The man steps forward and removes his hat. “It is my duty to inform you that your parents were involved in a road accident. They are both dead.” His delivery is robotic and devoid of any emotion.
I feel Duscha reach out and squeeze my hand tightly. I turn to look at my brother. He is only six and I can see that he doesn’t understand. He stares at me with large, frightened eyes. My hands clench into fists. It is impossible that my parents are dead. I refuse to believe them. I know instinctively not to trust these people.
“They are not dead. I just spoke to them last night,” I say fiercely.
“I know it’s difficult to accept, but they are dead,” the woman confirms.
I break free from Duscha’s grip. “No. I don’t believe you.”
“Nevertheless, you must come with us,” the woman says.
Dushca stands.
I try to grab my brother and run back upstairs, but the man catches me by the arm, and pulls me away from Pavel. Pavel starts crying.
“Leave us alone,” I scream, and kick wildly at the man’s shins.
He does not let go. He just looks angry and irritated. “It’s no use resisting. Your parents are gone and you must come with us.”
“Why? Why must we go with you?” I ask defiantly. I remember Mama told me when I was only Pavel’s age that if anything ever happened to my parents, then I must take my brother (he was only a baby then) and go to my grandmother’s house. She made me learn the address by heart, then she showed me how to lift the loose floorboard in her bedroom and access the blue box hidden underneath. Inside was money and our papers. “If anybody at all comes here and tries to take you, or your brother away, you must immediately call Uncle Oksana. He will know what to do,” she said. I nodded and she made me memorize his number.
“You must come with us now,” the man barks, holding me sideways so that my kicks and flailing were useless.
“I want to call my uncle,” I say as ferociously as I can.
“There is no time for that now. You can call him later,” the woman says. Her face cracks into a smile. It just makes her look like a crocodile.
“I want to call him now,” I insist stubbornly. “Mama wanted me to.”
The woman looks at the man and raises her eyebrows.
“Duscha, help us,” I say, but she just sobs helplessly. When I see her crying so pitifully, I suddenly become very frightened. Our parents are not here, and these horrible people are going to take us away, and Duscha, always smiling, happy, Duscha, is crying like her heart is breaking. “Please, Duscha. Please, help us. Do something.”
Duscha falls to her knees, clasps her hands in a prayer position, and looks up at them. “Please don’t take the boys, they need to go to school. Let the boy call his uncle. I can take care of them here until he gets here,” she begs, her voice shaking with fear.
“These two children have been designated as children of the enemies of the people, and by resisting their removal you are acting against the state’s wishes. Instead of worrying about them you should start making preparations to leave immediately as this house and everything in it now belongs to the government.” The woman’s voice is sharp and Duscha flinches as if she has been struck.
“I don’t want to go,” I yell.
“Look how they are dressed,” Duscha cries desperately. “Please, have some pity. It’s freezing cold outside. At least let me get some warm clothes for them,” Duscha pleads.
“There is no time. They must come with us now,” the man repeats stonily.
Duscha takes off her warm woolen shawl and, with tears running down her face, wraps it around Pavel’s shoulder. Pavel uses that opportunity to fling his hands and legs around her body and cling tightly to her.
The man looks at the woman. “Hurry up and get him. We’re wasting time here.”
The woman takes two steps forward and roughly pries Pavel away from Duscha. She rips the shawl off his body, throws it to the ground, and she drags my screaming brother towards the front door.
I try to fight the man holding me with all my might, but he is big and too strong. Without warning, he lifts his hand and punches me on the side of the head. The blow is so hard, my head swims. I actually see stars. For a second I even go deaf. My body becomes limp, and he drags me down the steps.
There is a long, black car parked outside.
I know instinctively that we must never get into the car. With every ounce of energy I have, I start struggling and screaming as loudly as I can for the neighbors. But the street remains deserted. Not one curtain twitches. Not one person opens their door to investigate what is happening in the Smirnov household.
Why the children are screaming?
Why there is a big black car parked outside?
Why two strangers are dragging the children away?
“Help, help. We are being kidnapped,” I yell.
Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain on my upper arm. When I jerk my head towards the pain I see a needle sticking out of my arm.
The world goes black very quickly.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Star
Before the hour is up I hear the sound of a motorbike roaring to the front. Minutes later there is a quiet knock, and when I open it Celine is standing outside.
She looks at me strangely. I know my eyes are swollen and red.
“Your new phone has arrived. A woman who can teach you how to use it is also here.”
I follow her downstairs where a young Italian girl smiles at me and proceeds to show me how to use the phone. It is very different from mine and I have never heard of the brand before, but she is a good teacher, the interface is easy, and soon I am using it confidently.
“That’s it. If you have any problems don’t hesitate to call me,” she says standing up.
“I’m sorry you had to come out at this time of the night.”
She grins broadly. “I wish more people would call me out at this time of the night. I’m getting paid almost a week’s wages for this, so believe me when I tell you, it is no hardship at all.”
At my blank expression, she explains that she works for a high-end phone shop in Bond street. Her boss called her while she was getting ready for bed and sent a courier to pick her up and take her to the shop where he gave her the phone. Her task was to deliver it and teach me how to use it.
The big guy that Nikolai had called Semyon is waiting for her in the hallway. After she leaves I go upstairs. In my room, I go into my bathroom, lock the door, and text Nigel.
Me: I’m going to bed now, Nigel. Please do NOT text or call me unless I text you whenever I can. I don’t want Nikolai to hurt you. I love you. No matter what. I’ll text you tomorrow.
Nigel: Are you all right?
Me: Yes, I’m fine.
Nigel: I heard a loud bang. Did he hit you?
Me: No.
Nigel: So what was the noise?
Me: He broke my phone.
Nigel: WTF!!!!
Me: It’s all right. It’s all sorted now.
Nigel: Whose phone are you using?
Me: He got me another one.
Nigel: He must be nuts.
Me: Just don’t call or text me. I’ll contact you when the coast is clear.
Nigel: Now I’m really worried about you. What if he hurts you?
Me: He won’t.
Nigel: How do you know that?
Me: The only person who can hurt me is you.
Nigel: We’ll get through this. I promise.
Me: I’m tired. I’m going to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow.
Nigel: I’ll be waiting for your text tomorrow. I love you so much it hurts.
I close my eyes and then I say what I always say: Me too.
His reply appears on the screen and it just makes me so sad I want to cry: Goodnight my darling. I’ll dream of you.
I crawl into bed. The sheets are silky soft against my skin. It takes me a long time to fall asleep and when I do, I don’t dream of Nigel. I toss and turn with night
mares of a man with silver eyes full of pain.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Nikolai
When I wake up it is nearly night, my brother is huddled against me, and the car is travelling on a lonely road. I try to stretch, but can’t move my hands. I look down and see that they are tied with ropes.
The man and woman are sitting in the front.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
The woman turns her head around. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll have to tape both your mouths,” she warns.
No one speaks again. My brother holds me close to him as we drive through swathes of countryside until we come upon a high wall. It is studded with sharp pieces of broken glass and the top of it is strung with barbed wire. The car stops at a set of big, black gates. The man gets out and rings a bell. After a while, an elderly man comes to unlock the big padlocks on the gates.
We drive through and stop in front of a huge, gray building. I’ll never forget the sight of that building. It is so big and imposing. All the windows have bars. It looks like a prison. We are pulled out of the car and forced up the stone steps.
A skeletal man with a thin, long face opens the thick black door. He does not look at Pavel or me. Merely nods gravely and opens the door wider. The stench that greets us is hard to define. I have never smelt it before. It seems to be coming from the dank walls and the stone floor. I can even smell it on the thin man. It smells like stale urine, and boiling cabbages, but something else too. Something that makes me afraid.
It is colder inside the house than it was outside. There is a huge bust of Lenin to the left of us. Ahead is a long, dark corridor. There are posters on the walls showing children praising Stalin with the caption: Thank You, Dear Comrade Stalin, for a Happy Childhood.
We follow him down the corridor.
An elderly woman is furiously mopping the floor. Her mop is gray and the water in the bucket is also gray with a few soap suds floating on top. She does not look at us.
We pass empty classrooms on either side of us. There are no sounds of children from within the house. Further down the corridor a boy, much older than me, passes us. He has dark eyes and he stares at me with a sneer.
We reach a door and the tall man knocks politely. Someone calls ‘enter’ and the man pushes open the door and steps back. A bald, fat man stands from behind a big desk with many papers on it.
“Have you brought more littlest enemies of the people for me to plant in my garden?” he asks cheerfully. He would have made a good clown or buffoon, but there is something sinister in his bulging brown eyes. They slide over me like oil, but when they move to Pavel they become sticky and stay. He smiles and licks his lips. “And who do we have here?”
“The older one is Nikolai and the little one is Pavel,” the man who brought us says. There is a note in his voice that wasn’t there before. Scorn and derision. He doesn’t respect the fat man.
“I am Konstantin Razumovsky, and I am the director of this institution,” the fat man announces proudly. “We opened in 1918 and we have had many successes to be proud of here. More than 7000 children have come through our doors and many of them are now fine, upstanding graduates with their own children.”
“I need to phone my uncle,” I say loudly.
The director smiles. “Phone calls must be earned with good behavior. If you are good you will be allowed to use the phone.” He lets his eyes travel down to the ropes around my wrist. “Are you going to be a good little boy for me?”
“Yes,” I say immediately. I have already understood that I must do everything in my power to earn that phone call to Uncle Oksana. I might be able to, but little Pavel cannot climb those glass embedded walls. They will cut him to ribbons.
The Director’s smile widens as he regards us benevolently. “Good. You will like it here, there are many boys of your age.”
We are passed on to another man called Igor. He has a thin, unsmiling face and he takes us to a dank room where my ropes are cut and we are ordered to strip and change into shapeless clothes made of thick, coarse material. He opens a cupboard and extracts two pairs of striped pajamas and two toothbrushes. They don’t look new. The bristles are curved.
“The toilets are over there,” he says, waving down a dank corridor, “but they are all not functioning at the moment. You’ll have to use the latrines outside. Do you need to use them?”
Both Pavel and I nod.
With a long-suffering sigh, he leads us outside and waits for us while we use the toilets. The toilets are freezing cold. We use them as quickly as we can and join Igor.
Shivering with cold, we follow him upstairs to a long room full of cots. The smell of urine is much stronger here. There are shelves on the walls and there are neat little piles of clothes, soap and toothbrushes on them. No toys, books, photos of family, or any kind of personal possessions.
Igor tries to give us cots in different parts of the room, but I insist that I want to stay with my brother. Something flashes in his eyes. A secret smile. As if he knows something I don’t.
“I’m hungry,” Pavel says in a soft voice.
“You’ve missed supper time. You’ll have to wait until the morning for breakfast. It’ll be lights out in twenty minutes, so you boys might as well stay here.”
As soon as he goes away, Pavel turns to me, his eyes filling with tears. “Are Mama and Papa really dead?”
“I don’t think so.”
“So why have they brought us here?”
“I don’t know. I think it’s a mistake. I need to call Uncle Oksana. He will come and take us back,” I mutter.
“Are we really the littlest enemies?”
I grab both his hands. “No, we’re not. We didn’t do anything wrong and neither did Papa and Mama. It’s all a mistake. A terrible mistake,” I say fiercely.
He nods and I let go of his small hands.
“I’m afraid,” he whispers, his beautiful eyes filling with tears.
“Don’t be afraid. I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Do I have to sleep alone?”
“No. I’ll sleep with you.”
He frowns. “But you don’t like sleeping with me.”
“I’ll sleep with you tonight.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Thank you.” His small hand goes around my back. “Who will sleep with Lyubov tonight?” he asks.
That is the moment I get really scared. In my head Papa is saying, “Now walk to the shop together. Hold Pavel’s hand. Don’t ever let go. You are in charge of your little brother.” Pavel is still too small. How am I going to protect him in this vast place?
“Will Lyubov be alone?” Pavel asks again.
“No,” I say softly. “Duscha will take him with her.”
His lips wobble. “That’s good. I wouldn’t want him to be alone. You don’t think she’ll put him in the washing machine, do you?”
“Why would she do that?”
“She’s always threatening to.”
“She doesn’t really mean it. She only says that when you don’t pick your toys up, or eat your food.”
For a while he is silent.
“Where do you think Mama and Papa are?”
I look at him seriously. “I’m going to tell you a secret, but you can never tell anyone, okay?”
“Okay,” he whispers, his eyes huge.
I lean close to his ear and say, “I think they’ve gone to America to find a home for us.”
“How do you know?” he whispers back in my ear.
“Because I heard them talking. They said they were going to find a home, and then we were all going to move to America. We can all go to a drive-in, eat burgers and fries, and drink Coca Cola.”
“Really?” His eyes are shining.
“Really. But you can’t tell anyone.”
He shakes his head solemnly. “No. I won’t. Wolves can tear away my heart, but I won’t tell anyone.”
I smile. “T
hat’s what Mama says.”
“And I agree with her.”
“It’s going to be fine. I’ll take care of you.”
“I want Mama,” he says, and begins to cry.
“Shhh …” I say, and holding his small body close to me, rock him the way I have seen Mama and Duscha do to him when he has a fever.
We huddle together on the cot in that cold room and stare at the blank gray walls. Both of us are in a state of profound shock. We can hardly believe we have somehow gone from our warm study room, a little bored with doing homework and the smells of Duscha preparing a hearty stew, to one of the most dreaded and hostile places imaginable for a child in Russia.
A dyetskii dom (A children’s home)
Chapter Twenty-Five
Star
I wake up early and check my new phone. No calls or messages. I go into the beautiful marble bathroom and take a shower. Wrapped up in a fluffy robe, I sit on my bed, and call Nan. She asks how I am and I tell her that I am better, and that I will be going to see my dad tomorrow.
“Yes, that would be good. He was asking about you yesterday.”
“I’ll see him tomorrow,” I repeat.
“What are you and Nigel up to today?”
I close my eyes. This part is even more painful. “Not much. We’ll probably stay in today.”
“Probably best. You stay indoors until you feel completely better.”
“Yeah, I will.”
“If you want I’ll make you some soup and your grandad can take it around to you.”
“No, don’t do that. I’m almost better.”
“Are you sure, Love? Cause it’s no trouble.”
“No need. Rosa said she’ll bring something around.”
“All right then.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I hang up with a sigh, and call Rosa.
“About bloody time,” she says. “How’s it going?”
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