Strange Are the Ways

by Strange Are the Ways (retail) (epub)

  ‘Damned subversives!’ Donovalov’s voice was low. He banged the desk with the heel of his hand. The man Kutya jumped, blinking. ‘With their bloody committees, their troublemaking. Trouble? I’ll give them trouble! We’re at war, Kutya.’ His voice was still quiet. Kutya sweated under the malevolence of the other man’s eyes. ‘These are traitors. Death is what they deserve. Death is what will come to them. But not if bloody incompetents like you bungle every sodding job you’re given!’ The words were not loud, yet the blistering rancour of them brought a sheen of sweat to the small man’s face.

  ‘Yes, Pavel Petrovich. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry? You’re sorry? You lose our only lead to the Barjov Group – a lead we’ve been nursing for months, no, years – to a group that now, only now, is coming out into the open with its filthy subversions – and you’re – sorry?’

  ‘Yes, Pavel Petrovich.’ The words were barely audible.

  There was a long silence. Donovalov’s level eyes did not blink as he surveyed the other man. Then, ‘Get out,’ he said, disgustedly. ‘Send Salkov in.’

  ‘Yes, Pavel Petrovich.’ Shaking with relief and sick with hatred the small man scurried to the door. There he stopped. ‘Oh – one thing, Pavel Petrovich?’

  Donovalov raised weary eyes from the piece of paper he had picked up. ‘What is it? You need the lavatory?’

  ‘No, Pavel Petrovich. It’s just – I forgot to say – the man turned up. You know? The one you were interested in. Tall, dark, a scar on his face –’

  Donovalov had stilled absolutely. His eyes sharpened. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Oh yes, I’m sure. I saw him myself. It was the day before –’ he swallowed ‘– the day before the bitch went to ground.’

  It was so long before the man at the desk reacted that Kutya, shrugging a little, left the room, closing the door carefully behind him.

  ‘Was it indeed?’ Donovalov asked the silence, thoughtfully. ‘Was it – indeed?’

  Chapter Eighteen

  By the autumn of 1915 Germany had agreed, in principle, and with reservations that were to cause much anguish to those whose hopes were pinned upon the promise, to train a battalion of two thousand young Finns and to arm them with rifles, machine guns and ammunition. The military equipment was not to be German, but materials captured from the Russian armies on the Eastern Front.

  Under the circumstances it was of course all but impossible to keep the project entirely secret. The prosaic telegram that informed the anxious Finnish patriots of their success after much delicate negotiation – ‘Send two thousand copies of ordered book immediately’ – was sent to a bookseller in Helsinki. And whilst that was not intercepted and immediately recognized by the authorities as the triumphant message it actually was, the Russian Government was far from unaware of what was happening in Finland; how could it not be? Disaffection was widespread and deep-rooted. The movement for independence had been gathering strength for years. It would have been a truly insensitive and unintelligent occupying power – which was the way that many Finns were beginning openly to describe their Russian ‘protectors’ – that did not recognize the ripening time for outright rebellion.

  Jussi Lavola, his sister, his band of comrades and – to her own surprise – his Russian wife were in the thick of it all. It was not the easiest job in the world to smuggle hundreds of able-bodied young men from Finland to Sweden and thence from Sweden to Germany, under the eyes, ears and guns of an occupying army and in the teeth of a war that was tearing Europe to shreds. And the opposition was brutal. The authorities clamped down mercilessly on anyone involved in or simply suspected of being connected with the freedom movement.

  Russian soldiers and their officers and members of the secret police were billeted all over Finland, from Helsinki itself to the wastes of the arctic tundra. An already massively repressive regime became more so. Upon the flimsiest of evidence – sometimes upon no evidence at all –- men and women were arrested, shot, or deported to Siberia. Yet still the young men escaped, slipping through the almost impenetrable forests, striking north to Lapland and the arctic circle to cross the Swedish frontier by land or smuggled upon fishing boats – and, too, upon smaller, swifter vessels that had known these routes well before there was flesh and blood contraband to be run from frontier to frontier – across the Gulf of Bothnia.

  And then, as autumn advanced into winter and the waters froze, other routes were opened up. More direct; more dangerous.

  ‘Do you have to go?’ Katya kept her voice calm, almost light. It had become habit to her, at even the most dire of times, not to fuss. She had learned from experience that it made no difference; in such matters, much as she knew he had come to love her, there was no deflecting Jussi once he had made up his mind. ‘You’ve only been home two days. You’re still exhausted.’

  Jussi was sitting at the table, wolfing down bread, cheese and beer. ‘I told you, Kulda, I must. There’s no-one else. Paavo’s in Lockstedt negotiating with the German Command – God, the excuses they can come out with the minute we want any concrete commitment to anything! – and Armas –’ He stopped.

  ‘I know. Armas is dead. Heimo told me.’ Katya stood with her back to him, calmly rolling bandages and packing them into a sturdy rucksack, which was all the luggage her husband would carry on his perilous journey. Meat, cheese and bread were already methodically packed. ‘And so is Kosti Puhakka. And the young man who was here last month – what was his name? Otto something? He’s been taken, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes. Don’t worry. He won’t betray us.’

  She turned at last, met his eyes. ‘I don’t worry. Not about that,’ she said.

  Elisabet, seated by the stove darning a pair of heavy socks for her brother, glanced up, looked from one to the other, ostentatiously turned her back, giving them at least a little privacy.

  Jussi had pushed his plate away and stood up. Katya moved quietly to him and stood within the warm circle of his arms, her fair head laid upon his chest. He said nothing, holding her to him, stroking her hair.

  She closed her eyes. Concentrated every smallest atom of her being into this moment. For this was the fear she lived with; that he would one day leave, and she would never see him, feel him warm and live against her, again. ‘Be careful,’ she said at last.

  ‘I’m always careful. I promise you. I have far too much to lose not to be.’

  ‘Do you know how long you’ll be gone?’

  ‘No. A couple of weeks, perhaps. But it could be longer.’

  ‘Elisabet and I are going to Helsinki at the end of the week. We’ve nearly fifty thousand marks to deliver to headquarters.’

  His arms tightened about her. ‘I don’t like you doing that.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Jussi,’ Elisabet said tartly from her seat by the stove. ‘We’re perfectly safe. Who would ever suspect the two of us? Respectably married women, one Russian born, the other Russian by marriage, both ready to tell anyone who’ll listen what we think of these dreadful subversives who are undermining good Russian Government and turning the country into a bear garden – no, Jussi. Don’t worry about us. We organize the collecting of the money; it’s only right that we should be the ones safely to deliver it. You fight your way and we fight ours. Money may not sound romantic but it’s every bit as important as your precious battalion, you know.’

  ‘I know. You’re doing a wonderful job. But I still –’ Jussi stopped as the door was flung open and Kaarlo, snow on his shoulders and on his fur cap, came into the room, stamping his feet against the cold. Pikku Kulda was still the safe haven it had always been; they set no lookouts about it.

  ‘We can’t take the Kemi route,’ he said, with no preamble. ‘It’s finished. Closed.’

  Katya felt every muscle in Jussi’s body tighten. He put her from him. ‘What happened?’ His voice was very quiet.

  ‘Looks as if a Russian agent infiltrated the network. When the last lot got to the Osula – you remember, the inn at Kemi, where we st
ayed?’

  Jussi nodded.

  Kaarlo’s voice was grim. ‘A detachment of Russian police was waiting for them. Cut them to pieces by all accounts. Three dead, all but one of the others captured.’

  ‘Anyone we knew?’

  ‘Toivo Aarkenan. He’s dead. The innkeeper – Heiskanen, wasn’t it? He’s been taken too. The route’s gone for good.’ Kaarlo’s voice was brusque. ‘So, what do we do?’

  ‘Another route lost. And another guide. Well, we have to go, there’s no question of that.’ Jussi perched upon the table, leg swinging, eyes very thoughtful. ‘There are seven men waiting for us in the forest north of Kajaani. We can’t leave them there.’

  ‘Why not go via Vaasa? The Gulf’s well frozen. The camp’s established – I was out there last week with Toivo. We both know the route. Why not go that way?’

  ‘Camp?’ Elisabet asked, intrigued. ‘In the middle of the Gulf ?’

  Jussi nodded. ‘A tent. Shelter. It’s a long trip across the ice. It’s too much to expect the men to try to make it in one go. It’s shelter, and a place to rest, that’s all. It has a stove and fuel, provisions, warm clothes, that sort of thing.’

  ‘The lads have christened it the Kaiser Wilhelm Hotel,’ Kaarlo said, grimly humorous. ‘But it’s a hotel that’s very particular about its guests. Russians aren’t welcome.’ His dark eyes flickered to Katya. She pulled a gargoyle face and sniffed dismissively. She had long ago ceased to worry about Kaarlo’s gibes. Kaarlo laughed.

  ‘All right.’ Jussi pushed himself away from the table. ‘That’s the way we’ll go. You’ve provisions?’

  ‘Outside.’

  ‘Then we leave at once. Katya, my camouflage jacket isn’t here?’

  ‘In the cupboard.’ With quiet and quick efficiency Katya fetched the thin white jacket that he would wear over his heavy clothes to cross the ice. She finished packing the rucksack, stood back to let his stronger fingers pull the stiff leather straps tight.

  ‘Kaarlo,’ Elisabet said. ‘Come and look at the lake.’

  He stared at her, blankly. ‘The lake?’

  ‘The lake.’ Firmly she reached up and took hold of the ear that stuck out from beneath his cap. ‘Come – and look – at the lake!’ She spoke very slowly, as if to a half-wit.

  ‘Ah.’ Suddenly comprehending, he looked at Jussi and Katya; smiled with yellow teeth. ‘Ah! Yes. The lake.’

  ‘God Almighty,’ Elisabet said, with feeling, as she towed him to the door. ‘Dear God Almighty. And upon this does my country’s freedom depend!’

  The door shut behind them. Katya and Jussi surveyed each other, the same rueful, unhappy yet amused smile mirrored upon both faces. ‘Will we ever get any time together?’ Katya asked, softly.

  ‘Yes.’ The word was positive. ‘I promise you. Soon. This one last trip and then it will be easier. There are others now, many others. I won’t have to make the trip much more. Now, tell me you’ll be careful when you go to Helsinki.’

  ‘I will. Of course I will. And you promise me – faithfully! – that you won’t take unnecessary risks.’

  He laughed then, opened his arms to her. ‘Of course I won’t. Don’t worry, pikku Kulda –’ he knew how she loved those small words – little darling – the same name given to the house where they had discovered their love ‘– the devil isn’t ready for me yet.’

  ‘Don’t!’ she said, against his chest. ‘Don’t say that!’

  She kept back the tears until she stood at the door with Elisabet, watching the two men cross the snowy clearing to disappear down the narrow track into the forest. And even then she would not acknowledge her distress. Briskly she turned back to the warm room, began to tidy away the remains of her husband’s meal.

  Elisabet watched her, noted the wash of tears upon her cheeks, saw the hard-bitten lip. ‘What is it, Katya?’ Her usually sharp voice was oddly, tentatively gentle. They were still not close; the suspicion and hostility that had marked their early relationship had long been buried in the absolute essential need for mutual trust. If they could not be counted bosom friends at least their relationship now was characterized by confidence and by respect. Katya did not usually behave so when Jussi left. ‘Katya?’ she asked again.

  ‘Nothing,’ Katya said. ‘It’s nothing. I’m tired, that’s all. I’m sorry.’

  The words sounded banal and stupid in her own ears. She saw Elisabet’s eyes still very sharp upon her. For a moment she was tempted, then put the temptation from her. How could she say, ‘I’m expecting his child and he doesn’t know it?’ How could she say, ‘It’s changed me! I’m not brave any more! It isn’t exciting any more! I’m afraid for him! Afraid for myself!’ And above all how could she put into words the dreadful doubts – she veered from the word premonitions – that had settled upon her like vultures upon a carcass as she had watched his tall, lean figure striding across the clearing beside the shorter, stockier Kaarlo? How could she say, ‘This time I truly fear I will never see him again’?

  She straightened her back, rubbing at it absently with her hand. ‘My mother,’ she said, apparently inconsequentially, looking into space, into a childhood that suddenly seemed far, far away, ‘always used to make us sit down together before we set off on a journey. Neither she nor my aunt would dream of going anywhere without sitting down for a minute or so first.’ She bent again, gathered the plates, eyes still blinded with tears. ‘Silly, isn’t it?’

  * * *

  The Russian patrol picked up their trail not far from the coast, north of Vaasa.

  ‘We should go back?’ one of the men in the party asked, nervously.

  ‘The buggers are behind us,’ Kaarlo said drily, trudging steadily through a fresh fall of snow and into a rising wind, iron-shod boots crunching rhythmically as he walked. ‘Going back doesn’t seem to be exactly the most sensible thing to do in those circumstances, does it?’

  ‘I mean –’ The young man stumbled, righted himself. ‘I mean –’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Kaarlo said, repressively and with enough edge to his voice to still any argument.

  ‘They’re a way behind,’ Jussi said, reassuringly. ‘They don’t know the terrain. We do. We’ll lose them amongst the islands before we hit the open ice.’

  The other man muttered something, caught Kaarlo’s fierce eye and subsided.

  Some time later Kaarlo came up close to Jussi, glancing over his shoulder to where the others ploughed doggedly in their tracks. His voice was very quiet. ‘They’re getting closer. I just caught a glimpse up on the hill there. At least a couple of the bastards are on horseback.’

  ‘Yes. I know.’ Jussi glanced up at the sky. ‘If only the wind would lift. Or that damned snowfall had come later.’

  Kaarlo grunted, hitched his rifle higher onto his shoulder.

  ‘They can’t actually be sure,’ Jussi said, speaking as quietly as had his companion. ‘They’ve presumably found our tracks. They can’t be absolutely certain that we’re who they suspect we are. They won’t shoot until they’re sure, I think. Until they actually catch up with us. Or until we do something to confirm their suspicions.’

  ‘Should we split up?’

  Jussi shook his head decisively. ‘That’s the last thing we can do. Only you and I know where we are or how to get where we’re going. Only you and I are armed. Two smaller, weaker groups would be just as easily tracked and far easier to take once they’d caught up with us. No. We stick together.’

  ‘They’ll know for sure once we head out over the ice towards the islands.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jussi said. ‘I know they will.’

  The snowstorm struck like a gift from heaven, just as they reached the barren coast and struck out across the ice of the gulf. One moment the scattered islands loomed about them in the dim winter light, held firm in the rough grey shackles of the frozen sea; the next they were gone, lost in a dizzying curtain of white. Jussi glanced at Kaarlo, caught the grimly exultant, yellow smile from within the depths of the other man
’s hood. ‘Stay together,’ he said, reaching into his pocket for his compass. ‘And for God’s sake keep going. If we push on we’ll lose them, for sure.’

  ‘If they haven’t already turned back.’ Kaarlo’s tone expressed exactly his contempt for their pursuers. ‘Fucking Russians.’ He spat into the snow.

  ‘Shouldn’t we – wait a little?’ It was the same man who had spoken before. Nervously defiant, he avoided Kaarlo’s disgusted eye.

  ‘No. We wait. They wait. We all wake up a few yards from each other. Not an appealing thought, is it? We go on. But for Christ’s sweet sake watch where you’re putting your feet. The ice is as safe as it ever is, but there are always holes.’

  That concentrated their minds with marvellous effect. In silence they followed him into the storm.

  * * *

  It did not last long. Jussi was aware, with slightly sinking heart, that it had not lasted long enough. It had given them a chance, certainly, but if the Russian patrol had decided, as they had, to push on towards the west –

  ‘Shit,’ Kaarlo said, very calmly.

  Jussi turned. The last flurries of snow still gusted across the ice. They had left the islands behind them. They were in a wasteland, a rough, bright desert of frozen ocean. And, as if the devil himself had crooked a finger to entice the covering storm away, the clouds were clearing. A pale sky shone to the west, and fickle sunshine – treacherous sunshine, however shortlived – lit the cold world with heartless, slanting light.

  On the horizon, steady and clear, curiously magnified in the sudden brightness, the pursuers trudged relentlessly on, the two horses, with their riders, walking tall and quiet beside them.

  ‘We can see them –’ Kaarlo said.

  ‘– which means that they can see us,’ Jussi finished, grimly.

  ‘Wh-what are we going to do?’ A young man with a pinched, cold face hitched his rucksack higher onto his shoulders in a reflexive, nervous gesture and turned to Jussi, his pale blue eyes frightened.