“May I ask why haven’t you contacted me in advance of making this long journey? Are you trying to pressure me not to say no?”
“This is a valid point sir and I fully agree that I should have contacted you before coming. The main reason for travelling so impulsively was that I have just received some information concerning the life of your father Mr. Nikolay Voronov. I mean the period in Kazakhstan and China. This has deeply impressed me but I have not been able to trace his journey after he left the mine in Altay. And this is where I hope to get your help.”
“So, you are not working for the authorities or the auction house? They have been pestering me the whole of the last week, you know.”
“Not at all sir. Also, please be assured that whatever you disclose to me will be made public only with your permission.”
“Well, in that case… How about tomorrow?”
“Just perfect, what time would you prefer sir?”
“I have an appointment with my doctor at 09:30. Let’s meet at 11:00 at the Metro Café near the Archway station. From there it’s a fifteen minute walk to my house. I will have a green umbrella with me.”
“I really appreciate that sir. See you tomorrow.”
Thomas decided to be at the café at half past ten, to be on the safe side.
The area was not exciting. It reminded him of Brussels suburbs or some other Belgian cities however there were more small shops and cafés around than in Belgium. Thomas had been awake since three in the morning and was feeling pretty tired. Not a good prerequisite for a potentially lengthy interview. He remembered his first mentor during his apprenticeship at a Belgian newspaper. The mentor told him to pay attention to being fit enough when planning for interviews. Tiredness may be perceived as disinterest and demotivate the interviewee - making them reluctant to share any information. Combating the tiredness with too much coffee was equally dangerous due to the diuretic effects of caffeine.
But at that moment Thomas really felt he needed a cup of strong coffee. His thoughts were moving slowly in his head like wasps trapped in honey.
“Please sir,” said Sikh bartender having turned from the Segafredo machine.
“A double espresso please.”
“We have Costa-Rica, Kenya, Sumatra and Malabar. Which one?”
“Whatever is the strongest.”
“Then I suggest Kenya. To drink here or to take away?”
“To drink here.”
The coffee did not improve his tiredness dramatically but Thomas did feel a bit better. He entered the Metro Café at ten to eleven and recognized Paul Vornov already sitting there. It was difficult to guess his age, it could be anything between 65 and 75.
“I’ve been here for forty minutes,” said Vornov.
“I am really sorry...”
“Why should you be? We have agreed on 11.00 so it is not your fault. Nowadays a visit to a doctor is absolutely unpredictable. Sometimes you are called on time and sometimes you have to sit in the waiting room for an hour or two. And this despite having an appointment! That's why I suggested 11:00 though my appointment in the clinic was at 09:30. Let's walk to my house.”
They walked through some quiet small lanes. Vornov's gait betrayed that it was not easy for him to walk. He was not limping but his stride was somehow stiff and with short paces.
“Aren't you tired after travelling so long yesterday?”
“To be honest I am but that's OK.”
“What time is it in Beijing now?”
“Five p.m.”
“Oh, I see. My longest flight was to Sri Lanka. A long trip but the time difference is just four hours as far as I remember. Have you been to Sri Lanka?”
“Not yet.”
“Should you have an opportunity, I can sincerely recommend it. Very interesting country! I have to admit I haven't seen that much of the world but Sri Lanka has really caught my imagination. We have visited it eleven times, you know.”
Vornov paused for a minute.
“I am really sorry if I was a bit rude yesterday. The customs, the tax department – they are calling me several times a week.”
“Why the customs and the tax men?”
“The auctioned objects belonged to the family before I was born. But they’re still asking me to provide documents for when and how they were brought to the UK and if the corresponding dues have been paid. And the Scotland Yard has even indicated that they will investigate whether the goods were smuggled out of China illegally. Fortunately I was able to find the original insurance policy from the year 1968. Otherwise I would be in even bigger trouble. But I am still in quite a predicament, you know? The insurance has told me that from now on the objects are not covered any more. Sapphire Buddha alone has been estimated at over two million dollars. Since my house does not have an alarm system and the windows and doors are frail they are saying it is not feasible to keep such valuables there. At least they will not cover for them.
The auction house can keep them safe but they told me that they can only do it free of charge for two more weeks. Now the auction is on hold. Actually, according to the terms and conditions you have to pay a whooping fee if you withdraw from the auction. But it was them who asked me to put it on hold!”
“I have heard about it, though not in such detail. Did you consider seeking legal advice?”
“I did, but you know lawyers’ fees here in London. Anyway, I only have two weeks to get it sorted. Oh, here we go. This is my house.”
The house looked quite modest and obviously hadn’t been renovated since at least 20 years.
“Sunny!” called Vornov entering the door. “I have Mister... sorry what is your name again?”
“ Thomas van de Waal.”
“I have Mr. van de Wall with me. He just came from China yesterday.”
A small lady entered the living room. She had rather a Mediterranean look.
“This is Laura – my wife. Sunny, Mr. van de Wall is surely very tired after his long journey. Would you please make some coffee for him?”
“Sure. What did the doctor say?”
“Nothing new. Just renewed my prescriptions.”
Mrs Vornov went to the kitchen silently while Vornov got some big envelopes from the old wardrobe.
“This is all I have from my father. Some documents and photos, however all of them are from the time when he moved to UK. Except this-”
He showed an old photo of a young lady in a jacket which looked like an uniform and a diary book.
“Antonina Voronova – my father's first wife. She died early, tuberculosis I believe. All my father could take with him when he fled was this photo and around 100 dollars, Chinese dollars. I believe they called them FaBi.”
“Did your father tell you the story about what happened after he left the mining site in Xinjiang?”
“He did for the first time when I was 19. I think my mother would have liked him to tell me earlier but for whatever reason he preferred to wait.”
“May I ask who was your mother?”
“Dorothy Parry from Newcastle. They married in 1944. When my father received his Australian passport his name was changed to Vornov. They have omitted one “o”, you know. Apparently there are some Vornovs here in UK and in the US. I don't know if they are descendants of other Voronovs or if it is a genuine name. Anyway, in case of my family this is how we became Vornovs.”
Vornov started to tell the story of his father after he left the air field.
China, November 1937 – March 1938
1
“Where should I drop you Comrade Voronov?” asked Romashkin when they arrived in Urumqi after a 27 hour drive.
“Near the post office. I will take a guest house there.”
“And when should I pick you up again?”
“No need. I’ll come back three days later with the courier.”
“After three days?”
“Yes, three days. I need one full day to check the shipment and who knows if they got it right this time!”
“Thank you. See you then.”
Voronov heard about this guest house from Mr. Liu who frequently visited Urumqi. He was silently greeted by an elderly Chinese man.
Voronov addressed him in English and in Russian but neither was any help. The bell clerk silently took a card from underneath of the desk and showed it to him. It was a price list in Russian. One night – 1.2 dollars
Voronov raised one finger to indicate that he will stay for one night and dragged his two heavy bags to his room. Now he needed to decide what to do next. The doubts came rushing in again. Was he now a traitor? In the eyes of the state apparently so. But did he have an alternative? It didn't look like that. Now it was important to leave Xinjiang as soon as possible. If he were to stay here longer it would only be a few days until the NKVD figured it out. But where to go and how? His English was quite basic but apparently English was no big help in this area anyway. And outside of Xinjiang Russian was also of limited use. Perhaps he could go to Manchuria? But how would he get there though a country plagued by civil war and the war with Japan? Would the Japanese arrest him? First of all he had to get out of Xinjiang.
He locked his room and went in the direction of the bazaar without any real purpose. He just thought that at the bazaar he might meet somebody speaking Russian or English. After having walked for about 20 minutes he passed by a tea stall where he saw two men who looked Russians.
“Good morning gentlemen,” said Voronov, “Is this the right direction for the bazaar?”
“Right. Where are you from?”
“Currently from Shanghai. Now stranded here due to all this turmoil. And you?”
“From everywhere and from nowhere,” replied the elder Russian. “Originally from Rostov but now that belongs to the past. Urumqi was a good place to live until three years ago. Now it looks like soon we have to move again. But apparently the Earth is a globe, so no problem.”
“You have a sense of humour! I am trying to figure out how to get to Shanghai as soon as possible and I am not that familiar with the local transportation. Do you have any idea what the best option would be?”
“Listen Senya!” laughed the older Russian, “He wants to go to Shanghai! Nowadays it is challenging enough to travel to Korla or Turpan and he is asking about Shanghai.”
He paused for a few seconds, “Well, I have heard that some merchants do regularly send trucks with cotton to Lanzhou. Sometimes they take passengers with them. You can try that at least.”
“And where can I contact them?”
“If you walk on straight for about 20 minutes, you’ll reach a police station on your right. Then turn the next street to the right and you will see the cotton merchants parked there.”
“Thank you very much indeed. Wish you all the best!”
“Take care,” the elderly Russian spit on the floor when Voronov moved on. “Urumqi! Shanghai! What a damned fate do we have to face, Senya!”
Voronov managed to find the cotton merchants and one of them even spoke good Russian. They agreed to take him to Lanzhou for 5 dollars but warned him that the journey might take up to 10 days.
In the end the journey took 12 days. At certain points the trucks could not drive at more than 10 km/h. The camps along the road were cheap but food rather expensive. When they entered the Gansu province the landscape became friendlier with hills covered by thick forests. This was a pleasant contrast to the desert of Xinjiang. After they left Wuwei Voronov saw the groups of nomads who were quite different to the Mongols and Uigurs. The men had very dark faces, pigtails and wore jewellery of corals and turquoise. Even the horses had beautiful adornments.
“Tibetans,” commented the merchant. “Actually their area is around the Qinghai lake, not very far from here. But sometimes they do come to Lanzhou. They are quite easy going but often very dirty. And you know,” he giggled, “their womenfolk are also quite easy going. Quite accessible, you know what I mean. But don't get mixed up with them, you can get a bad disease.”
“Truly a lecherous eye can get you a syphilitic nose,” thought Voronov, “And their men are never jealous?”
“Apparently not. But the Tibetans are peaceful only over there and perhaps in central Tibet, the Gologs for example are completely different. Nobody dares to enter their land without a large armed escort.”
“And where is their land?”
“It's about 10 days from here.”
“By truck?”
“No, with a caravan. No trucks go there. They live around a big mountain which is holy to them. They call it Mount Maqen. The looting of caravans became so bad that the merchants going to Lhasa take a deviation via Amdo. It makes the journey about two weeks longer but is still better than getting robbed.”
“I have heard that Tibet is very exciting. It’s a real pity that there is no time to have a look since it is so close by.”
“It's not a question of time. They do not allow the foreigners in.”
“And how about the Chinese?”
“Well, it is generally possible but for us but the reception there is rather morose. Here in Gansu or in Qinghai there are no problems with Tibet but in Sichuan they have fought some battles with Kuomintang. By the way, I wanted to ask what are your plans after we arrive in Lanzhou?”
“I will continue toward Shanghai.”
“You are saying it like it’s easy my friend, just like that. Aren't you aware about the current situation?”
“I know, there is a war...”
“A war?! It is whole scale carnage! You could travel safely perhaps till Danjiangkou but thereafter the battles are going on everywhere. What kind of passport do you have?”
“ A Russian...”
“Soviet Russian I presume?”
“Yes.”
“And you believe that you can travel with it through the Japanese controlled territory? A Soviet passport can only be of any use in Xinjiang but here, let alone in Shanghai it is rather dangerous. And am I right assuming that you cannot expect any support from the Soviet consulate?”
“You are quite right, unfortunately.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
“Frankly speaking I just don't know. Do you have any suggestions?”
“I would have some but it depends on your wallet..”
“I think when we reach Lanzhou I will have about 35 dollars.”
“That will not get you far. Let's do it this way. When we arrive in Lanzhou, I will drop you near the Zhong Shan bridge. I know a cheap guest-house there. Try to get some money within three days. About 200 dollars I would say...”
“But how can I do that?”
“That is your concern. Your luggage looks quite bulky. Try to sell something. Do you have any valuables with you?”
“Eh, not really. But I do have some expensive instruments, perhaps I could try to sell them.”
The merchant dropped Voronov at the guest-house and promised to be back in three days. Voronov was still thinking hard about what to do. He had already bartered his watch for a coat and a knife in Wuwei since nobody wanted to accept Chinese dollarsthere. Then an idea struck him. He didn't like it but his predicament seemed to leave him no other choice. He removed the Buddha from the bag. He selected a blue gem from the left sleeve of Buddha's coat and removed it with the tip of his knife. He put the gem in the pocket went into the city centre. After only a few hundred meters he realized that compared to Xinjiang, this was a completely different world. Russian or English were of no use. The stalls and shops along the main central street offered a lot but no jewellery. After three hours roaming the area he discovered a shop displaying some necklaces in the window. When he entered, he was astonished to see a gentleman who didn’t look like a Chinese at all . The shopkeeper wore a long blue coat and a white cap. Also an impressive beard, which was typical in Xinjiang but a rare sight in Lanzhou.
The shopkeeper greeted him in Chinese but then, to Voronov's great astonishment, switched to English
.
“Sorry my dear. It's been a long time since I have seen a firanghi. My name is Gulab Khan, actually from Calcutta. And where are you from?”
“I am eh... from Urumqi, originally from Russia. Now travelling to Shanghai.”
“To Shanghai?! That is where I have fled from, just four months ago. The foreign quarters have not been molested by the Japanese but I lived and had my shop outside of the protected zones. And now I am here. It is not the best place for doing business nowadays but do I have a choice? I think I will wait for a couple of months to see if the situation allows going back to Shanghai. If not, perhaps I will return to Calcutta via Lhasa and Sikkim. But what can I do for you? Are you interested in buying gold?”
“Actually I am interested in selling something”
“Oh, please show me.”
Voronov put the gem on the desk. The jeweller took a magnifying glass and looked at the gem from many angles for a good few minutes.
“A sapphire, 2.5 carat I would say. Where did you get it from?”
“It is a family gem and all that I have.”
The treasure of Galdan Page 11