‘No. There wasn’t much time to organise things.’
Alison smiled and looked away, out of the window.
‘What?’
‘Your relationship with Christopher.’
‘What about it?’
‘It wasn’t what I was expecting, that’s all. Have you known each other long?’
I didn’t want to be quizzed on that. ‘I said last night. Were you in the kitchen? Oh, look at him.’
She looked across to the other end of the room. Bobby was sprawled on one sofa, his head back and mouth open.
‘So,’ I said, ‘Bobby would like to go back to the forest and find more beasts. He says there’s one on this road. Did you want to come?’
Alison’s posture stiffened and she looked down at the table. ‘No, I don’t want to do that.’
‘Don’t you ever go out?’
‘Not without Charlie. Charlie will let Christopher know.’
I sat back and waited for her to expand on that. She smiled weakly but said nothing else. I imagined her, stuck in this flat, waiting for Charlie. Her face was still now, tightly closed up.
‘I’d better get off, then,’ I said.
‘Yes. Thanks for your help.’
On my way down the stairs, with the saucepans, I wished I’d said something else. I didn’t know what.
Kit put his spoon down.
‘It must be the pans. Everything has that weird taste.’
‘Chicken noodle soup, with added zinc. No wonder Charlie wanted rid of them. I’ll go back to the old ones.’
Kit poured more beer into his glass, then mine. ‘How did it go with crazy Bob?’
‘I like Bobby. After he nearly got run over and attacked by drunks, we had a good time. Do you have a map so I can look for more forests?’
Kit frowned. ‘You took him to a forest?’
‘Kind of, a small one. You know the wooded areas either side of the road?’
Kit turned his glass in his hands. ‘They’re not very safe, Martha. Even if you talk Russian, you can’t reason with someone who only drinks vodka. Then you have the problem of rabies. Ticks.’ He put the glass down. ‘And hooligans.’
‘Hooligans?’ I laughed. ‘Why do you always call them that?’
‘That’s what they call the teenagers who don’t work, don’t study, don’t do anything but drink vodka and mug people. They don’t believe in the party but, if you’re not in the party organisations, you don’t get the right jobs. Right down there,’ he pointed out past the balcony to our little wood, ‘a couple of girls were attacked last week.’
I shuddered. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I didn’t know you’d be hanging around the woods with the drunks.’ He hesitated. ‘Of course, there is a lot of foraging that goes on, so chances are there will be normal people around. If you had to shout.’
‘That doesn’t make me feel much better. I don’t know what “help” is yet.’
‘Pamagil.’
‘Now I’m ready. I suppose.’
The record finished and I got up to turn it over and replace the needle. Maria Callas started up again. We weren’t talking about anything worth recording, but I found myself still incapable of talking and relaxing without background noise. Plus, the eavesdropper got to listen to something.
I sat down and picked up my glass. ‘I thought there was no crime and no unemployment.’
‘Yeah, it won’t be funny when you’re explaining to Charlie and Alison what happened to their first born.’
‘Kit, that kid seems to be trapped in the flat all week. Alison says she only goes out with Charlie.’
‘Well, that’s not true. Charlie says she’s always out with the other mums, visiting and stuff.’
‘Charlie says that, but Alison says something else.’
‘There’s no point arguing with me about this. We’ve got a trip planned at the embassy dacha in June. You’ll meet some other wives. Ask around.’
‘Spy on Alison?’
‘Ha ha.’ He opened the balcony door before lighting his cigarette.
‘But do you have a map I can use?’
Kit drained his glass. ‘I think we have a few. I’ll have a look. If you go to an Inturist bureau, you can pick up a really basic one of the tourist places in the centre. The Russians aren’t keen on maps, or not on people having access to them. Every one of them is intentionally wrong in some way. But, really, if you head into the centre, you’ll find lots of parks which are a bit more open and safe to visit. Have you worked out how to use the Metro yet?’ He pointed to the tin with the space dogs. ‘Roubles are in there. Five kopeks will get you anywhere on the Metro or the bus.’
‘I don’t know. I feel happier staying local with Bobby. And she might not even ask me again. I can’t understand her. She was desperate for me to take him out, and now she’s gone cold again.’
‘She just thinks that every woman is going to end up in bed with Charlie. She’s very jealous. Don’t worry about it.’ He stood up and raised his eyebrows. ‘Unless you’re intending to go to bed with Charlie.’
‘Ha! So you’ll get me a map?’
‘I’ll try. I’m off for my bath.’ He fetched his pyjamas from the chest and turned to me. ‘But, Martha, you need to remember where you are.’ He pointed to the poster: man and dog in space. ‘They’d spend millions to send wolves to Mars just for the hell of it, just to be first while the people drink themselves to death because there’s no freedom and no hope. And remember why we keep the music on.’
I said nothing. He shrugged and left the door ajar. This had become our routine. A late supper, and Kit went for his bath. I tidied up and the room was his to make his bed up and do whatever he used to do before I arrived. I gathered the bowls and glasses, and took them to the kitchen. I strained out the noodles, emptied out the soup and filled the sink. I stood by the window, looking into the dusk at our wood. I’d walked around it on my way home and seen how it wasn’t wild, but planted rows of birch and pine. Organised. Purposeful. Made for the people.
I’d walk around it tomorrow.
10
After Galina had gone and the apartment had fallen quiet, I grabbed my bag and ran down the stairs. A few days after the snow and the temperature was back to 23 degrees, though it was cloudy. Just like England, you never knew what the weather would be like.
I took the tourist map that Kit had found for me from my handbag. I hadn’t heard anything about taking Bobby out again, but the map was no good for parks anyway. It didn’t even cover where we lived. I had, though, found out the nearest Metro station from Kit, and I headed to Yugo-Zapadnaya, on Vernadskogo Prospekt.
The station was a glass box with a slab of aluminium stretching across one set of stairs down, and one up. My five kopeks got me a small paper ticket and I waited. The long platform reminded me of New York subways I’d seen on films, the square pillars every six steps and rails either side of the platform. I worked out which way I wanted to head, and within two minutes a blue train had pulled up. I got on and stood by the door. My Metro map had the Russian station names in English, and I’d made Kit scribble Russian versions next to them so I knew where I was. As it was, the stations were announced, but I couldn’t always catch the name without reading my notes. I had been trying to do my homework for Galina, I really had, learning that a C was an S, an H was an N and a B was a V, but I didn’t believe it. I would learn how to write something while I was out, like ленин. Lenin. That would make her happy.
The stations grew grander as I travelled, with cool white marble and tulip-shaped chandeliers. The journey was smooth and fast, every platform pristine. At Biblioteka Lenina, there was a central platform with a wide, sweeping ceiling, shaped like square panelling. The stairs led sideways from the platform and the sun shone down. I stood there for a moment as Natalya and Galina and Alison all faded away. There was only light and this space and everything out there, built for its own beauty and magnificence.
There were stalls,
a stout woman in a white apron selling ice cream, a small man in a brown apron ready to shine shoes. I left the station to find more stalls selling pink water, tobacco, flowers, magazines and books. I saw so many people reading books, all over the city. Russians.
I was going to walk this city until it became mine.
People approached me constantly, so I realised that I stood out. Women said something while pointing to my shoes. Men switched to English to ask if I had cigarettes or dollars. I needed to look more Russian.
When my feet started to hurt, I had to find a place to sit. There were too many choices, so many views I hadn’t seen. I decided to cross to the island created by the river and the canal and look back at the Kremlin. The Great Kremlin Palace, white and yellow, towered over the line of trees which hid the high red wall. There were towers, cupolas and trees right along the river bank. On Naberezhnaya Morisa Toreza, there were no benches. Instead, I found myself walking past the mustard building with the green copper roof that I had seen when I was standing beside the Kremlin wall. I looked at the sign. The British Embassy. I turned and walked back the way I’d come, cursing myself for not just continuing onwards. How suspicious that must have looked to the guard standing outside. All the way back to the bridge, I waited for the sound of a police car screeching up to me, but when I got onto the bridge and looked back, it was quiet and empty.
The sun had gone in, but I was feeling too hot to keep walking. Now that I wanted to stop there, all the benches were taken. I carried on over the bridge and, with relief, remembered from the map the Alexander Garden which ran alongside the Kremlin. I found a bench, the only empty one, and sank onto it. My feet were throbbing now. I’d been fairly sedentary since I arrived, apart from the walk with Bobby. Now I felt like falling asleep in front of the television as he had. And I was thirsty. And it was way past lunch.
I leaned back against the bench and flexed my feet inside my shoes. When I closed my eyes, the scene from The Master and Margarita came into my head. There were so many places I hadn’t looked into yet, and the Patriarch Ponds was one of them. I kept having to remind myself that I wasn’t on holiday. I had months to explore, and the lack of maps was interesting. Moscow was clearly a place that both invited and resisted tourism.
I opened my eyes. I was in a line of benches which made it hard to look at other people without being obvious. I wondered, my back to the Kremlin, how many meetings had been arranged here, under the red wall. My stomach rumbled. I’d seen another ice cream stall in Red Square, and thought about walking back over there, although I knew I needed something more substantial than ice cream. There were other stalls, but I wasn’t sure what they sold. I should have arranged to meet Kit for lunch, but I knew that he mostly had meetings while he ate. I remembered Kit talking about the Arbat as a good area for food. I was sure it was nearby.
I got the map from my pocket. It was from 1957, from the World Festival of Youth and Students. The city centre, white roads on a brown city, was on one side and the other was pale blue, with a very basic Metro map with names next to pictures of buildings. It folded into eight pieces, but some of the text from the Metro map bled over onto the front page, which annoyed me. There were very few street names and, as I’d discovered, only the main roads. Kit had added to the four Metro lines, extending our line out to Yugo-Zapadnaya. I found the short wall of the Kremlin where I was sitting and saw that Arbat Square was just one road to the left. As I gave my feet an exploratory flex, I noticed a man standing nearby. He had stopped to light a cigarette, but I had the impression that he had been standing there for a while. He put the matches back in his trouser pocket and checked his watch, before slowly walking towards the river.
The feeling that I was under surveillance thrilled me. It was definitely only a problem when I was in the flat. Out here, I felt fine.
I watched him walk slowly away, then my eye was caught by an older woman coming towards me. Next to her was a huge, black dog, its head level with her waist. It looked powerful and alert, watchful. I realised how much I missed having pets, and how a big animal like that would come to dominate your life in those small apartments.
I looked up at the woman’s face. The sense of familiarity in such an unfamiliar place unsettled me. She was in her sixties, I thought, her hair all hidden under her hat, apart from some dark strands under the brim. She had dark rings under her eyes, and no colour in her face, but that seemed to be fairly standard here. Where did I recognise her from?
She smiled at me.
‘Zdravstvuyte.’
My tongue fumbled for my greeting. ‘Um, dobroe utro.’
She gestured to the bench. ‘May I?’
Her English shocked me, but I nodded. ‘How did you know I was British?’
She sat down carefully, and the dog settled next to her tidy feet, pressed together. ‘Ah, a few things. Your accent, of course, the little “um” at the start, and it is no longer morning. Dobry den is better as an all-day greeting, if you’re having trouble with “hello”.’ She held out her hand, ‘Eva Mann.’
Of course.
‘Martha—’
I was still not used to saying Kit’s surname, and mine felt odd now that we were married, so I left it at that.
‘You’ll find the Russians will use a more Russian version of your name. I’ll call you Marta, to get you used to it.’
I nodded. ‘What’s your dog called?’
‘She’s called Vorona. It means crow.’ The dog looked up at Eva, and then set her gaze outwards again. ‘She’s a Black Russian Terrier. Soviet scientists combined seventeen different breeds to create this dog.’ Eva looked at me intently, as if gauging my reaction to each word.
‘She’s really beautiful.’
‘Clever, too.’
I couldn’t think of anything else to say. We lapsed into silence, not companionable, but comfortable enough with the dog to focus on. A few people walked past and I watched them, waiting for the man with the cigarette to return. I didn’t see him. Eventually, Eva spoke.
‘I should get back. Would you come and visit me? I don’t see many English people nowadays. It would mean a lot to me to find out what is happening in England, and to stretch my tongue again.’
My heart sank. She was excluded from the British contingent for some reason that I hadn’t discovered, but the way she’d phrased it made it hard to say no. And I was interested.
‘That would be lovely, thank you.’
‘Have you got a bit of paper so I can write directions? It’s not far from here.’
I opened my bag, but the only bit of paper I had was the 1957 map. I didn’t think Kit wanted it back, so I pulled it out.
‘Maybe along the side of this?’
She laughed and unfolded the map. ‘Well, I don’t know how you can use this. I’ll get you a better map. One that at least takes the sixties into account.’
She slid a pen from her coat pocket and added some lines to the map, then a long arrow to a specific junction. Along the edge of the map, she wrote the address in Russian and English.
‘Myaskovskogo?’ I said.
She nodded, and added a cross. ‘This is Arbatskaya Metro station, and next to it is a cinema, the Khudozhestvenny. I think that watching films in any new country helps you to get an ear for the language. And it can be a good way to spend an hour or so, if you have little to occupy yourself. I often go myself.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Shall I put my telephone number?’
‘We don’t have a phone yet. I mean, I don’t have a phone.’
‘So, would you like to come in a week? Next Tuesday? Any Tuesday afternoon, in fact. If you come at noon, I’ll make you some lunch. You must eat, Marta. You look hungry.’
She smiled and patted my hand. I smiled, but it felt odd, as if she was acting like someone older than she was.
I said, ‘Did you know I saw you on my first night in Moscow? In the Metropol.’
‘What a coincidence,’ she said. She stood and the d
og stood with her. ‘I’ll see you next week.’
I watched her walk away, remembering Kit’s warning. There were no coincidences here. And I was glad. Only then did I think about the stories. I would have time to ask when I visited. If I visited.
I hadn’t even taken my coat off when there was a knock on the door. I quickly shrugged it off, then opened it.
‘Hello, Martha.’ Charlie was posing, hands in his pockets.
‘Oh, hello. Christopher’s not home yet.’
‘Oh, I know. He’s had to go out with a gentleman. For a drink.’ He looked so smug. I knew he was suggesting that Kit was having more than a drink. Was he trying to drop Kit in it so that I’d jump into his arms in revenge?
I crossed my arms. ‘Right. Well, he’s done that before for work. Did you just come to tell me that?’
‘I could come in and keep you company.’ His hands were still in his pockets. ‘He might be some time. You could tell me what you’ve been up to, maybe show me some of the records you like so much.’
He took a step forward and I wedged my foot behind the door.
‘Kit goes to the record shop on Gorky Street. I’m sure you could pick some up.’
‘How about a bit of company, then?’
‘I’m fine, thank you. I was just going to have a bath.’
His eyes lit up.
‘I could—’
‘No, you can’t,’ I said, and slammed the door shut.
When Kit got home, we decided to eat off our laps on the balcony. I had decided not to mention Charlie, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Kit also seemed distracted. He finally came out with it.
‘Charlie asked me to ask you something, and I’m not sure how you’re going to take it.’
My heart sank. He was negotiating on Charlie’s behalf? ‘Go on.’
‘He, and Alison – well, it’s her idea. Alison wants to know if you’d be Bobby’s nanny.’
That was better than I’d dreaded, but stranger. ‘What?’
The Wolves of Leninsky Prospekt Page 7