed Temerity and Efim had stopped chewing and now stared at him.

  Kostya shrugged. —Diet of the bezprizorniki.
I could bring home sausage next time, doktorskaya kolbasa. It’s a bit bland, but easy to digest. Very nutritious. Efim would approve.

  Efim shook his head. —It’s full of pork.

  Giving Efim a quick look, Kostya broke off a piece of bublik.

  Efim stood up from the table. —It’s been a long day. I think I’ll go lie down.

  As Temerity picked up the dishes for washing, Kostya stared at the ceiling. He felt peaceful, even dreamy. He watched Temerity run the water and struggle to get any lather at all from the scrap of soap, and then walked over to her.

  Temerity thought his footfall seemed slower than normal. Less certain, somehow.

  Kostya wrapped his arms around her chest and leaned his chin on top of her head. —I got you a present today.

  Her neck stiffened. Passport and papers. Please, God, please.

  He took his arms off her and opened the pouch on his belt. —Turn around.

  In both palms, he held a bottle of Shalimar.

  Not just a bottle of Shalimar in Moscow, but one with a chipped stopper.

  She felt cold. —Where did you get this?

  Smiling, Kostya wagged a finger as if rebuking a child. —Put it on.

  Get him talking. —You like perfume?

  Watching her draw the stopper down her throat, he nodded.

  She dabbed perfume onto her fingertips and then fluffed the curls in her hair. —There. That’s one of my secrets.

  — And I didn’t even need to raise my voice to learn it.

  — I might tell you many things. Will you pour me some vodka?

  He did this, no hesitation, his back to her. —I got something else nice on the way home.

  Brown paper rustled; vodka glugged.

  He turned around and gave her drink in a large and full glass. A wedge of lemon floated on top, and beneath that bobbed gooseberries and strawberries. —I got the gooseberries from Babichev, but I picked the strawberries near that cemetery by the well.

  Then Kostya thought of the strawberries at the poligon.

  So lush, so sweet.

  Temerity held the glass up to the light. —Cristobal Zapatero liked strawberries. Something he told me as I sketched his portrait.

  Kostya almost dropped his drink. Staring at the delicate tremor in his hands, he sounded polite. —Duty, Nadia. Right now it’s your duty to change the subject.

  Temerity took a sharp breath, fell silent. They both sipped their drinks. Then Temerity stroked Kostya’s forearm. —I can’t stay here.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. —We’ve all got to die sometime.

  — Pardon me?

  — Not tonight. I hope.

  — Kostya —

  Hearing Vadym’s voice, I’m worried sick about Misha, Kostya plopped down in a kitchen chair. —Can we just leave the past behind?

  — It’s the not past that worries me.

  — I had a terrible day, just one in a series. Focus on the present moment, yes? Come. Come sit down. Now, look at me.

  — Kostya, listen. Earlier today—

  — No. I said leave the past. Right here, right now, we can be together.

  — But—

  He raised his glass. —Ssh. To love and safety. We can be safe. Just for one day.

  After a moment, she raised her glass to meet his. —To love and safety.

  Eyes closed, Kostya swallowed much of his drink. —I want to memorize this moment. Just the two of us, at the table after supper, when I can catch your perfume. I’ll need this memory later.

  She studied him, his chest rising and falling, his uniform spotless. Street sounds filtered through the open windows; water ran in the pipes. —Listen to me. Your Balakirev paid a visit.

  Efim’s bedroom door opened; the bathroom door shut.

  — Not now, Nadia.

  — Yes. Right here. Right now.

  — Very funny. You want to drag Efim with you? He knows nothing of all this, of you and me. One wrong step, and all three of us are marched out that door. And then NKVD arrests Efim’s wife in Leningrad. Do you want to be responsible for that, too?

  — Kostya!

  — Hush!

  The toilet flushed, and the faucets ran as Efim washed his hands.

  — Nadia, I am very tired. My shoulder hurts like hell. I must ask if I can sleep in the bed tonight.

  Efim’s bedroom door clicked shut.

  Temerity finished her drink. —I’ll take the floor this time.

  — It’s a double bed.

  — One night on the floor won’t kill me. I’ve slept rougher.

  He sighed, then stood up from the table and moved to the front room, where he stretched his back. —Give me four hours. We’ll switch later in the night, yes?

  She imagined the passport falling out of her pocket as she slept. —Let me get changed first.

  Kostya took some frayed pyjamas from the stenka. —No, your clothes are still wet. Here.

  She stood beside him now, peering into the stenka drawer. —Wait, is that a book?

  Kostya parted some more folded clothes, took out a towel and a pair of shorts for himself. —No need to sound so surprised. I grew up surrounded by my grandfather’s books, Nadia. I’m not a complete savage.

  — Correct. You miss complete savagery by the grace of this one book. Let me read it.

  He covered it with undershirts. —It’s dull.

  — Then could you go to a library and—

  — No! Hurry up and get changed while I take a shower.

  — Kostya, please. I am bored witless in this flat.

  He exposed Turgenev’s Fathers and Sons. —Fine, fine. Take it.

  In the bedroom, she closed the door and listened. Once the water ran, she stashed her Temerity West passport back under the mattress. Then she changed into the pyjamas, rolling up sleeves and cuffs, which promptly unrolled again as she folded the clothes she’d worn, and laid them on the closet shelf.

  As Kostya’s shower finished, Temerity settled herself in the armchair in the front room. She ran her fingers over the book’s binding, then lifted the book to her nose to breathe in the scent of old paper. She also caught sweat, dust, and hospital disinfectant.

  In the bedroom, Kostya hung up his uniform pieces and tucked the holstered Nagant and the amber beads beneath his pillow. As he pulled on clean shorts, he caught sight of the shirt Temerity placed on the closet shelf. He grabbed the shirt and pressed it to his nose to smell the perfume.

  Temerity thought of the Lichtträger, the scent of kerosene.

  Kostya stroked the shirt against his face, then folded it again and returned it to the shelf.

  Temerity turned to the book’s title page and struggled to forget the stench of tinned blood. Arkady’s voice intruded: I want you to disappear.

  The bed squeaked as Kostya lay down.

  Temerity raised the book in the air, as if in a toast. To love and safety.

  [ ]

  PROPISKA

  Thursday 10 June

  Uncertain what woke him, Kostya checked his watch: seventeen minutes after two in the morning.

  Five bangs of a fist. —Comrade, open the door.

  Shit!

  He felt the floor beneath his feet before he understood he’d gotten out of bed. Efim in the room next door cried out in fright. In the front room, the chair scraped against the floor as Temerity stood up.

  Kostya grabbed his keys and identification wallet from the side table and his robe from the closet. In the hallway, he discovered that he’d taken a gymnastyorka instead.

  Nadia, I’m sorry.

  Five more bangs. —Open the door, comrade!

  — Yes, yes, I’m coming!

  Kostya hauled the gymnastyorka over his head, blinding himself to the sight of Temerity standing behind the chair. He lurched to the door and pressed his ear to the hinge to listen. He thought he recognized the voice.

  — Comrade Yaroslav! At once, please. We’ve no wish to wake your neighbours.

  A second man spoke. —Kateln
ikov, listen to me. We’re on the wrong floor. That’s the wrong flat. They’re all numbered the same in this building.

  — Oh, fuck.

  — You’ll be fucked if we don’t make quota.

  Kostya unlocked the door and stepped into the dirty light of the one hanging bulb. —Katelnikov?

  Matvei whirled around, faced the man who called his name. —I…oh, no.

  Nodding to Matvei and then to his partner, Kostya showed his ID. —Can I be of any help?

  A third officer ascended the stairs, his voice stiff with embarrassment. —Nikto? Is that you?

  Kostya recognized the third officer: an older sergeant, and one of his department colleagues, not that he could remember his name. So many new men. Dobrynin, right. —Good morning.

  Dobrynin squinted at Kostya’s gymnastyorka and undershorts. —Light sleeper?

  — When fellow officers beat on my door, yes.

  Matvei gave a little cry. Then he cleared his throat. —The numbers on the doors are all the same. On each floor. We’re on the wrong floor. An accident, Comrade Sergeant Dobrynin, a simple oversight.

  — A simple idiot. Who’s on your list?

  — Yaroslav, Nikolai Eduardovich, fifth floor, flat number seven.

  — Then go directly below to the fifth floor, flat number seven, and arrest Yaroslav.

  — Yes, Comrade Sergeant.

  Dobrynin turned on the second officer. —And you. Find the other one, what, Petrovna, Elena Tikhonovna. Comrade Senior Lieutenant Nikto, permit me to show you the list. Now, which flat is Petrovna’s?

  Kostya felt dizzy. —This floor, flat number two. Down the hall. She’s very old. I’ve no idea how she manages the stairs.

  — There, you see? Comrade Senior Lieutenant Nikto can read the list just fine, and we just woke him up out of a sound sleep, so the problem is not with the list.

  As the second officer found Elena’s flat and beat on the door, Dobrynin offered Kostya a cigarette and matches.

  Kostya lit the cigarette and took a deep drag. —Puppies.

  Dobrynin nodded. —Once we’re back at Lubyanka, I’ll kick them up the arse.

  — Telephone directories in flour sacks, yes? Leaves no marks, so the boys will look fit for duty.

  They both chuckled and wished each other a good night.

  As Kostya retreated into the flat and locked the door, the arresting officer called Elena’s name.