They finish their dinner in silence. Liza removes the fresh figs from her plate and quickly stuffs them into her pocket.
Liza slowly makes her way along the sandy alley. She bends down to smell the gillyflowers. She’s just taking a walk before bedtime, nothing to it. All she’s thinking about is the garden, the gillyflowers and the roses.
But the moment she draws abreast of a tall fir tree, she turns around to check whether anyone is watching her. Then she runs into the white summerhouse and slams the door behind her.
Nobody has spotted her. She squats, lifts up one of the floorboards and gropes around in the dark recess below.
Nobody’s taken it. It’s still all there. She takes out a bundle wrapped in a handkerchief and empties it out onto the table. She counts out the money. Fourteen francs, thirty centimes. It isn’t much, but she can’t wait any longer. They’re going back to Paris the day after tomorrow. And she could just be really careful with her spending… Also in the bundle are nuts, a few figs and a bar of chocolate. Nuts are very nutritious. If she has two nuts and a fig a day, she’s got enough to last her twelve days. And then there’s the chocolate too.
She ties the bundle back up and returns it to its hiding place. It’s safer there. It could well get discovered at home. Still squatting, she takes out an envelope from the folds of her dress. The envelope contains a postcard with a view of the Kremlin and, most importantly, a page she had torn from a book.
Liza studies the postcard. At least she can be sure that she’ll be able to recognize the Kremlin. Then she unfolds the page and starts reading:
Robert stealthily joined a group of porters at the harbour. They were carrying heavy sacks. He climbed a rope ladder up the side of the ship and made his way to the hold without anyone noticing. The loud clanking of chains and the crew’s shouting brought him the welcome news that the ship had finally got under way. In the corner of the hold he spotted a bundle of tarred ropes and was about to make himself comfortable on them, in anticipation of the long journey ahead, when suddenly the door flew open with a loud creak. Two hulking sailors stood in the doorway. Robert’s heart stopped in horror and the hair on his head stood on end.
“There’s someone in here,” said one of the sailors, as Robert felt a strong hand grab him by the collar.
“Take him to the captain,” said the other, and soon, after a few energetic kicks from the sailors, Robert found himself before the captain. The captain spat his chewing tobacco over the side of the ship, swore masterfully and said to Robert:
“Who are you? And what are you doing here? I’m warning you, speak only the truth or you’ll find yourself feeding the sharks at the bottom of the sea.” And with that he pointed his tanned brown hand towards the blue waves and the monsters’ faces among them.
“I am Robert de Costa Rica,” Robert declared, his voice as clear as a bell. “I’m trying to reach Spain, my long-suffering homeland, which has been enslaved by the Moors. With sword and cross I shall conquer its enemies.”
“You are a fine young man,” said the captain, slapping his shoulder. “You may stay with us. But, pray, what skills do you have?”
“I can do anything you say, Captain.”
“Very well.” The captain threw him a brush. “You can scrub the deck.”
Liza had read this page so many times that she knew it by heart.
It contained everything she needed to know—the rest was easy. She could walk to Le Havre from here. If she left at dawn, she would make it by nightfall. At Le Havre she would find a ship bound for Russia.
She squeezed her eyes shut. She could see herself at the harbour, surreptitiously joining a group of porters. She could see herself climbing the rope ladder up the side of the ship and then sitting in the hold on top of the tarred ropes. Chains rumble. The ship gets under way. The captain looks at her. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”—“I’m Russian and I’m going to suffer for Russia.” She’s given a brush and she scrubs the deck.
To suffer for Russia.
It’s Easter. Kolya is home for the holidays. The walls of the nursery are covered in colourful wallpaper. From the window they can see the Bois de Boulogne. They’re playing “Kooksa and Krooksa”. Kolya is Kooksa and Liza is Krooksa. Krooksa is paying Kooksa a visit and Kooksa is fussing over her kindly. “Krooksa darling, please make yourself comfortable in the coal box, you’ll be ever so cosy in there. If you’re cold, you can open the umbrella.” The nursery door is open and they can hear their nanny in the dining room, preaching to Dasha the maid.
“It’s for those sins. For all those sins. Just look at madame, she’s come here and given Russia up. She’s forgotten all about her motherland! She’s hauling herself round theatres and restaurants, waiting to have Russia handed back to her on a platter. Oh, no, you don’t! You have to suffer for Russia. Suffer!”
Liza shudders. A chill rolls down her neck and between her shoulder blades, like a cold marble.
“You have to suffer!” Nanny’s voice drones on.
Kolya shakes Liza by the arm.
“Why don’t you say something, Krooksa dear? Would you like a spoonful of boot polish or not?”
Liza gets up from the floor and brushes the sand off her dress. That’s right, she must suffer. That’s why she’s going to Russia. To suffer. For all of them. To suffer for beautiful Natasha who’s having too much fun to even remember how to get to the Kremlin from Tverskaya. And most importantly—to suffer for Russia.
Liza lifts her head up high, crosses her hands over her chest, just like Christian martyrs in paintings, and makes her way back across the garden, slowly and solemnly.
In Natasha’s room, the shutters are closed and the electric light is on.
Natasha is sitting in front of the mirror in a sparkling pink dress, carefully powdering her shoulders.
Uncle Sasha is standing behind her in a dinner jacket, adjusting his black tie.
Liza stops to admire them. This is her Mama. So pretty and so glamorous! And this is the last time she’s going to see her.
“Natasha!” She runs to her mother with her arms outstretched. “Natasha!”
Natasha holds her back.
“Calm down, calm down. That’s quite enough of that.”
She takes a step back. Liza looks at her beautiful legs in their pink silk stockings and her gold shoes with their shiny buckles.
“Give me a kiss, Natasha!”
Natasha leans over her and carefully, so as not to smudge her lipstick, gives her a kiss on the cheek.
Liza inhales the heavy, familiar scent of her perfume.
“Again, again!”
“Stop it, Liza dear.” Natasha is annoyed. “You’ve tired yourself out again. Go to bed at once.”
Liza walks over to Uncle Sasha.
“Goodnight.”
He pats her head gently.
“You’re so pale and thin! You’ve only got your eyes left! Should we have brought you here? You’ve got even thinner, if I’m not much mistaken…”
The door closes behind them. She’s never going to see them again. They’ll still be asleep when she leaves tomorrow.
Liza feels hurt and upset. From the wardrobe, she takes out her yellow shoes with the thick soles, clean linens and a waterproof overcoat. That’s everything. Now she can go to bed.
She turns off the light and stretches out under the duvet. She must get to sleep quickly. Tomorrow she’ll have to get up at the crack of dawn. But she feels so hurt and so upset. Mama didn’t even turn to look at her—she only saw her through the mirror.
Moonlight is streaming in through the open window. A thin silver line shimmers across the floor. The polished wardrobe glimmers dimly. The linens show bright white against the armchair. Slender branches sway in front of the windowpanes, as dark clouds swim across the sky. It is so sad, so quiet.
Liza turns to the wall and presses her eyes shut. “Mama. No, I mustn’t think of Mama, or else I won’t be able to get to sleep.” It would be better
to go over everything again—she’s at the harbour, she joins a group of porters, the rope ladder, the hold.
So quiet. So sad.
“The hold.” She lets out a sigh in her sleep. “What comes next? Oh, that’s it, the ropes.” “You’re a fine girl!” The captain’s voice booms. “Take this brush and scrub the deck.”
Liza opens her eyes in alarm. It’s already light. A fresh chill drifts in through the window. The clock strikes five.
The grass glistens with the morning dew. The sky is a pale grey, almost white. Liza is walking down a wide road. She’s done it. Nobody even noticed. It’s so easy to walk, so easy to breathe. But she mustn’t hurry or she’ll tire herself out. She takes long, measured strides in her yellow shoes and swings her arms in time to her walking. That’s how real hikers walk.
It begins to get hot. She removes her hat and wipes the sweat off her brow. She looks up at the sun. It must be one already.
They’ll be having lunch in the pension. Mama will have noticed that she’s missing. She’s looking for her, worried. Mama. No, she mustn’t think of Mama.
Motor cars race past her. Liza chokes on the dust and rubs her eyes. She’s tired. The waterproof coat weighs her arms down. She has a headache. If only she could lie in the shade under the trees and sleep. But then she’d feel even wearier.
Soldiers always sing when they’re marching somewhere. It’s easier to walk with a tune. She doesn’t know any soldiers’ songs. She doesn’t know any songs at all, in fact. Except for the one about the little animal. It’s a stupid song, but that doesn’t matter.
She starts singing, trying to keep the pace.
Once upon a time
There was a little beast
He hopped along a path,
But was neither frog nor ferret.
Whoever would have thought it?
The wind blowing dust into her face makes it difficult to sing. Her yellow shoes are rubbing.
“Who would have ever thought it?”
A peasant cart rattles past her. A suntanned old man is sitting tall in the driver’s seat. Beside him sits an old woman in a red woollen dress. Gosh, it’s the dairymaid! Liza quickly turns her face away. The road is straight, surrounded by open fields. There’s nowhere to hide.
“Look there,” she hears the dairymaid say. “Isn’t that the Russian girl from the Excelsior? They said she’s gone missing.”
“Nonsense,” she hears the man’s voice reply. “She couldn’t have walked all this way.”
Her knees grow weak from fear and her sight grows dim.
“I’m telling you, that’s her.”
Liza tries to outstrip the cart.
“Hey, hey, you!” the dairymaid shouts.
Liza is almost running.
“Hold the horses, we’ve got to check.”
The dairymaid jumps off the cart and lands with a thud.
Liza makes a dash for the nearest field.
“Stop! Stop!” the dairymaid calls after her.
She’s so close. Liza can hear her clogs thudding against the ground and tries to run faster, gasping for breath.
The old woman grabs her by the shoulder and looks her straight in the face.
“I knew it. It’s her, all right!”
“Leave me alone!” Liza tries to fight her off. “You don’t have any right to stop me. Leave me alone!”
But the old woman drags her over to the cart.
“You’re a wolf cub, you!” She shakes Liza by the shoulder, angrily. “You bit me and drew blood! I’m not letting you go now.”
She lifts Liza up and hoists her onto a sack of potatoes.
“Keep an eye on her so that she doesn’t jump off,” she tells the old man before picking up the reins.
The cart carries on down the road, rattling and juddering. There is a clucking hen by Liza’s feet, with its legs tied up. Behind her are large metal milk pails.
They’ve caught her. Of course they’ve caught her. It’s all over.
“It’s no joke! You’ve covered ten kilometres and you’re such a little thing!” The old man offers her a morsel of bread and cheese. “Eat this. You won’t be home for a while. We’ll do our rounds first.”
Liza pushes his hand away in silence.
It starts to rain. The old man covers everything with tarpaulin to keep the rain off. It goes over the potatoes, Liza and the hen.
The cart draws to a halt for the fifth time. The milk pails clatter. The dairymaid tells the story of how she apprehended Liza for the fifth time. And for the fifth time lifts the tarpaulin to reveal her. Liza huddles in the corner. Curious eyes study her.
“What a pretty little thing! Did you say she was violent?”
“Like a wolf cub! She bit my finger.”
“Very wild. She’s Russian.”
“Is she really? How interesting!”
Liza tries to hide behind the sack of potatoes. Wolf cub. They’re staring at her as if she really were a wild beast in a cage. Good job they’re not stuffing cigarette ends up her nostrils.
Maids crowd around the gate to the pension.
“I’ve caught her!” the dairymaid shouts triumphantly from some way off. “I’ve caught your mademoiselle. Here she is!”
Liza is taken down from the cart.
“They’ve called the police already. Everybody’s been searching for her.”
Liza shakes her head. Her knees grow weak. A maid catches her.
“Liza! Liza dear!” Natasha is crying loudly, hugging her and kissing her hair, face and hands. “My darling child, you’ve given me such a fright! I thought you’d drowned! Liza darling!”
Liza is carried through to the bedroom and put to bed.
“My God.” Natasha is horrified. “Ten kilometres!”
“I should box your ears,” says Uncle Sasha. “I’ll have to keep you under lock and key from now on, just you wait.”
Natasha kisses her again.
“Liza darling, why? Don’t you like being with us?”
Liza manages to lift her eyelids.
“No,” she says slowly. “I wanted to go to Le Havre. To get on a ship to Russia.” She surprises herself with a sob. “To suffer.”
“To suffer?” says Natasha.
“To suffer?” says Uncle Sasha. “So that’s what it was all about. To suffer!” Uncle Sasha gently pinches her nose. “You silly billy. Do you think they would have made a fuss over you over there? They would’ve just shaved your head like a criminal’s and then sent you to the Komsomol.”
She can hear laughter in the room next door. Really? To Russia? To suffer?
Liza blushes and buries her face in her pillow. The shame of it! The absolute shame of it! Everyone knows. Everyone’s laughing at her.
The wind rattles the shutters. The rain drums on the roof. Natasha tucks her in.
“Sleep, my darling. What a storm! What would you have done on your own, my little runaway? Don’t cry now, don’t cry. Sleep now, and may God keep you.”
Liza lies alone in the dark. Streams of rainwater gurgle as they run down the roof. The wind rattles the shutters. Sea waves crash.
The shame of it! The absolute shame of it! They would have shaved my head… He pinched my nose…
Her pillow is wet with tears. They keep streaming and streaming, and there isn’t anything she can do to stop them.
A ship is sailing from Le Havre, crossing the white stormy waves. While she’s stuck here. And it’s all over.
Liza is sleeping and tears stream down her face.
She is dreaming of a cold blue sunrise. Jagged red walls and colourful church domes glitter in the cold blue light. Gold crosses shimmer high in the sky.
This is Moscow. This is the Kremlin.
Liza stands alone in the middle of a big, empty square.
A troop of soldiers forms a semicircle around her. Their guns gleam. She hears the bolts click. The black muzzles point right at her.
An officer with a red star on his chest bellows out the ord
er: “Fire!”
III
LIZA OPENED HER EYES and ran her hand across her forehead. She looked around in confusion, failing to recognize her room at first. Outside, night had fallen. The faint light of a street lamp shone dimly through the black branches. Rain drummed on the windowpanes.
“Russia,” she said aloud. She listened to the sound of her voice as she spoke. “Russia.” She shook her head. The recollections of her unhappy, dream-filled childhood had made her heart feel hot and heavy in her breast and her mouth go dry.
She switched on the light and looked at the clock.
“It’s gone eight already… Why haven’t they called me down to dinner?”
She opened her door. The feeling of anxiety hadn’t quite gone away. Her knees felt weak and her head was spinning ever so slightly. She let her legs carry her. One false step and she’d end up splayed on the polished floor of the hallway.
She found it a little easier to walk on the rug covering the drawing-room floor. Liza paused to catch her breath.
“I’m like an old goose, unable to control my nerves! The shame of it…”
“She’ll fall for it… She’s stupid.” She heard Nikolai’s voice in the dining room.
“No, she’s not stupid, not at all. She’s just naïve.”
“Same difference,” Nikolai interrupted him. “She’ll fall for it. Liza!” He shouted.
Liza pushed the door open and immediately, before even crossing the threshold, felt as if something had just taken place. Andrei was sitting at the table. His eyes were gleaming and his lips were pursed resolutely. Under the yellow glare of the light, his face looked much too pale.
“Who’s stupid? Who’s going to fall for what?” she wanted to ask, but she hadn’t the time.
Nikolai rushed over to her and took her hands in his.
“Liza.” He looked her straight in the eye. “Liza, you’re my sister and I don’t want to keep this from you. Liza…” He caught his breath. “I don’t know how to tell you this… Listen, Andrei and I are members of a monarchist organization. And now I’m being sent to Russia!”
“To Russia?” she asked him, the blood draining from her lips.
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