‘I think … I think you should call Aunty Nadya, Dashinka,’ she pants. ‘Don’t you?’
‘Yes. Of course,’ I say. I lean over her and pick up the phone again.
‘Aunty Nadya? Masha’s got a pain in her back, it started out in her side and now it’s in her back and she’s feeling nauseous.’
‘All right, Dasha,’ she says. ‘Stay calm. Good girl. Can she talk to me to tell me the symptoms?’
‘No, she can’t, not really, she’s in too much pain.’
‘That’s OK, that’s OK. So ask her if her arm hurts?’
‘Does your arm hurt, Mashinka?’
‘Yes,’ she groans in a whisper.
‘Right,’ says Aunty Nadya. ‘I think she might possibly be having a small heart attack. Don’t worry, it’s only the early signs. She’ll be fine. Call the duty nurse immediately.’
Heart attack? I stare at the phone and my own heart contracts.
‘I’ve been calling her,’ I say. ‘I’ve been calling her all the time, Aunty Nadya. She said she was busy, and now she’s not picking up the phone.’
‘Call again. Keep calling and tell her it’s urgent. I’ll call too.’
I put the phone back on its cradle until I hear the click and then pick it up and dial the medical room’s number, closing my eyes tight and willing Yulia to pick up.
‘Yes?’
Thank God!
‘Yulia! You need to call the ambulance right now. I think Masha might have had a heart attack. Aunty Nadya says so.’
‘Nonsense,’ says Yulia shortly. ‘Give her more painkillers and go back to sleep. I’m all over the place this evening. I’ll get round to you later.’
‘When?’
‘Later. In an hour or two.’
‘No! You’ve got to come now!’
The phone goes dead.
I wait for two hours, watching the minute hand click agonizingly slowly round the clock. Masha keeps moaning quietly. She’s lying here in a cold sweat. She’s vomited over the pillow and is still squirming in pain. When the two hours is up I call Yulia. No reply. I call Aunty Nadya again. She’s the only one who can help us. The only one.
‘Can you come, Aunty Nadya? Please? Yulia’s not answering, and I can’t get up and go to the medical room – Masha’s too ill.’
‘I can’t, Dashinka, I can’t. You know they wouldn’t let me into the Sixth at night, even if my hair was on fire. Keep trying to get through to them and tell them to call an ambulance immediately. Does Olessya not have a phone? No no, of course she doesn’t … I can’t call an ambulance from here, it won’t come to you without permission from the Sixth Administration. Don’t worry, Dasha. Don’t worry. Just keep her comfortable.’
I put the phone down and look at her, she’s still panting and sweating and then she vomits again. I use the sheets to wipe it up. I stroke her arm and soothe her. Why will no one come? Why? I keep fingering the cross around my neck. The only thing I can do now is pray – just pray until Aunty Nadya gets here in the morning.
The cross feels warm in my hand. We were given our two crosses by Father Alexander. He’s the Russian Orthodox priest who comes to the Sixth every week. Masha always used to despise God. ‘What sort of kind Creator would put something like us down on his earth to be mocked?’ But once Father Alexander approached us and started talking in his soft, reassuring voice, we were both drawn to him. And to God, I suppose … We were sitting outside with him in all his long black robes, only the other day, in the garden, on a bench in the warm spring sunshine. The snowdrops were just starting to push through the snow, nudging their pretty little heads out to show us there was life after six months of winter. One of the inmates, an old woman we didn’t know, had walked up to him and bowed low while he held out the back of his hand to be kissed. Then she’d looked at us with that typical head-cocked-on-one-side look we know so well, and said, ‘What’s it like to be Together?’
Masha had rolled her eyes, like she does, in a good-natured way and said, ‘What’s it like to be separate, babulya?’ The woman had looked confused. ‘How would I know? I’ve always been like this.’ And Masha had laughed and said, ‘There’s your answer then.’
She hadn’t left though, she’d kept staring and staring at us, even though we were talking to Father Alexander and ignoring her, and then finally she asked it: The Question. Everyone’s Question:
‘How will you die?’
Father Alexander frowned at her, shook his head and waved her away until she finally drifted off. After that, we sat there on the bench for maybe ten minutes, not saying anything while the crows cawed. Then I’d looked at him. He knows about death. He’s a priest.
‘How will we die?’ I’d asked. I felt Masha tense.
‘Well now, dochinka,’ he’d said. ‘When one goes, the other will follow soon enough.’
‘Will it be painful?’ we’d both asked together.
‘No no. The doctors will give the surviving sister a sleeping draught. That way you will go together.’
We’d thought for a bit and then Masha had asked, ‘Where to?’
He’d smiled gently and stroked the heavy gilt cross hanging round his neck amongst his black robes. ‘The Lord put you on earth to suffer the trials of hellfire and you have been through them. You have earned your place in Heaven with the ones you love.’
‘But hang on, Father,’ Masha had said, and pointed up at the sky. ‘Are we still going to be Together up there?’
He’d paused for a moment, then said: ‘No, no. You’ll be separate. You have separate souls.’
Masha snorted. ‘Khaa! Well, I’m not letting her out of my sight. She’ll run off like a rabbit as soon as she gets through the pearly gates, looking for her precious Slava. And then I’ll be spending all of eternity charging after them.’ And we’d all laughed.
But I still didn’t get my answer.
No one calls an ambulance
I look across at her. She’s finally fallen asleep. She’s breathing heavily, but she seems to be OK. Everything’s going to be OK. Perhaps it isn’t a heart attack? Perhaps it’s just … bad indigestion? Yes, that’s what it is, she’s going to be fine. Just fine. She’s tough. She won’t die. Not my Mashinka. I lie back on my pillow. She’s zhivoochi. We both are.
I asked Joolka once what sort of life expectancy conjoined twins had, and she said it was hard to say as there are so few of them – probably only six unseparated adult twins in the world. Chang and Eng, the original Siamese twins were in their sixties when they died, and that must have been hundreds of years ago. We’re not going to die. Not us, no we’re not going to die …
I look across at her again. She’s grey and waxy. But if Masha does, if she does die … then what will happen to me? I don’t mind death. I’d want to die if she’d gone, but how? How? I want to know. Why has no one ever explained to us? I’d rather she died first because she’d be lost without me.
I want to talk to her, I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts, but I mustn’t wake her. Let her sleep. Yes, yes, let her sleep. My heart’s pounding in my chest, hard, fast and strong, but hers is fluttering back to me in weak little bursts.
I lean over towards her, I want to press my cheek against hers, to kiss her, but we’re too far apart. I strain to get closer, to hear her breathing. Has she stopped breathing? Oh God! I put my fingers on her neck and can still feel the jumpy pulse. I keep my fingers on her neck and stroke her ear and her cheek with the back of my hand. She likes that. I stroke and stroke …
I open my eyes as the pink morning light is coming over the balcony and see the lemon tree, Lyuba, sitting out there all forlorn. We forgot to take her in last night. Masha will be upset. I turn to her. She’s breathing heavily and slowly. I sit up and shake her arm gently.
‘Mashinka? We left Lyuba out.’
She doesn’t wake. I shake her again harder this time and bite my bottom lip. ‘Mashinka, wake up.’ I bite so hard I can taste blood. ‘Mashinka … we left Lyuba out.’ She still
doesn’t move. I know she’s asleep, I can feel it, but it’s a different sleep, it feels heavier. Much heavier. I shake her again, harder. ‘Wake up, Mash. Wake up!’ But she lies there like a rag doll. I have to get help. She needs to know about Lyuba. She really, really needs to know about her. ‘I’m sorry, Mashinka, I’m so so sorry. She’ll survive, I promise you she will.’ I lean over her, pick up the phone and call the duty nurse number again. Someone answers, a man, Viktor Yanovich I think, one of the duty doctors. Yulia must have gone off duty without even bothering to come and see us.
‘Viktor Yanovich, it’s Dasha Krivoshlyapova! Masha’s unconscious, I can’t wake her up. Quick, oh please, please, come quick! I think she’s had a heart attack!’
‘Calm down. I have three emergencies on the go here. I’ll get there when I can.’ He puts the phone down.
I dial Aunty Nadya’s number.
‘I can’t wake her up! She won’t wake up! And the duty doctor won’t come!’
‘Shush, shush, I’ll call him myself, I’m just on my way. Keep her warm, Dasha, cover her with blankets, don’t panic, I’m on my way, I’m taking a taxi.’
I lean back and stare helplessly at the ceiling. Then I reach back and start banging on the wall behind us with both my fists. ‘Help! Help! Somebody help me!’ But the thumping just reverberates with a stupid dull, clumping sound around our isolated room at the end of the corridor with no one next to us. It echoes off our big TV and our fridge and our pretty wallpapered walls. ‘Help! Is anyone there? Anyone? Help!’ Olessya’s room is four doors down. Can’t she hear me screaming in her head? Please, please, hear me. I sit back up, panting and stare at Masha’s sallow face. Then I grasp her round the back of her neck, shaking her. ‘Wake up! Help me, Masha! Wake up!’ But she lies there, heavy and sagging, her heart flickering like a sputtering flame to me as I beat hard and fast to her. She’s dying while I’m trying to get her to live. Mashinka! I remember the bolt from her when she read that letter about Slava’s death. A lightning bolt straight from her heart to mine. And how many times has my heart jolted through to hers? Surely it’s jolting now, jolting hers back into life? Why, why won’t they come?
What seems like hours later, Aunty Nadya bursts into the room. ‘Dashinka! Dashinka! Don’t worry, I’m here! Where’s the doctor? Where is he?’ She runs to the phone, almost falling over the armchair. ‘Viktor Yanovich, Viktor Yanovich! Get in here this instant, this is a medical emergency! Viktor?’ She looks at the phone. ‘He’s put it down the svoloch! Svoloch!’ She gets up. ‘I’m going to the medical room, stay here!’ She storms out and ten minutes later she’s back.
‘There’s no one there. No one in Administration either, except a little bitch who says they don’t have the authority to call an ambulance until Zlata Igorovna gets in. And she’s not in until eleven this morning. That’s not for another hour! This is a nightmare, a nightmare! I’m calling the hospital.’
Aunty Nadya rings hospital after hospital but no one will come without permission from the Sixth Administration. Then she goes rushing out again to look for Viktor Yanovich. I don’t know how long it is until she comes back with him in tow. He doesn’t even go over to Masha, who’s still lying unconscious. He stands there, in the corner of the room, by the fridge, with his hands in the pockets of his white doctor’s coat, looking sullen, while Aunty Nadya shrieks at him.
‘I keep telling you, I can’t call an ambulance until Zlata gets here,’ he mutters, staring down at his scuffed shoes. He can’t bring himself to look at us. I think Aunty Nadya’s going to shake him. Shake some humanity into him. But instead she shrieks again and starts tearing at her hair.
‘Aaakh! It’s ten twenty, every minute counts, every second counts! Dasha – when did she first feel the pains, quick, stop crying, this is important. When?’ ‘S-s-six o-clock. W-e were w-watching the n-news.’ ‘Right. That’s what … sixteen hours ago. Sixteen hours. Listen, you,’ she turns to Victor Yanovich. ‘If an ambulance isn’t here within ten minutes they will die and then I will tell the world’s press what happened here. I will get you fired. I will hold you personally responsible – not Zlata Igorovna, not the Administration, but you. You will never practise again. I will never let this rest.’ He bites his lip, thinking, then picks up the phone and dials.
‘I’m a duty doctor at the Sixth Home for Veterans of War and Labour. I need an ambulance. Urgently.’ He puts the phone down.
‘Heaven be praised!’ cries Aunty Nadya. ‘Come on, Dasha, get ready. What do you need, they’ll be here in minutes.’
I wipe the tears off my cheeks.
‘Wait, wait, Aunty Nadya, can you bring the lemon tree in? It’s on the balcony. Can you just bring it in? It’s cold out there.’
She stares at me as if I’ve gone mad. ‘Dashinka, we’re fighting for a life here.’
‘It’s Masha’s lemon tree,’ I explain. ‘She calls it Lyuba.’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘Please, Aunty Nadya.’
‘Oh very well. Very well.’ She flings open the balcony door, grabs the plant and plonks it on the bedside table next to me. Nearly all the leaves have fallen off in the harsh frost and the few remaining ones drift down on to the varnished table.
‘Aunty Nadya,’ I say, picking them up and putting them carefully back into the pot.
‘What, Dashinka? What?’ She’s rushing round putting some clothes and toiletries into a bag.
‘Remember to water her lemon tree. You will remember, won’t you.’
She stops then for a moment and looks me in the eye.
Yes, yes, Dashinka, of course, of course I’ll remember. Right, come on, there’s the ambulance siren. What else do you need?’
I reach under the pillow. It seems stupid but I know they won’t lock the door after us and I don’t want to leave his letters. They’re airmail letters, like tissue papers tucked neatly inside an envelope. I fold them into my hand. I look at them every single day. Masha laughs at me but I do.
It’s almost like I’m taking him with me.
The First City Hospital
Masha dies in the ambulance.
One minute her heart is pulsing back to mine. The next it’s not.
They’re rushing us through the corridors of the hospital, shouting and panting, with their white coats flapping. We’re being taken to the Reanimation Unit.
I’m on my own and I’m dying. You’ve gone, my Masha.
Two nurses are running along with us, one on each side. They’re talking, their voices muffled through their surgical masks:
How long has she got?
God knows.
What do we tell her?
Nothing of course. Tell her nothing.
The nurse bends over me and speaks loudly and slowly.
Masha’s fine, she’s just sleeping, that’s all.
I start crying.
Hush, hush, she’s getting better now, the doctors said …
They cut our clothes off us with a knife and lay us on a slab in the Unit.
Quick … get an oxygen mask onto her … intravenous drip to counter the cadaveric toxins … decomposition starts within minutes.
Toxins? I pull on someone’s sleeve. I don’t understand. Is she poisoning me? My Masha? Is that how I die?
I want an injection, I want a sleeping draught. Father Alexander said you’d give me a …
Now, now, they’ll bring you some soup soon … Would you like some soup? We’ll give some to Masha too. She’s getting better now … getting better …
I’m so scared. I’m the one who’s been left with the knowledge that I’m dying. We never knew which one it would be. But I’m glad it’s not her.
I’m the stronger one.
Aunty Nadya – I want her, I look around the bare white room. Where is she? They wouldn’t let her in the ambulance … please come, please come …
Haemorrhaging into her sister … hook her up to the monitors … fascinating … observe … monitor this …
<
br /> I ache all over. Weak, dizzy, they’re wiring me up to sharp, shiny instruments, freezing me, freezing, freezing … in the Spring snow … sunshine …
Now someone’s stroking my arm … an old nurse … it’s Mummy … You’re going now, Dashinka, you’re going … go in peace … say goodbye …
My fingers open and I let go of Masha, and the letters in my other hand fall away …
I pull back the covers and step down from the bed. Slava’s side is warm, he’s only just left for the meadow with the cattle. I walk across our bedroom and breathe heavily on the frosty window until I can see him down there, standing among the willow trees in the white rising mist. It’s going to be a beautiful day today, I know it. The children are asleep. Let them sleep. I get up, reach for my coat, open the door and go out to meet him.
Afterword
It took Masha seventeen hours to die following the onset of her first symptoms, and Dasha another seventeen hours to die following Masha’s death. She was not given her ‘sleeping draught’ but died of blood poisoning. They were cremated at their own request (‘We don’t want scientists poking about in us even after we’re dead,’ as Masha put it). The funeral was attended by Aunty Nadya, a handful of staff from the Stomatological Institute – and an army of journalists. The twins are interred in the Novodevichy Cemetery in Moscow where Aunty Nadya – and, ironically, Anokhin – are also buried.
This novelization of the true life story of Masha and Dasha Krivoshlyapova is based on my close fifteen-year friendship with them. I first met Masha and Dasha in 1988 when I walked into their room in Moscow’s Stomatological Institute to interview them for the Sunday Times Magazine, after having seen them on the Vzglyad TV show. They nicknamed me ‘Joolka’. Later they asked me to ghostwrite their autobiography – heavily edited by Masha – which was published (outside Russia) three years before their death.
The Less You Know the Sounder You Sleep Page 40