I saw him pause. He said something to the officer beside him, shoved the clipboard at his colleague and began to wade through the crowd towards us. There was a curious, hungry expression on his face, the same one he had worn earlier. Only now, amid this weeping, shifting mass of human misery, it seemed even more out of place. He brushed past an elderly couple, careless of the way the woman stumbled over her suitcase and had to clutch at her husband for support.
Could he hear my heart thudding against my ribs as I waited for him to reach me?
‘Lydia Volkova. You don’t take advice easily.’ His face shone in the floodlights. ‘Aren’t you afraid to be here? Someone might mistake you for a resistance sympathiser.’
I tried to speak, but my throat was painfully dry. ‘I need your help,’ I said.
‘My help? The Partorg’s daughter wants my help?’ He drew back, placing a hand on his chest, but the look of wolfish shrewdness didn’t leave his face. ‘I’m surprised! You seem more than capable of doing things for yourself. I know your father is a clever man, but I’d not expected his daughter to be so independent. And here I thought you would be tucked safely away. No need for you to witness all this.’
He waved his hand, as if his fellow officers were dividing up livestock instead of people. People jostled around us. I saw men being shoved towards the waiting carriage at the end of the train, while women were pushed together, many of them holding children tightly to save them from being crushed. I caught the flash of a man’s clear spectacles, the bright green of a headscarf, the bright burgundy of a child’s woollen jacket as people drew together and broke apart.
A woman appeared next to me suddenly, as if she’d caught sight of Lieutenant Lubov’s uniform and had been working her way towards him. She wore a frightened expression and carried a screaming toddler on her hip. The toddler’s face was brick red and blotchy, his nose leaking greenish mucus.
‘Please help me!’ she said, her voice hoarse, desperate. ‘My child is sick! He has the measles. My husband is a doctor.’ She nodded towards the end of the platform where men were being loaded into a carriage. ‘Please let us stay together!’
Lieutenant Lubov grimaced as the child shrieked. The woman tried to quieten him, but he only screamed louder. ‘There!’ the woman cried, her face lighting up with hope. ‘There is Andrus!’ I looked to where the woman was pointing. Far down the end of the train, a man was struggling against the surge of the crowd. He had a brown doctor’s bag in his hands. As we watched, he raised it above the crowd and tried to push towards us. A guard blocked his path.
Lieutenant Lubov shook his head. ‘Impossible,’ he said. ‘Men and children separate.’
The woman’s face crinkled in confusion. ‘But my child—’ She cast a look at the wailing toddler, heaved him higher up her hip. ‘I cannot look after him myself. He needs medicine!’
A man’s voice shouted. ‘Kaarin!’
The woman’s husband was holding out the bag, dangling it over the shoulder of the guard blocking his path. The guard pushed him with the butt of his rifle. The man stumbled back. The bag flew from his hands to land in the dirt at the soldier’s feet.
‘Please!’ the woman cried. ‘Please let me see him for just a moment!’
She reached out and grabbed at Lieutenant Lubov’s arm, almost dropping the toddler, who slid down her waist and wailed louder. Lieutenant Lubov’s face darkened. Wrenching his arm free, he shook his head in disgust and pushed the woman away. He seized my hand and began to drag me away from the heaving, jostling crowd towards the edge of the station where the bright haze from the floodlights was blocked by the corner of the waiting room. I caught a glimpse of the woman’s desperate face before it was swallowed up by the rest of the flock.
A curdling horror bubbled inside me. The air was charged. It would take only a moment’s panic for a stampede to occur. Forced together in these circumstances, these people were more like animals than humans. They had not been given a choice to be otherwise. This was how Stalin saw the world, I realised. And by closing my eyes, by ignoring what was right before me, I was complicit, too. Was this what Joachim had seen, experienced: this wave of terror and desperation? What cruel indignities had he been forced to participate in on his journey north?
I tried to slow my breath and my pounding pulse. ‘There is a woman,’ I said. ‘A friend. I need to know where she is. If – if she has already gone. Or if she might be in one of the carriages here. Her name is Juudit Koppel. She was wrongfully arrested earlier this evening.’
I tried to ignore the way Lieutenant Lubov’s eyebrows formed an unbroken line over his eyes. ‘Do you think you can find out?’ I said, my voice rising. ‘Can you help me?’
He continued to stare.
‘Please,’ I added, reminded of the woman with the shrieking child.
He took his time answering, straightening out the sleeve of his uniform, which was, I noticed with a sharp stab of horror, speckled with dark brown stains. Finally, he looked up. ‘I’d like to help you. Really, I would. But I’m very busy, Lida. May I call you Lida?’
His words took me off guard. I nodded, unnerved. ‘Yes. Fine.’
He flashed me a small smile. ‘Lida, then. Your father gave explicit instructions that the operation is to be completed by daybreak, if possible. How will it look if I’m searching for one woman among so many others? What will your father think of me?’ He swung his head around to gaze at the mass of people. ‘So, if I help you, Lida, what can you do for me? What do you have to offer?’
I dreaded the softness of his voice and worse, the slow tick of his smile. It froze my thoughts and dried up all the words on my tongue. I tried to speak but even my stammering came out as nothing but a hoarse squeak. Narrowing his gaze, he leaned forward until our bodies were almost touching, his head tilted to one side as if he were concentrating hard on listening to me above the clamour of noise on the station. After a long moment, he shrugged and straightened up.
‘Then you must excuse me. There are still a lot of people to process.’ He breathed in through his nose. ‘I really can’t stand around any longer. Goodnight, Lida.’
He pivoted on his heel.
‘Wait!’ My fingers scrabbled for his jacket, slipping off the smooth material. ‘I have something. Some information. You may find it . . . useful. I’m not sure.’ I shook my head, my thoughts whirling. ‘It’s all I can think of.’
‘Information.’ He crossed his arms. ‘What kind of information?’ Behind him, in the distance, I saw Olga looking around for me, craning her head over the crowd in search of my face. I shrank back into the shadows of the ticket booth.
‘It’s about the Partorg.’
His face stilled. ‘I am listening.’
‘I’m not his daughter,’ I said, garbling my words in the effort to get them out.
Lubov’s lip curled. ‘So, you’re a bastard,’ he shrugged. ‘What does that matter? Why should I care which man is your father?’
I closed my eyes against the crudeness of his words. ‘Not just any man.’
‘Then who?’
I watched his face change as I told him, the interplay of shadow and light transforming his features like clouds scudding before the sun. He startled me by seizing my shoulders suddenly, thrusting his face into mine. He began to march me away from the platform.
Panic rushed through my body. ‘Where are we going?’
He shot me a quick, hard glance. ‘Back to the Grey House. I’m taking you back to your father. Your real father. You’re too valuable to be out here. Clearly.’ He shook me. ‘Now that we’re friends, I think we need to stick close together, don’t you? I’m sure the Partorg will be pleased to have you safe and sound.’
I stared at him, and hatred surged through me. I knew in that moment that I was Stalin’s daughter. I was everything I hated about him: his unpredictable temper, his ability to obfuscate the truth until he believed his own lies.
I closed my eyes as the whistle screeched again. Steam hissed fr
om the wheels. I had imagined I would feel unburdened, now that my secret was shared. Instead, when I saw the thirsty way Lubov was looking at me, I felt heavier.
‘Wait.’ With an effort, I threw him off. My arm ached where he’d gripped it. ‘The woman,’ I said, swallowing hard. ‘Juudit Koppel. You said you’d find her. You promised. If you don’t help me, I will never help you. I will fight you all the way back.’
Lieutenant Lubov shot me a long, hard look and then suddenly, he let me go. I watched him hurry away towards the train, pushing aside those unlucky enough not to see him coming. I watched his dark hair bobbing through the crowd and let out a breath.
My feet dragged as I made my way back to where Olga and Etti were waiting with Etti’s mother’s friends. The small group of women exclaimed when they saw me. Olga hurried over and hugged me, her eyes moist.
‘I thought you had been taken!’
I wanted to kiss her cheek, but there was no time. The train gave a blast, making the people on the platform push back, knocking over those behind them.
I searched desperately for Lieutenant Lubov’s face. Suddenly, it blazed out at me. He was standing halfway down the platform. When he saw me notice him, he lifted his arm slightly. He pushed someone in front of him; I caught the blur of her grey dress, silver hair falling around her shoulders as she tented her eyes from the glare of the floodlight.
Hope lifted my heart. ‘She’s there!’
‘Where?’ Etti was at my side instantly. I began to push my way forward, bumping into knees and legs, keeping Lieutenant Lubov’s face in constant view as I dragged Etti along behind me.
Panting, we reached the carriage.
They fell into each other’s arms, Etti’s sobs mingling with her mother’s soothing cries. Her knotted hands stroked Etti’s hair, coming to rest on the white triangle of shawl that hung down her back.
‘You see? I keep my promises.’ Lieutenant Lubov’s voice rang close in my ear. I looked up to find him staring down at me. He smiled, showing sharp teeth. ‘You’ll learn to trust me. Now it’s time for you to keep yours. Time to go back.’
I could not answer him. I could only stare down at the hand he had placed on my arm.
The crowd moved suddenly between us, filling the spaces we had made with bodies as the soldiers at the back began to urge them forward. I heard Lieutenant Lubov curse. Somebody’s elbow pressed into my back. The sharp edges of a suitcase jabbed the back of my legs, almost sending me crashing to my knees.
A guard shouted and grabbed a young boy by the collar, thrusting him up into the carriage nearest us. It was so full of people crushed together that he teetered on the edge; the guard jumped up and tried to slam the sliding door shut. The boy cried out as the guard shoved him backwards.
‘Leave him alone!’ Juudit had flung herself forward and grabbed the guard’s trousers.
Etti gasped. ‘Mama! Hush!’ She tried to shield Juudit’s body, but the older woman continued to tug at the guard’s leg. His feet slipped. He lunged out as he fell, his hand grasping a metal bar on the side of the train and holding on while Juudit continued to berate him, her voice shrill.
Gunshots cracked.
People screamed. The crowd swelled, broke apart, surged back together. Somebody shoved me against Etti and I staggered, catching her around the waist. We crashed to the ground. Stamping feet kicked up dust around us. Above me, a sea of faces blended in and out of view. Under a rain of blows, I dragged myself to my feet, pulling Etti up beside me. Soldiers ran back and forth, their rifles raised. Bullets struck the air around us.
We cowered. People fell to the ground, shielding their heads.
Somebody seized my other hand and began to drag me through the surging crowd of panicked deportees. I caught a glimpse of Olga’s frightened face, before she turned back and continued to pull me towards the back of the station. Desperately, I clutched Etti’s slippery hand with my fingers, hoping she would follow. A man stumbled into me, loosening my grip. Suddenly, my hands were empty.
‘Olga!’
She turned, smoke billowing around her head from the discharged guns.
I looked back to see Etti kneeling in the dust. People wove around her. Guards were still shouting.
I began to fight my way back to her, before I realised why she’d stopped.
Etti was hunched over her mother, her shoulders shaking. A river of blood soaked the dust and stones around Juudit’s body. Bullet holes riddled her chest. Even before I reached her, Etti had torn off her shawl and was trying to plug up the holes. I placed my hands on the shawl as I fell to my knees beside her. Blood bubbled up through the lace. When I pulled my hands away, the shawl came with them, sticking to my fingers. Juudit’s face was grey and still, her white lips parted. The cold glow of the floodlights was reflected in her wide, unblinking eyes.
Somebody tripped over her leg, sprawling in the dust beside us. Someone else’s shoe caught on Juudit’s hand as they jostled against the panicked crowd. There was the crunch of bone.
Etti began to scream.
I grabbed her wrist, and this time I did not let go, but used my own body as a weapon, driving myself against the crush of people, focusing on nothing else but reaching the edge of the station. I collided with something hard, sending pain bursting through my shoulder, but I pressed on. In the distance, I saw a group huddled beside the ticket booth. If we could only reach them . . .
Etti’s arm sagged in mine. I yanked it, hard.
Finally, we reached the edge of the crowd. Soldiers paced up and down, brandishing their guns, shoving people into the railway cars without consulting the lists in their hands. There was an urgency to their movements now. Some of them looked frightened, alarmed by the gunfire and the crush of the crowd. One soldier I passed could not have been older than fifteen. An old lady in a headscarf tried to speak to him as he herded her towards a carriage. I saw him glance away, pretending not to hear, his mouth trembling. Perhaps he was thinking of his own babushka. He had no choice but to obey orders. I waited until the guard closest to us turned his head, then I pulled Etti behind me, ducking as low to the ground as possible, praying that she and Olga would do the same.
The women cried out as we reached them, huddling around Etti.
‘We thought you were gone!’ Helle sobbed. ‘The soldiers told us if we went to find you we’d be taken, too. Oh, Etti! Where is Juudit?’
Etti did not answer. Helle turned to me, seeking answers, eyes wide.
‘She’s dead,’ I said.
There was a moment of silence before Helle released a sharp cry of unbridled grief.
I wiped my hand across my sweltering forehead, daring to glance back. The train was already full; they were taking no chances now, but shoving everyone into the carriages, packing them in without regard for lists or names. Poor Juudit’s body was there somewhere, crushed beneath the crowd.
I turned to ask Olga whether she was hurt, but the space beside me was empty.
A terrible panic rose through me. ‘Where is Olga?’
Etti stared at me. Her mouth was slack, her eyes dull.
I shook her, ignoring the gasps of Helle and the other women. ‘Where is she?’ I could hear the panic deepening my voice.
Desperately, I scanned the seething mass of people crowding the station. Where was she? Doors slammed. The guards had filled their quota.
‘Olga?’ My voice cracked. I could not hope to be heard over the crowd.
As a guard approached the last van, I spotted her. The fur coat glistening. Her creased face, so familiar, like the lines of my own palm. I tried to call again, but the words were strangled in my throat.
I imagined she saw me. That one arm lifted. That her lips moved. A prayer, a proverb.
Then the guard slammed the door closed, and a moment later, the train moved off, snaking into the dark.
Somebody grasped me. Words swirled and swooped, and I tried to catch them, to comprehend what was being said.
‘We are sending you to a
safe place.’ Helle. No, Etti. The girl with the ringlets. Their voices, faces, mingled together, a blur of colour, a cloud of sound. A man’s face loomed in the darkness. A stranger. ‘This man has a truck that will take you to the edge of the forest. Go with him.’
A hand gripped mine, the palm sticky. I held on. I let myself be anchored, although I wanted nothing more than to drift away.
Snowdrift Pattern
Kati
‘Tell me the story of the woodcutter.’
Oskar’s elbow touched mine. Meadow grass prickled my neck. Clouds unspooled above us, fringed by the overhanging canopy of spruce trees. The leaves were just beginning their transformation from bright green to the russet red of autumn. The faint scent of woodsmoke drifted across the fields to where we lay, our schoolbooks abandoned beside a small timber acorn Oskar had whittled from a lump of oak. A cow huffed nearby, releasing a scent of sweet hay.
‘I thought you didn’t like my fairy tales.’ I propped myself up on one elbow.
‘I was lying.’ Oskar’s blue eyes flicked from the sky to me. His hair was long and in need of cutting, bleached by the sun from its usual gold to the colour of pale straw. His lips twitched. ‘I like them. I only lied about it for Jakob’s benefit. I don’t need any more trouble from the other boys.’ Without looking down, he located a strawberry with his fingers from the pile we had gathered and brought it to his mouth. I watched him bite into it. A trickle of juice dribbled down his chin.
‘Are you certain?’ I said, folding my arms and attempting to sound stern. ‘I wouldn’t want to waste my breath.’
Lace Weaver Page 21