Natalie Tereshchenko - The Other Side

by Elizabeth Audrey Mills

  The late-August sky was pastel blue, dotted with wandering clouds, and the river off to my right glittered like diamonds in the early-afternoon sun. People, dressed in their Sunday best, were out walking; couples and small groups passed me, some smiling a greeting. I paused to take in the peaceful scene, a moment of normality in the upheaval of my life. I took a deep breath, savouring the heady smell of summer blossom.

  Carriages passed me, with smartly liveried drivers seated high, leather reins trailing from their hands, their elegantly dressed passengers visible through the windows, and the horses tossing their beautifully beribboned heads and tails. On the opposite side of the road, travelling in the other direction (as though to emphasise the contrast between the old and the new) gleaming motor cars chugged along, leaving a trail of blue smoke that drifted in the warm air for a while before slowly floating away over the green like will-o'-the-wisp.

  Eventually, with a sigh, I urged myself into motion, as though with a flick of my reins, and set off to find the car with my companions.

  Chapter 24

  ~ Public Speaking ~

  On Sunday afternoon, as my last public engagement on Aleksandra's behalf, I was to address a meeting of women workers from the factories around Nizhny, in the main hall of the Trade Fair.

  We arrived in two motor cars at the front entrance, and for a moment after alighting, I stopped to admire the architecture while my guards formed around me. The hall was a beautiful building, grand, brightly-coloured and ostentatious ~ factors that would normally be enough to repel me, yet they were somehow blended in such a way that the structure still managed to please my eyes by its perfect proportions.

  I would have liked to have spent longer admiring it, but a large, noisy crowd was gathered outside ~ a few cheering, but many booing and shouting abuse ~ and a group of women waited to greet me, so I had to get down to business. One of the women, shouting above the cacophony, introduced herself to me as Ludmila Belskya, the leader of the Nizhny Novgorod Women's Soviet. She seemed nervous of the hostile element of the crowd, and indicated that we should get indoors as soon as possible.

  My entourage pressed through the throng in tight diamond formation, like a spearhead ~ Stanislav in front, Nina and Rada on each side of me, and Leo covering my rear. I followed Stanislav's big back, feeling very anxious, the girls pressing close to protect me, as the volume of the voices rose to a frightening din and the mob pushed and jostled with outstretched hands, trying to grab at me. I was carrying my precious package from Yelena in a shopping bag ~ I was determined not to part with my diaries again ~ and held onto it tightly, lest someone should snatch it.

  Once inside, with the doors closed behind us, the dreadful noise was muffled, and the team reformed into a looser, square pattern ~ Leo walking ahead of Rada on one side of me, Nina ahead of Stanislav on the other. I could see that they were still very tense, their heads constantly turning, their eyes checking every shadow, every movement, their guns at the ready. We walked across a large, carpeted foyer to a corridor that brought us, shortly, to the hall itself, and we emerged onto a broad stage at one end of the huge hall. My heart jumped when I saw the size of the crowd I was to address. It is hard to describe the scale of the enormous room ~ high-ceilinged, as wide as a circus ring, and twice as long ~ and it was filled to capacity. It was the largest gathering I had yet attended, including those where Aleksandra was the speaker. A cheer rose from the women present as we appeared, but there were many more men in the crowd than I expected, and they, for the most part, remained silent.

  I sat on a chair at the back of the stage, and my team took up positions beside me and in the wings. Ludmila Belskya opened the meeting and introduced the speakers who were to address the crowd ahead of me, one by one.

  * * *

  The first speaker, a local man, was greeted enthusiastically when he stepped up to the microphone. He spoke of Lenin and Stalin, praising the government for its actions on quelling the counter-revolution. It was high in rhetoric, and well received, though it sounded shallow to me, as though he was only saying the right things to stay on the winning side. Similarly with the man who followed. I could see the shape the meeting was taking, and it was clear that I was the only woman speaker; this was not what I had been led to expect.

  When I was called to speak, and rose from my chair to approach the front of the stage, the men in the crowd, previously attentive and enthusiastic, began to jeer and shout abuse. I stood at the microphone, looking down at the sea of hostile faces, feeling their hatred. There were some women, but they were outnumbered and shouted down by the men. It was clear from the things the men were were chanting that they felt that women had no place in politics, that our place was in the kitchen and in bed, and that we should accept servility to our masters.

  Nervously, I opened the letter from Aleksandra, to read her message to the women, but my voice, even amplified, was drowned by the roar from the men. Angry, and close to tears, I turned to Ludmila Belskya. "How has this been allowed to happen?" I shouted.

  She shrugged her shoulders, embarrassed. "I am sorry," she said, lamely.

  I turned back to the microphone, unsure how to deal with a hostile crowd. My survival instincts were urging me to leave, but I had a responsibility to Aleksandra and the women of Nizhny. I cast my mind back, trying to think of something to help me break through the din. 'Well, they like Lenin,' I thought.

  "Vladimir Ilyich Lenin!" I shouted.

  Enough of them heard the name to raise a cheer.

  I followed up rapidly with: "Joseph Vissarionovich Stalin!" drawing a louder cheer, followed by a slight pause as they waited to hear the next name.

  Taking advantage of the momentary lull, I added: "Aleksandra Mikhailovna Kollontai!" Raising my fist in the universal symbol of solidarity. They started another great yell, and a wave of fists appeared briefly above the crowd, until the men realised that they did not know the name, and their voices faded. But the women knew, and cheered loudly.

  In the brief quiet that followed, I continued quickly:

  "Those people built the revolution together, marching with the people, fighting alongside each other in the streets and in government. Lenin and Kollontai were both at the Winter Palace in 1905 when hundreds of men and women died on the instructions of the Empress. Lenin respects Kollontai. Will you insult him by rejecting her representative here today?"

  Taking a chance, I paused, but they seemed prepared to listen to a little more. I began to read Aleksandra's message; there were a few jeers and catcalls, but on the whole they were more receptive than when I first came to the microphone. When I was finished, the women cheered me, while the men held a sullen silence.

  I thanked them and waved. Then, still shaking, I glared at Ludmila Belskya as I snatched up my bag and coat from the chair on which I had been sitting, and left the stage, hastily joined by my escorts.

  * * *

  While not a total disaster, I was disappointed that the meeting had not achieved more, and I was glad it was the last one I would have to address on this trip. Public speaking was not my forté, and I hoped I would never have to do it again.

  As we hurried out through the foyer, I saw a woman standing nervously to one side, looking intently at me. She was small in height, but strong in build, neatly, but unfashionably dressed; I thought I recognised her from somewhere. The way she gazed desperately at me made me break away from my escort and cross to join her.

  I smiled and held out my hand. "Hello, I am Natalie Tereshchenko, did you want to speak to me?" Then I remembered where I had seen her before. "Weren't you in Kovrov on Friday?" I asked.

  She reached out a small, brown, wrinkled hand to shake mine, nodding her head.

  "Yes, I wanted to speak to you, but I lost my nerve; you seemed so busy, with so many important people around you. I hope you do not mind me coming today, Mistress," she said, shyly. "My name is Olgha Feldmann, you see." She stopped, looking flustered. "Oh, how can I explain? You will think I am crazy."
<
br />   I shook my head. "I can see that you are not crazy, Olgha. What is it you want to tell me?"

  She looked at her feet for a moment, then gathered herself and gazed into my eyes.

  "A young man is staying with my husband and me. He has said that he knows you, and Stefan, my husband, sent me to speak to you." Her eyes peered out of a weather-beaten face and looked apprehensively into mine; she was as reluctant to be there as I had been in the hall, but, like me, her duty had overcome her discomfort.

  "What is his name, this young man?" I asked, feeling a little lurch inside.

  "Ah, well, there is part of the problem," she replied. "He has lost his memory, you see. We live outside Nizhny, beside the railway line; we have a small piece of land there. One morning, about a month ago, we found this man lying unconscious near the track. At first we thought he was dead, but he had a faint heartbeat, so we took him in and nursed him. He is about your age, a little older, perhaps, very tall and muscular, with light brown hair. We call him Ioann. Almost the only word he has been able to say is a name: 'Natalie, Natalie, Natalie.' When I came here to the market last week, I saw the poster about your visit, you see, and on a whim I took it home to show him, because of your name. He became excited when he saw your picture, pointing, and saying your name. So I have come back to find out if you are 'his' Natalie."

  Could it be Max? The description fitted. My heart began to pound, and she must have seen how it affected me. "You know him?" she asked, hopefully.

  I could hardly speak, hardly breathe! "Is he ... is he with you, here, today?" I finally managed to say.

  She shook her head slowly. "No, he is still weak and confused, you see, and was unable to travel with me. He cannot remember what happened to him, but he had been badly beaten, and has a serious wound in his side."

  Nervously I pointed to the place on my own side that corresponded to where Max was shot. "Here?" I said, simply, not daring to hope, yet feeling hope rising.

  She nodded, quickly, a small smile pulling at her mouth. I, too, began to smile, though tears were also filling my eyes. Suddenly I felt a bond with her; we were two women who loved the same man, each in our way, and I had to hold her in my arms. We hugged, and could not hold back the tears, which flowed down my face.

  "His name is Max," I told her, eventually, releasing her. "The wound was caused by a bullet, which was removed by a doctor in Nizhny. He is my..." My what? Lover? Uncle? (Our cover story when escaping from Yekaterinburg). No, I would be honest: "He is to be my husband. Do you have time to talk now? Shall we go somewhere quiet?"

  Chapter 25

  ~ Olgha ~

  We left the Trade Hall and found a little tea-shop nearby. Olgha and I sat alone in a quiet corner to chat, watched over from another table by Nina and Rada and the two Department Thirteen men. Outside, the warm late-afternoon passed slowly, people walking by were just visible as distorted shapes through the old glass of the windows.

  Inside, we took time to get to know each other a little. Olgha and her husband Stefan owned a small farm to the west, where they grew wheat and potatoes and kept goats, pigs and chickens. They were childless, and when Max came into their lives, it was as though he had been sent from heaven for them to care for.

  I could not help but see the contrast between Olgha and Sofiya, the ruthless, grasping woman who had claimed to be my mother. Though poor, just managing to survive from one harvest to the next, Olgha and her husband had room in their hearts to show love and compassion for another human being.

  I told her about my past life as a Lady-in-Waiting in the Tsar's household, about our exile, and the murder of the royal family. As ever, I was reluctant to reveal my deepest secret, that of my royal connection.

  As we talked, I saw that my security team, whose table was nearer the window than mine, were clearly concerned about something. After a consultation between the four of them, Nina and Rada suddenly left the café, and after a brief consultation with Leo, Stanislav came over to where I was sitting.

  Looking nervously towards the window, he leaned close to me. "We must leave, now. Something is happening outside," he said, quietly.

  "What?" I asked.

  "I will explain later," he said, tensely. Suddenly, I felt fear grip me.

  Quickly, I turned to Olgha. "May I come to see Max?" I asked.

  "Of course. I am staying with my sister here tonight, then I will be travelling home early tomorrow. It is a slow journey, perhaps seven or eight hours in a cart over rough roads."

  "Olgha," I said, breathlessly, "I would walk it if I had to. But for now I have to leave you. May I meet you here at dawn?"

  She smiled and nodded.

  * * *

  Stanislav was clearly becoming agitated, glancing frequently at the door, so I stood to leave. As I kissed Olgha, he took my arm, again leaning close to whisper: "Quickly. We should go by the back door."

  As if to emphasise his words, there was a sudden, short burst of gunfire outside. Whatever was happening must indeed be serious, I concluded, though I could not see anything.

  With one man on each side of me, I was led to the counter. Leo spoke quickly with the woman there, who pointed to a door at the rear of the café. Within seconds, we were hurrying through the kitchens, past a startled cook, towards the back door. "What is happening?" I asked again.

  Neither man spoke, but as we reached the back door and Leo turned the handle to open it, he grabbed hold of my left arm, gripping it so firmly that I winced. At the same moment, Stanislav took my right, and I glared at them both, angry and puzzled.

  "What ... ?" I began, as Leo stepped outside, dragging me behind him, with Stanislav following.

  There, in the small courtyard behind the café, in the fading glow of the setting sun, stood a troop of soldiers, five men, with pistols drawn.

  I turned my head to stare at Stanislav in amazement as he closed the café door, and he at least had the decency to appear abashed. When I looked back at Leo, he, too, was embarrassed, staring down at his shoes.

  A man emerged from the group and took the two or three steps to reach us. I recognised him at once.

  "Alexander Avadeyev!" I gasped.

  He was grinning, but not the cynical, amused expression of Yurovsky, his boss, when he revealed my identity to Sverdlov ~ Avadeyev's smile was evil, the look of a man who expected sometime soon to remove a problem from his life. I felt a chill breeze blow over me in the red light of sunset.

  "Did you think you could evade me forever?" he sneered. "Especially once your secret was out. And yet you are so stupid as to come here."

  I glared at him, a quick retort forming in my mind. But I realised that anything I said would just help him, so, instead, I turned my head to face, first Stanislav, then Leo. "I thought you were my friends," I admonished.

  "We have to obey orders," Leo said, quietly, unable to meet my eyes, but his grip on my arm relaxed a little, as though to show his shame.

  "And so evil takes over the world," I replied, returning my gaze to Avadeyev.

  His lips tightened. "Take her to the jail," he hissed, tilting his head in the direction of a motor van parked nearby. Leo and Stanislav gave me a little push, and we began to walk towards the van, followed by the other men. Avadeyev strode off in the direction of another vehicle that I recognised from my previous encounter with him as his own personal motor car.

  When we reached the van, I was bundled in through the back doors, and sat on one of the wooden seats that were attached along the length of each side. Stanislav and Leo then departed, and I was joined by Avadayev's men, one sitting either side of me, while the other three took station opposite. No-one spoke as we began to move, swaying across the city. I did not feel inclined to say anything ~ I was too engrossed in trying to work out what my future might hold; it was not promising.

  Eventually, the van stopped, and I was escorted into the back of the police station, which I recognised from the time Max and I had been there with Dmitri. Keys jangled and locks scraped
as a door was opened and I was led down stairs and along a dingy corridor, illuminated by a single, bare electric light bulb hanging above our heads. There was a strong smell of body odour and urine, and I saw forlorn faces looking at me with subdued curiosity between iron bars as we walked past. More clattering of keys heralded the opening of an empty cell, and I was thrust inside.

  * * *

  As the door slammed behind me, and the men marched wordlessly away, I took account of my new home. Cold stone walls formed three sides, and the barred door marked the limit of the cell, perhaps seven feet long by five feet wide. There was no window, no furniture, not even a bed ~ a mattress leaned against one wall. That was it. There were no blankets, no washing facilities. A hole in the floor in one corner apparently served as a toilet, judging by its smell. These were the most basic of life's essentials.

  I looked at the filthy mattress, unwilling to touch it, certain that it must be crawling with bugs, then I walked to the corridor end of the room and examined the barrier between me and freedom. It consisted of a row of vertical iron bars, cemented into the floor and ceiling, with strips crossing them at intervals; the gate set into it, by which I had been admitted, was of similar design, hanging on heavy hinges and with an enormous steel lock.

  A slight movement in the half-light ahead caught my eye. I looked across at the bars of the cell opposite, and jumped when I realised that there was a man in the shadows behind them. A pale face, with staring eyes looked at me with dull curiosity. Shaken, uncomfortable under his scrutiny, I turned away and walked the four paces to the far end of the cell, where I stopped, obscured from his eyes by the darkness (I hoped), trying to think. What would happen to me now? Could I escape? How could I notify Aleksandra or Yakov?

  Eventually, my legs and head aching, I lowered the mattress to the floor and gingerly sat on it. It seemed to be filled with straw. It felt damp, and smelled of mould ... and worse. After a while, the light in the corridor went out. Plunged into total darkness, there was nothing else to do but try to sleep. Wearily, I stretched out on the mattress, my skin itching at the thought of what might be sharing my bed with me.