The Red Staircase

by Gwendoline Butler

  To my surprise, he had added jewellery, ear-rings and necklace to my portrait. ‘You’ve made me look very rich,’ I said. ‘I don’t own such emeralds and pearls.’

  ‘Oh, I expect you will do,’ he said absently. ‘You can have your picture, if you like. No, on second thoughts I’ve changed my mind. It’s one of my best, after all. I’ll keep it. Perhaps I’ll let you have it later. Come and see me in St Petersburg.’

  He held out his hand: it was the congé. I think he was in physical discomfort. I felt sorry for him. ‘Try taking some deep breaths if you have a pain,’ I advised. ‘I believe it helps.’ But he only smiled faintly without answering. Then he said: ‘I hope I drew your face nicely enough. You look jolly.’

  ‘I see a nice face, too. And it could be a jolly one.’

  He moved on his pillow, raising himself a bit. ‘I am when I’m myself. I’m very happy when I’m let be.’

  The small cat was nestling by his side on the bed, and his hand was resting on her delicate little frame. His fingers rose and fell with her light breathing.

  ‘Who’s that?’ I asked.

  ‘Her name is Pickles. I have another cat called Samson, but I left him behind in Tsarskoe Seloe. He will be there when I get back. Papa says I have too many pets.’

  ‘But he doesn’t mean it?’ I questioned, studying his face. I thought the tense lines of pain on it were already relaxing.

  He considered the question. ‘I think not,’ he decided. ‘Because he always gives me more. I have four cats and two dogs, including Snowball.’

  ‘Three dogs at least,’ put in his sister.

  ‘They have puppies, you see,’ he explained. ‘And the cats sometimes have kittens. Only not as many as you’d think.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘I believe they take away the kittens before I see them, but I can’t be quite sure.’ He stroked the creature by his side. ‘This is my new little cat, my new dear little cat.’ Behind his eager smile was the dogged patient look I had seen on the face of other children who had to suffer prolonged pain. He was breathing easily again.

  ‘Do you feel better now?’ I said.

  ‘While we’ve been talking I had forgotten the pain.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘But it hasn’t gone away,’ he said quickly.

  ‘Of course not. But you were able, for a while, to forget it. To feel nothing. That was good.’

  He said carefully: ‘I’ll tell you something. Even when it is very bad, there are moments when it seems to go away. Only moments. If they didn’t happen, I should scream all the time. Or very nearly.’

  ‘I don’t blame you.’

  ‘I’m supposed to be brave, not call out or shout. It’s expected of me.’

  ‘I think you’re very brave now.’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ he said, slightly surprised. ‘Because the pain is bad. But more bearable, somehow.’

  ‘I’m so glad.’ I was beginning to feel tired. My legs were heavy, the lightness had gone from my body.

  ‘You’re not a doctor, are you?’

  ‘No. Couldn’t be.’ I meant only that I had had to give it up, but he took it another way.

  ‘Girls can be, I know. One of my sisters would like to be a doctor. But, of course, she won’t be allowed. It can’t be done.’ His tone was grave; he took the position of his family seriously. And his own, too, no doubt.

  His mother was still watching us through the door – I could see her foot. In the background Dolly was still chattering away, a little desperately now, I thought.

  ‘Don’t I speak English well?’ he said.

  ‘Indeed you do.’ And so he did, but with a German accent.

  The Grand Duchess rose, it was time to go. When I looked again through the door, the foot was gone, so perhaps the girl too had been watching.

  ‘Goodbye,’ I said, making the routine curtsey.

  ‘Goodbye. I’ll ask for you in St Petersburg.’

  ‘And I’ll come,’ I said lightly. ‘If they’ll let me.’

  The upshot of this fascinating and unusual encounter was that, as we retraced our steps the way we had come, carefully guided by the Grand Duchess, I had the strange feeling that part of the purpose of my coming to Russia was connected with these people. Yes, Dolly wanted me to help in her schemes in Shereshevo, that was genuine enough. And yes, the Grand Duchess was interested in the part women could play in medicine; and yes, too, I had amused and distracted the sick boy. But I couldn’t help the feeling that I had something else to do as well. I hadn’t liked that secret watcher through the door.

  ‘Don’t walk so fast,’ complained Dolly, hurrying after me, ‘I’m out of breath and have a stitch in my side.’

  I walked on. I wanted to get away from the place.

  Next day, at breakfast, just before we set off back to Shereshevo, a small packet was delivered to me. The two older ladies watched me open it. Inside was a small oval photograph, set in a gold frame, of the boy and his mother. It was unsigned, something which Dolly remarked on at once.

  ‘Pity she didn’t sign it.’

  ‘Even as it is, it is a signal honour,’ said Madame Titov stoutly.

  ‘Oh, do you think so?’ I answered coolly; I was turning the framed photograph over in my hands. I didn’t say so, but it was signed. An initial A had been scratched on the back with a pin. The photograph was from the boy. His mother had sent it, but somehow he had made his mark on it. ‘I shall keep it, at all events.’ I put it in my travelling bag. ‘Who knows – it might be useful. Contact with great people is always useful, isn’t it?’

  ‘What is the matter with the Tsarevitch?’ asked Dolly, as soon as we were driven away towards the railway station. No Peter to drive us on this journey.

  ‘I never discovered. Didn’t you?’

  ‘They say it’s a disease of the blood,’ said Dolly in a confidential voice. ‘Inherited.’

  ‘Very likely.’

  Dolly sighed. ‘Oh dear, and such a journey ahead of us now. And with no company to keep us cheerful.’

  ‘And we never saw the Tsar,’ I said.

  ‘No, but he saw us.’ Dolly giggled. ‘As we crept to the house last night, I’m almost sure I saw his face at an upstairs window, watching. And he was there when we left. He waited, smoking those endless cigarettes of his. He saw us come and he saw us go.’

  But when we arrived at the station, there was Peter in his motor-car, waiting for us, ready to drive us home after all. He sprang out of the car the minute he saw us.

  ‘How did you get here?’ demanded his sister.

  ‘But I’ve been here all the time, waiting for you. I drove straight here after I left you.’

  ‘But how did you know we were coming today? And at this precise time? How could you find out?’

  ‘There is such a thing as a telegram, even in this benighted country.’ He was laughing. ‘And I have my spies.’

  ‘You must have.’ But she was settling herself in the car and making herself comfortable; I saw she was pleased.

  The journey back to Shereshevo was unmemorable. I sat beside Peter as on the way out, but this time there was little chatter from any of us. I don’t know what Dolly was thinking about, but I was thinking about Peter and possibly he was thinking about me.

  He had proposed to me, but how could I even think about this offer when the pressure of Patrick was still so strong in my life that I kept sensing him where he could never be, as in that peasant’s shop in Shereshevo and in the terrible copper mine of Vyksa? Life with Peter offered so much in the way of material riches. I was ambitious, I was willing, even anxious to accept him if I could; but I couldn’t do it.

  And then I thought that; perhaps, if I could exorcise this ghost of Patrick, burn it away in the light of reality, I would be free of him. Then I could begin to love Peter. Love grows where love is freely offered. If Peter gave me love, I might learn to love him. People said it happened that way, and I wanted to believe it.

  All I needed, I thought,
was another trip to Vyksa to view its terrible reality again. That would settle all my nonsense.

  ‘It’s getting cooler in the evenings, have you noticed? Autumn is coming,’ said Dolly. ‘I think we shall have an early winter.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said dreamily.

  I had come to love rustic Russia with its forests and lakes and long, straight, dusty roads. But it frightened me. It was a haunted landscape. Even Shereshevo, so warm and homely, was threatened by the countryside which hung around its neck like a halter. In the end the countryside would swallow up Shereshevo. I think Dolly sensed this, and it accounted for the sparseness of the furnishings. She kept no treasures at Shereshevo.

  Aridane made us welcome, and the comforts of Shereshevo soon closed over us. But I wanted to go to Vyksa again. I knew I could leave Madame Mozorov in charge of my village work for a few days more; I had made quite an ally of her by now. But to Vyksa I must go.

  ‘Ariadne,’ I began. ‘If it can be arranged, if your mother agrees, I mean, do you think we could go to Vyksa again? Marisia wouldn’t object?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ she said carefully. ‘Object. Far from it? She’d be so pleased. Then you don’t think her a bad influence, like my mother?’

  ‘No, not exactly. That is, I see what your mother means, even why she fears her, but I also see what she could be to you.’

  ‘I love Marisia, there’s no one quite like her. You can see it in her eyes. And she’s so strong. She’s had a lot to fight against too, believe me. Her father is kind but he leaves everything to her. He’s a dreamer.’

  ‘I should think only a dreamer or an utter cynic could do the job he does at Vyksa,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, yes, and Marisia says that; she feels what that place is. Imagine growing up there. But she says it is where her strength comes from. It would have to be strength or utter weakness, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Is that what she says?’

  ‘More or less. Only she puts it better. I think she has it in her to be a great woman.’

  ‘I think so too,’ I said.

  ‘Is that why you want to go to Vyksa?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ Ariadne still looked at me expectantly. ‘The place interests me.’

  I took my opportunity to talk to Dolly about it when she was in a good mood and she agreed readily to the visit. She was beginning to trust my judgement, which made me feel bad. But I had to see Vyksa again. Patrick’s ghost wouldn’t rest.

  We came upon Marisia with her sisters grouped around her at the long dinner table. She appeared to be tutoring them in mathematics. In that moment before she looked up and saw us, I believed I saw a sweetness in her manner to them that I had not detected before.

  She stood up and reassumed her astringency. ‘So you’ve come to see us again. I didn’t expect you, Ariadne.’

  Ariadne went up and put her arm round her friend’s waist. ‘And here have I just been telling Rose that you wouldn’t mind being taken by surprise. Anyway, as it happens this time it was Rose who wanted to come.’

  ‘You wanted to see my beautiful home again?’ Marisia had her dry little manner back to perfection. ‘To dwell in its idyllic perfection?’

  It was hard to say that I had come back to prove to myself that Patrick was not here. Can one prove a negative? Marisia was such an intellectual that she would do better. She would eagerly debate the philosophical point.

  ‘I find you very interesting,’ I said sturdily, and honestly. ‘You don’t mind us coming? We’ll go away again.’

  ‘No,’ Marisia laughed. ‘Do you think we get so many visitors in this happy place that we can afford to turn them away when they come? Congenial visitors, that is; we get plenty of the other kind.’

  All the same, I got the idea she was not entirely pleased to see us. It showed in the peremptory way she turned to her sisters. I’ve given you plenty of work to get on with, and I shall expect it done when I come back.’ She lifted the watch tied to her shirt blouse and looked at it. ‘You have one hour.’ She put one hand on Ariadne’s shoulder and one on mine, and walked us forward. There was something so individual about her, it was impossible not to succumb to her. She was so totally her own woman that we could not be self-conscious with her.

  The samovar was bubbling on a round table in the hall and Marisia poured us all glasses and we stood there drinking. I never developed much enthusiasm for the weak Russian brew, but I quite saw that it was a handy social device: when all else failed in Russia, one could always drink tea. I sipped more slowly, but Ariadne drank hers down thirstily.

  ‘Do you teach your sisters every day?’

  Marisia spread out her hands in ironic deprecation. ‘How else can they be educated, poor little souls? Money was spent on my education, but it was always intended that it be repaid. So I repay it by teaching my sisters. It is not onerous, and I enjoy it. One of them is clever, one stupid, another lazy, another hard-working; they have variety, you see.’ It was impossible to tell how seriously she was speaking. ‘But they are docile and do more or less as I tell them. Growing up in Vyksa, one is either a rebel or docile. I can tell you that the place does not allow for any other choice.’

  No, I thought, and you decided to be a rebel. Aloud I said: ‘But you provide a tutor for them as well? Or perhaps I should say, tutors?’

  Marisia put her glass of tea down. ‘You must find it strange that any man would choose to come here. Yes, I can see you do. But the sad truth is that some of these cultured and intellectual people are so pathetically poor that any situation which gives them their daily bread is welcome. Yes, I do give employment to tutors for the girls when I can. They come and go. Not many stay for long; they find they can’t bear it after a while. The winter here is a test, I can tell you.’

  ‘It’s Marisia’s pet charity,’ said Ariadne, ‘although she won’t put it like that.’

  ‘I help as I can.’ Marisia dismissed the charge. ‘People get sent to me. I may be glad of help in return one day. I always remember that.’ She picked up Ariadne’s glass. ‘Some more tea? You have a thirsty look.’ Ariadne agreed that she was parched. ‘And you, Rose? Will you take some more tea?’ I shook my head, but I almost said yes, mesmerized by the power of her personality, which was so strong one could almost feel its warmth. ‘And I have to congratulate you on your success at Shereshevo.’

  ‘Success and failure,’ I said with a frown, remembering the death of the baby.

  ‘Ah, that is success, to be able to stand back and see what was failure,’ said Marisia admiringly.

  ‘I wish I believed that.’

  ‘But I admire what you are doing, Rose. It’s good work,’ she said. ‘Seriously good. I envy you. I would like to have training in medicine.’

  ‘But I never finished.’

  ‘And I never started,’ she said drily.

  We stared at each other, tacitly admitting the thing we had in common. ‘It is not easy for a woman, being different, is it?’ said Marisia. She was younger than me, but already she understood this. ‘We shall have to fight for what we want, shan’t we, you and I?’

  ‘You are a fighter,’ I said.

  ‘And so are you, if you will let yourself fight.’ She gave me an unexpectedly warm smile, which in that usually severe face was like a flag of jubilation being run up. With something like shame, I realized she had interpreted my visit here as an attempt at friendship with her. And she wanted to be my friend.

  ‘Let’s walk on a little,’ she said, moving forward, hand on my shoulder as before. ‘Stone roses and wooden walls are the best part of it, but I believe there is a patch of grass underfoot struggling to survive. Nothing grows here,’ she confided. ‘But whether it is the mineral content of the soil, or something sterile in the air, I do not know. I think we are inimical to life here, my friend.’

  Marisia and her sisters had a tiny area they called their garden, overlooked by giant stone walls and shut in by a high fence. But it was true that, as Marisia said, a little grass grew there, and here we walked
up and down. I felt that I owed her an apology, and a sort of explanation.

  ‘I must have seemed very foolish with that mad dash back last time we came,’ I said. ‘The truth is I had a strange sort of feeling that I would see someone I knew here if I could only get back quickly enough.’

  ‘Someone you wanted to see?’ She put her head on one side.

  ‘Yes. I have to admit, if I am honest, that it is someone I would like to see again,’ I said sadly.

  ‘Ah well, that is easy to explain, then – what is your phrase? – the wish was father to the thought.’

  ‘It was so strong,’ I said. ‘The same as a presence I knew.’

  ‘Ah I know that feeling, it is akin to the feeling of déjà vu,’ she said, taking off her spectacles and waving them about to emphasize her point. ‘The product of a figure of mind and emotion. I’ve had it myself.’

  I doubted it. I doubted if that cool, logical mind ever entertained such irrational sensations.

  ‘Shall we stroll around?’ Marisia went on. ‘Later, in the heat of the afternoon, we shall need to rest.’

  ‘I’m hot now,’ said Ariadne.

  ‘Yes, it is hot.’ Marisia took up a paper fan and handed one to me and another to Ariadne. ‘Use those as we walk. At least they move the air a little.’

  For the first time she led us to the perimeter and I saw how small was the enclosed space where Marisia and her family lived, and how great was the area of prison and mine which stretched behind the barricades of stone and wood. It was another world. Between us and it stretched a sort of no-man’s-land with sheds and huts, equally desolate and terrifying. A wooden fence shut it in but I saw a gate which stood open.

  ‘If it is hot for us here, imagine what it is like in there for them,’ said Marisia with a nod towards the mine.

  ‘Do they work all the time, then?’ This was by Ariadne. I was quiet, I found closeness to the terrible place silencing.

  ‘All day and every day,’ said Marisia. ‘There life has no sabbath.’

  Ariadne shuddered. ‘It chills you, doesn’t it?’

  ‘And I live by it, and with it, and for that matter, on it,’ said Marisia. ‘It has fed me and clothed me and educated me. Vyksa is in, my blood. Sometimes I think it is like a terrible infection raging there, which will end by twisting my mind and body.’