The Wolves of Leninsky Prospekt

by Sarah Armstrong

  ‘I know.’ I sat next to him. ‘I fancied him when I was twelve, but he fancied you.’

  David looked surprised. ‘Did he?’

  I backtracked. ‘No, not really. But I have known for a long time.’

  David shook his head. ‘It’s not right. You’re fooling our parents, and his parents. You know they put an announcement in The Telegraph? They’re nice people, Martha. And his job. If anyone found out, he’d be in terrible trouble. They could blackmail him or extort information. You really don’t want to end up in a Russian prison. An English one would have been bad enough. Your judgement is always a bit off.’

  I folded my arms and tried to remember that I wouldn’t be seeing David for months.

  ‘That’s a bit unfair. David, I haven’t pushed him into this. I like him and I think we’ll get on. I’m excited about going to Russia, and it’s a posting. It’s not forever. We can always get divorced if we want different things. That could happen with any marriage. Right now, he’s in a dangerous position whether he’s married or not. I don’t mind being part of keeping him safe.’

  ‘Don’t you think he’ll take more risks if he thinks he can hide behind this stupid marriage?’

  ‘No. We trust each other, and he’s had time to get used to Moscow and set the scene. It’s going to be great.’

  David stood up. ‘OK. Well, I had to say it. What time does he get to Heathrow?’

  I looked at my watch. ‘About an hour. His parents are collecting him and booking into the hotel. They’re having dinner here, and you’re going out, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I have to meet the others from the train and then we’re off for his last night of freedom.’ He smiled weakly. ‘Ma and Pa are happy, at least. If they were going to pick anyone for you, it would probably have been Kit. Right parents, right kind of job. They seem to have persuaded themselves that it was all their idea in the first place.’

  ‘I know. Everyone is happy, I think. It will work because we like each other.’

  ‘I do hope it works. I just want you both back safe.’

  I jumped up, hugged him and then stood back, arms at my side. ‘The last time we hugged was probably ten years ago.’

  ‘Ah well, we can hug again when I get married.’

  ‘You’re twenty-seven. You can’t wait that long.’ I hesitated. ‘You’ll write, won’t you?’

  ‘Have I ever written to you?’

  ‘We don’t have a phone yet.’

  ‘You’ll just have to come back to visit.’

  I watched him open the door and give a little wave. My eyes filled and I realised for the first time how much I would miss him. Even Ma and Pa. A clean break, a tiny wedding for close family only, and then I’d be off. It wasn’t a day I’d dreamt of and planned for, but still. And it was saving me from my probable future of frustrated teacher, living at home until some dull man took sympathy.

  I could have walked down to the library for the last time and called Harriet from the phone box. I didn’t. I tried to justify it to myself as the wrong time, now I had to focus on other things. But I knew it was just guilt that stopped me calling. I had something wonderful to do, and I was pretty sure that she wouldn’t be in the same position.

  I put the strap of the suitcase through the buckle and pulled it tight. My stolen pamphlet of short stories was on the bed, ready to go in my handbag. The librarian had never mentioned it again, and neither had I. A little piece of Russia to take back to its home.

  5

  Perhaps we should have felt guilty, but neither of us had any remorse about standing in my small local church and telling lies, probably because neither of us saw this as something real and legal and binding. Our parents already seemed to know each other, or just slipped into that pretence of doing so. I’d been over to meet his parents a couple of times while he was away, so at least they weren’t complete strangers. They seemed surprised by the marriage, but pleased. His mother had bought an enormous pink hat, and it seemed she was determined to wear it throughout the meal.

  We introduced each other to the couple of grandparents left between us and shook hands with a few people both of our fathers knew, but we didn’t, and everyone posed as some photos were taken. That was it. We were married.

  As we walked back to the house, I heard one of the older women commenting on the wedding. ‘Not even a flower girl,’ she said, ‘let alone a veil. And the dress.’ I intended to dye it, a simple tea dress, to wear it again.

  In the living room, David and Kit’s sister, Olivia, both highly disapproving in a reserved way, carefully avoided the subject of the wedding, despite their roles as best man and chief bridesmaid. Instead, they talked about Moscow and how Kit found it.

  ‘It’s warming up a bit now, but the snow was a bit of a shock to the system.’

  ‘That’s what I’m most looking forward to,’ I said. ‘Is it still there?’

  ‘No, we’ve had the thaw and tons of slushy mud. It was unbelievably cold in January, and the wind is a whole other thing. Stop looking all excited, Martha, it’s hard!’

  ‘I know, I know.’

  Ma clapped her hands. ‘Shall we go through?’

  I had no idea what the meal would be. Ma had chosen the flowers, the food and the guests. I didn’t mind and she was trying to pretend I would be missed. As long as no one brought up Cambridge, she’d be happy.

  The chicken in wine sauce was served. Cook’s staple for mass catering. It could have been worse.

  My father was on my left and Kit’s mother next to him. I let them get on with it while I tried to work out who the other people were. I’d been introduced when we shook hands on entering the house, but the names meant very little. My father had always worked in Cheltenham, driving down the A40 every day, and it struck me that I didn’t really know what he did. I was sure I must have asked him at some point. Somewhere with lots of posh men, it seemed, who all greeted him as Brigadier. I heard him address them, Mr Ellis, Mr Cocks, Mr Williamson, but had no idea who was who.

  One of them leaned around his wife to speak to my brother. ‘Well done on your job, David. I keep meaning to call in on you when I’m in London. Maybe we could have lunch one day.’

  His wife muttered, ‘Not a liquid lunch. You know what the doctor said.’

  They started to bicker quietly, and I leaned backwards to catch David’s eye. He was too grown up to join in. I sighed and went back to my meal. My mother was giving Kit instructions on how best to hand wash clothes in the bath.

  ‘There are no laundrettes?’ I asked.

  ‘You can technically get things dry cleaned,’ he said, ‘but you have to remove all the buttons first. And then, of course, you can’t buy needles and thread.’

  ‘You can take some with you this time,’ my mother said. ‘Martha can sew them back on for you.’

  I said, ‘And darn his socks?’

  ‘If necessary.’ My mother leaned closer to Kit. ‘She will claim not to know how to do this kind of thing, but I assure you she can.’

  ‘Can you write me a list of her skills?’ said Kit. ‘I wouldn’t want to feel I hadn’t got my money’s worth.’

  My mother smiled. ‘Very funny.’

  The plates were taken and dessert arrived. Eton mess. My favourite. All of a sudden, I became a bit tearful. Why was I doing this?

  My father took my hand and squeezed it.

  ‘It’s a long way,’ I said.

  ‘Nowhere is that far, nowadays. I’m sure your mother will write and tell you all the news.’

  ‘You could write.’

  ‘I’m not one for letters.’ He squeezed my hand again and let go. ‘Eat up. You might not see fresh fruit again for a while.’ He broke the meringue with his spoon. ‘I’ve assured everyone that you’re going to behave.’

  I stiffened, glaring at him. Why would my father have to make assurances about my behaviour? Who would he make them to?

  ‘This is Kit’s future you’re stepping into, a fresh start for you. He’s a nic
e chap and you’ll be happier with him than you are here. He’ll be kind, if nothing else.’

  I blinked back sudden tears, and looked to see if Kit was listening, but my mother had his ear.

  ‘What do you mean, you assured everyone?’ I said, but my father was dinging on the glass and standing to make his speech. Kit turned to me and smiled, eyebrows raised. We’ve done it, he seemed to say, we’ve fooled them all. But I didn’t think we’d quite fooled everyone.

  "We Run"

  by

  E.V. MANN

  I hear the howling at night. It wakes me sometimes. I think, I must speak to them. They should know that these apartments are too small to leave a dog in for long. But no one has heard of anyone getting a dog.

  I walk through the snow to the Metro, feed my hard coins into the metal machine and take my ticket. I find myself thinking, oh, I must get two, but, of course, there isn’t anyone else. I look behind me, just to check. Yes, on my own, as usual.

  Over time, I get used to the feeling of company, hold the door open at work just a little longer than it takes me to get inside. I pick food off my plate and hold it, wondering what I was going to do with it, before slowly eating it and licking my fingers. I murmur things, not quite to myself.

  I work, I eat, I sleep. Same as ever.

  One night after work, instead of getting on the Metro, I walk to the park. I sit on a bench near the boating pond, hunched over for warmth, but the cold is settled so deep it doesn’t help. Behind me, the sun is setting, casting a glow on the windows in the grey building opposite.

  It’s on fire, I whisper. The people don’t know, but they’re all going to perish and blow away in the night. I look at the pond, and I know I have to find a deeper one.

  Then there is movement at my side and I see it. Startled, I can’t move. My heart, already beating in panic, starts to hurt. The wolf just looks at the pond, and the last boy trying to get his boat out with a long stick. There are other cold people on benches, trying not to go home. No one else notices the wolf.

  I’m just imagining it, I think, but I see its fur move as it breathes and I smell it, pungent, overwhelming. It smells both death-bearing and full of life, beyond my imagination.

  Maybe it doesn’t know I’m here. I push myself along the bench with my frozen hands, away from the teeth and the fur, but it looks so warm and soft. Now the sun has almost used up the last of its heat and my fists hurt with the cold.

  The wolf turns to me. ‘Eva, I am with you,’ he says.

  I think then, I’ve gone mad. Too long by myself. People were right to talk about me.

  I stand, a little unsteadily, and walk towards the Metro station. I don’t look around. I can feel him by my side, smell his warmth and hear the panting. As I walk, my shoulders straighten and fall back. People move for me. My steps become a stride. I arrive at the station entrance and I don’t want to go inside, I don’t want to stop.

  I look down at my wolf and he looks up at me with cool, blue eyes. I hold my hand to his muzzle. He licks it, lets me run my fingers over his skull, through the heat of the universe. He yawns, showing his teeth, and I nod. I have always heard the howling.

  I take off my shoes and coat, roll up my trousers, and we run.

  6

  Sheremetyevo Airport had the most bizarre observation building, a pillar which looked as if it supported a giant UFO on top.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ I said.

  ‘Really?’ Kit checked to see if we were looking at the same thing. ‘It looks like a sombrero. If you’re impressed by that, then you’re mad.’

  ‘How can you not love it?’

  Kit shrugged. ‘OK. Soviet modernism has a new fan.’ He smiled. ‘I must say, I’ve been worrying about what you were going to like about this place, but maybe it’s a great fit.’

  My high hopes for architectural wonder had been dulled by the fact that the interior of the airport stank of cigarettes. Not normal cigarettes, like Kit’s Players, but something more pungent, acrid. Kit noticed my expression.

  ‘They’re called papirosy, filterless and pretty foul. Half of it is empty card, but they like smoking them in Russia for some reason. You’ll have to get used to the smell.’

  We collected our suitcases and Kit took mine from me. I hoped this was an act, rather than him taking the husband idea too seriously.

  A short woman was shouting, ‘Line up! Against the wall!’

  Our planeload shuffled as close as it could while some passengers, better ones, were ushered past us and out. Some passengers shouted back in Russian.

  ‘This bit takes ages,’ said Kit.

  We shuffled forward while the customs officers went through the baggage of all but the lucky ones, sifting through books and clothes and, in one case, removing the entire person for a more thorough examination.

  ‘Does that happen a lot?’ I murmured. I didn’t want to be examined. I didn’t know what they would make of the washing up liquid, dishcloths and selection of plugs that Kit had pushed into my suitcase.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Kit, but I could see he did worry. Now I worried whether I’d brought the wrong books, bad ones, by accident.

  When it was our turn, we were separated, with our suitcases. I tried to look unconcerned, knowing that I had assumed the sweaty, fearful appearance of a smuggler. The officer’s hands turned over the kitchen and bathroom supplies, flicked through my books and the Mann booklet, pulled clothes and underwear onto the table. That booklet, it wasn’t right, was it? I’d only read a few pages of the stories, but it was critical, undermining, dangerous. My hands started to shake.

  ‘Go!’

  I felt I had escaped sentencing despite being guilty.

  I followed Kit through the airport doors, where a man in a checked shirt and baggy grey trousers left the pillar he was leaning against and nodded. Kit handed him the cases.

  ‘Martha, this is Pyotr. He’s our driver.’

  ‘Hello.’

  He nodded.

  ‘He doesn’t speak English,’ said Kit. He let Pyotr walk ahead and then more quietly, ‘They don’t like them to speak English when they work with foreigners.’

  ‘So why are you being quiet?’

  ‘I’m not totally sure that he doesn’t understand English, even if he doesn’t speak it.’

  ‘And how is your Russian coming on?’

  ‘Otlichno.’

  ‘Excellent. I assume.’

  We had reached the outer doors. I was surprised it was still daylight; everything seemed to have taken so long.

  ‘Ready?’ said Kit.

  I did my coat up and we walked through.

  ‘It feels the same temperature as at home,’ I said.

  ‘Today, that is true. You’ve got until winter to say that.’

  Pyotr opened the door of a black limousine.

  ‘This is a bit posh, isn’t it?’

  ‘He is our driver and this is our car.’

  Kit looked at me strangely and I thought, oh, this is one of those moments. Our journey began with me reviewing all of the warnings he’d given me on safe ground. Don’t ask questions in public. Don’t start conversations as you may get people into trouble for talking to you. Equally, remember that if they’re not suspicious of you, you need to be suspicious of them. Everything on paper is of interest to someone. You may think that you don’t know anything, but you’re wrong. Don’t assume that because we are alone no one can hear us. I had thought he was just saying what he’d been told to say, but now I could see he believed it. I found myself reviewing what I was going to say before I said it.

  ‘Do we get the tourist route?’ I asked.

  He smiled, and I was relieved I hadn’t messed up.

  ‘You’ll see some of it.’

  We got in the car and drove away from the airport. Kit talked.

  ‘OK, so this is Gorky Street, and we’re about to hit the ring road. The zoo and US embassy are over to the right, theatre, theatre, theatre, on the left the Kremlin.’


  We drove past the high, red walls, and over a bridge.

  He pointed left, ‘The embassy is down there.’

  Then another bridge.

  ‘Where’s St Basil’s?’

  ‘Back the other side of the Kremlin.’

  I could barely believe that I would see the domes: red, gold, green, white, blue, zigzags and ice cream swirls, stippled and criss-crossed, like an edible house in a fairy tale.

  ‘Can you go in?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, it’s a museum. The opening hours can be flexible, so you may need to go more than once to get in.’

  ‘This is amazing.’ I found Kit’s hand and squeezed it. He smiled at me and checked Pyotr’s reflection in the rear-view mirror.

  A man started crossing in front of our car, and I grabbed onto Kit’s arm as Pyotr seemed to speed up. The man just looked at us speeding towards him, and Pyotr had to swerve, beeping, at the last moment.

  Kit patted my hand. ‘It’s one of the strictest driving tests in the world. Safer than it seems.’ He changed the subject. ‘This is Gorky Park on the right, and our apartment is down this road, about six miles. But they use kilometres here. This is Lenin Avenue, in Russian Leninsky Prospekt. They use it for parades, important events like Castro’s visit. This,’ he pointed again at another park, ‘is named after Yuri Gagarin.’

  ‘There are so many parks.’ The road was wide, but it had a green strip down the middle which softened it. Regular blocks of five storey apartments were made attractive by the angling and the space between them, all green and full of flower beds. A large furniture shop sat in its own green space.

  ‘We’ve just had Lenin’s birthday, where everyone has the day off to clean and beautify their environment. Some of the flowers won’t last much longer, but it’s nice for a while.’

  ‘There’s so much space. I imagined everything to be much more cramped.’

  ‘Well,’ Kit searched for the right words, ‘there are a lot of things which aren’t here any more. And they’re spreading right out in a giant circle. We are almost on the edge of the city.’