After Zenda

by John Spurling

  In the early days when I spent a lot of my time across the town with Gerda, I saw as little of Susha as I did of her husband. I liked her a lot more, of course, but I thought of her as older than she actually was and as simply a pleasant peasant. We got to know-each other better after I’d been to church one Sunday, a week or two before the snow fell. I’m not sure why I went that particular day -I was probably at a loose end, with Gerda busy at the town-hall on some emergency committee - but it had been at the back of my mind for some time to see what the True Faith got up to in an empty church.

  The windows had been temporarily boarded up and, although it was quite bright outside, it was extremely dark inside, lit by two or three naked light-bulbs hanging straight from flexes where the chandeliers must have been. There was a congregation of about fifty people and we sat in the body of the church on plain upright chairs in a rough circle, ignoring the raised bit with the altar. It was more like a séance, I suppose - though I’ve never attended one - than the services in our school chapel. A man and woman in long black robes, like the ones I’d seen escorting Our Lady of Chostok, sat in the inner ring of the circle and moved the proceedings along if they seemed to be flagging, but mostly people just stood up and recited passages from the Gospels - which they knew by heart - or said prayers or delivered little sermons of their own. There was no singing and the worshippers tended to recite in Ruritanian but speak in German. They all seemed very dedicated and concentrated, but when I got tired of testing my Ruritanian comprehension on the Gospel texts, I started to think about sliding out.

  Then the man in black robes got up and began to speak about the Virgin Mother. Some people were worried, he said, about her being associated with violence and bloodshed, since she never had been in the Gospels. He found this a problem himself. On the other hand, it was a tradition in the True Faith that she had appeared in the past and given her blessing to uprisings at times of great stress and hardship. Since the True Faith believed in always sticking strictly to the Gospels and allowing no later accretions of doctrine, these episodes had not been recorded or even much discussed among believers, but many would certainly like to believe they had really happened. He would like to believe that himself. He didn’t think that all violence was entirely against the spirit of the Gospels - Jesus had undoubtedly been rough with the moneychangers in the temple and had treated the Jewish religious establishment with open contempt. Every worshipper, in the end, had to decide for him- or herself what was right and true and what wasn’t. In his own view, they could most safely and correctly wait on events. If Our Lady of Chostok led the True Faith to Strelsau and even beyond, that would be wonderful. If she didn’t, well, they might have been mistaken about her, but the Gospels remained and nothing could take them away or destroy their eternal message of hope, truth and faith.

  I was looking round the congregation to see what effect this Jesuitical approach was having on them, when I noticed my landlady. From where I sat she’d been directly behind someone else, but now she was leaning forward staring intently at the man in the black robe. In profile, with her straight brown hair held back in a scarf and the jaw stretched, her round pale face looked younger, her rather blobby nose gained length and outline and her mouth was more sensual. But I think it was mainly the intentness that changed both what she looked like and my attitude towards her. She was full of some strong emotion - presumably religious - and I found that exciting. I moved my chair a little so as to be able to observe her even when she’d sat back in her chair and I had no further thoughts of leaving the church.

  I was among the first to go out at the end, quickly putting my cap on as usual when in public - I had sat at the back and in the darkest part of the circle - and hung around waiting for her. She greeted me with surprise and pleasure at my having attended the service and we walked back to her house together. What was her own view about our Lady, I asked - genuine or not?

  ‘Of course it must be her.’

  ‘Why are you so certain? The pastor seemed uncertain.’

  ‘I saw her.’

  ‘I know, but didn’t everybody?’

  ‘I saw her just now - as the pastor was speaking - standing behind him.’

  ‘Are you sure? Close behind him?’

  ‘No. Further back. Behind the pulpit.’

  ‘Was she wearing white?’

  ‘No, blue.’

  This sounded less interesting: a genuine hallucination.

  ‘Like in the pictures of her?’

  ‘No,’ she said, after thinking for a moment, ‘Not like a picture.’

  ‘Did you recognise her face?’

  ‘I didn’t notice her face particularly. More her expression. It was so calm and forgiving. She knows what it’s like to be human.’

  When we got back to the house, her husband was there. I refused the offer of a meal and went to my room to correct some written tests I’d given my English classes. But I was restless and as soon as I heard the front door slam and looked out to see Mikos walking away down the street I went downstairs to the kitchen to ask for a cup of tea -coffee by now was only for the very rich and even tea was a luxury. Susha was at the sink in a plastic apron with a pattern of large orange flowers, but she had finished washing up and was staring out of the window.

  ‘A fox - in the edge of the wood - look!’

  I stood beside her and saw the fox, which seemed to be staring back at us.

  ‘You’re seeing a lot of things today, Susha.’

  ‘I saw her as plainly as I see that fox.’

  ‘I believe you.’

  The fox suddenly made off.

  ‘What’s fox in Ruritanian?’

  ‘Lish. Why do you want to know?’

  I undid the bow tying her apron at the back, drew it carefully over her head and threw it towards a chair.

  ‘I’m trying to learn Ruritanian. Will you give me lessons?’

  ‘Chasti!’ she said in Ruritanian and then in German: ‘Happily!’

  She smiled and did look very happy. We started by sitting on the sofa together with the Gospels in front of us, but I said I needed something more everyday.

  ‘What about a walk in the wood?’ I suggested. ‘You can tell me the names of everything we see.’

  That idea pleased her too. We put on scarves and went out through the vegetable plot into the wood. It wasn’t fir-trees, but the kind that lose their leaves in winter and most of the branches were bare. This was an advantage by the time the Ruritanian lesson was wearing thin and we were both warm from walking and unbearably randy. She was just as ready for sex as I was, her pale face flushed, her lips parted, her prominent brown eyes almost out on stalks.

  There was no one else about. We found a dell well-padded with newly fallen leaves and took off our scarves and our lower clothes - it was too crisp to strip completely. She was big all over - especially after Gerda - big thighs, big buttocks, big belly. Her breasts were not very visible on this occasion, but I could feel under her jersey that they were made on the same generous principle as the rest. Gerda always protected herself, but Susha didn’t. There wasn’t much foreplay, since we neither of us felt like wasting any more time. She lay down on the leaves, drew up her legs, pulled me down and we were away. I never had a better three minutes in my life.

  After that we sometimes walked in the wood together, but always went home when we wanted to lie down. It was really too late in the year for outdoor sex and besides we had a sort of tacit agreement not to spoil such a memorable beginning by trying to repeat it. Indoors we always used my room, since she clearly wanted to keep the marital bed inviolate, perhaps simply on practical grounds, so that the stoat wouldn’t notice anything amiss. I asked her, when we’d been lovers for a week or two and there were no secrets between us except my real identity, if she didn’t have any moral qualms, considering she was a practising member of the True Faith. The question surprised and upset her:

  ‘You think I’m behaving badly?’

  ‘From my point of v
iew you’re behaving like an angel.’

  ‘This wouldn’t have happened with anyone else.’

  ‘I’m sure not.’

  ‘I wouldn’t think - I never thought before - of adultery with any man in the world. It would be against my husband and against my religion.’

  ‘I’m honoured you make one exception.’

  She was not satisfied with my flip replies and continued very seriously to try to make me understand.

  ‘I do it with you because of who you are.’

  ‘And who am I?’

  ‘I don’t know who you are, Karl.’

  ‘Who do you think I am?’

  ‘I don’t think. You came to me on the day I saw the Virgin in the church. Perhaps I don’t want to know who you are. Perhaps the Virgin didn’t want to know when the angel came to her.’

  ‘Susha, I am not anyone of that kind. Really not.’

  ‘Why do we talk about it? I don’t think we want to talk about it.’

  And that was all we did talk about it. Maybe she really believed I was a supernatural visitant, maybe it suited her to pretend she did. Either way it suited me and when the snow came and before the bad news followed it, Susha and I snuggled down most days in my narrow bed and forgot altogether about Slav nationalism and even about improving my Ruritanian.

  The bad news came in the form of much fuller news from the national broadcasting station. A serious attack by ‘bandits’ on Kapitsa Airport had been frustrated, we were told, and the ‘terrorists’ driven off with heavy losses. Their cause, we were assured, was now doomed and the government would soon be able to make all areas of the country, including the bandits’ ‘last strongholds’ in the mountains safe for law-abiding citizens. President Slobodjak praised the courageous and patriotic conduct of the army, which had resisted all efforts on the part of the terrorists to divide it on ethnic grounds and had earned the gratitude of the whole country. From now on Slavs and Germans would be able to work together to restore prosperity to all parts of the community.

  ‘What exactly has happened?’ I asked Gerda, as I emerged from my English class on the evening this broadcast was made and met her in the lobby of the town-hall. Most of my pupils had seemed relieved at the news, but Gerda’s face was tight and she was shivering with tension.

  ‘The bastards used bombs and rockets,’ she said. ‘This will only make our cause more resistant to any compromise.’

  She was speaking, of course, in front of the people leaving my class. I walked her home, supporting her more and more as her shivering became more violent. When we got into her room she collapsed completely, burst into tears and sobbed in my arms.

  ‘It’s completely finished. We shall be back where we started, but worse because the people will not trust us a second time.’

  She had spoken on the phone to Michael’s logistics chief, the tall sergeant who had been present at my interview in the farmhouse. The rebels had been in the neighbourhood of Kapitsa for some time, but unable to prevent the army using the airport or to mount a credible attack against the better-equipped forces defending it. Then they had succeeded in downing an incoming aircraft, but this was their undoing, because it contained civilian as well as military passengers and the government was finally driven to act decisively. In spite of the danger to the town of Kapitsa itself and the damage and loss of life which must have resulted, the army was ordered to use artillery and tanks and given air support for a full-scale attack. The nationalists had been decimated and routed and were now dispersed in small groups making for the safety of the high mountains.

  ‘Where was the sergeant speaking from?’

  ‘From a village on the direct road to Chostok.’

  ‘Is he coming to Bilavice?’

  Gerda looked at me as if I hadn’t understood anything she’d said.

  ‘No one is coming to Bilavice except the army.’

  ‘The regular army?’

  ‘We have no army anymore.’

  ‘Are we supposed to defend Bilavice?’

  ‘What with?’

  ‘We’ve made a few preparations.’

  ‘Preparations for suicide.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I am completely finished too.’

  This total abdication seemed to revive her energy. She disentangled herself from me and began throwing her few clothes and belongings into a rucksack.

  ‘What is the town council doing?’

  ‘Waiting.’

  ‘Do they know all this?’

  ‘Not yet. They know it’s bad, but not how bad.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you tell them?’

  ‘I am no longer a member of the town council. They are already deciding to be loyal Ruritanians again. If I tell them everything I know they will arrest me and give me to the army.’

  ‘Where are you going? To Chostok?’

  ‘Where else?’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Mr Brobek is arranging transport - a coach - for all who would be shot by the army if they catch us.’

  ‘As bad as that?’

  ‘Certainly. And you will have to come too, of course.’

  I wondered about that. I didn’t like the idea of spending the winter ring-fenced in Chostok in the sole company of the last-ditch nationalists. Gerda turned round from her packing when I made no reply.

  ‘You should not be in any doubt of that, Karl. You are very well known in Bilavice now - as a fighter for the nationalists and as a friend of mine.’

  ‘The army will know nothing about me, except that I’m a foreign national.’

  ‘The people of Bilavice will tell them.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve made any enemies here.’ The stoat perhaps, if he knew about my relationship with his wife, but I was sure he didn’t.

  ‘In this situation, Karl, you don’t need enemies, you only need friends who are afraid for themselves. From tomorrow there will not be one person in Bilavice who ever had a good word to say for Slav Nationalism. Please understand that! It is not brave, it is not pleasant, but it is completely normal.’

  ‘Are we not to try out a single grenade or a single home-made mortar? What about our snipers and all their carefully laid plans?’ Gerda looked at me and shook her head. She almost smiled. ‘Go and get your things now, Karl, from your own room. Brobek’s coach will leave his place at half past eleven. You must be there or you will be left behind. If you are left behind, you will have to do your grenade-throwing and your sniping all by yourself. Or you can just go into the square, like Queen Flavia, and stand in front of the tanks with your ugly cap on your head.’

  13 Another Haircut

  I didn’t deliberately not go to Brobek’s place to join the coach-party to Chostok. When I got back to Susha’s house they were both there, she and her husband. It was one of her nights off from the power-station and he, of course, as a prominent nationalist, had left the council meeting in panic. I heard them in the kitchen as I let myself in with my own key, but they didn’t hear me because he was shouting. The burden of it was that he was going in Brobek’s coach and she was going with him. I knew why she didn’t want to - she thought I might be staying behind - but he didn’t know that and she couldn’t tell him. In between his shouts I could hear her trying to head him off. She wasn’t used to arguing with him or even questioning any of his dictats and this lack of practice, together with the fact that her reasons for not going had to be invented, put her in a very weak position. She produced too many reasons: her essential work at the power-station, her friends, nowhere to live in Chostok and nothing to live on, better for him to go on his own and for her to look after the house and so on. She obviously didn’t have a chance of changing his mind.

  At this point I opened the front door again and shut it with a bang, then went into the kitchen. Mikos was standing like a scrawny, frantically worked-up cockerel - symbol of Slav nationalism - in the middle of the floor, while beautiful Susha - she was beautiful these days - was backed against the sink looking sick.
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br />   ‘It seems we’ve got to get out,’ I said into the sudden silence.

  ‘Are you also leaving Bilavice, Mr Berg?’ asked Mikos.

  ‘Gerda tells me I’ve got no choice,’ I said. ‘I’m to meet her at Brobek’s place at half past eleven.’

  ‘We too,’ said Mikos. ‘I’ve just been telling my wife. She doesn’t think it’s necessary. You tell her!’

  I looked at Susha with a surprised expression.

  ‘For anyone connected with the True Faith I should think it’s essential,’ I said.

  Susha said nothing, but it was obvious she was completely convinced.

  I went to my room to pack and I could hear them doing the same - only of course they had very much more to pack than I did, so I was through while they were still agonising over what to take.

  ‘I’ll see you at Brobek’s,’ I called out from the hall, with my pack on my shoulder.

  ‘See you!’ called out Mikos from the bedroom, sounding almost friendly. Susha appeared in the kitchen doorway. She didn’t say anything for fear of being heard by Mikos - it was a cheaply-built house, as I mentioned - just smiled.

  ‘Goodbye, Susha,’ I said. ‘Thanks for having me. It was lovely.’

  She didn’t speak or move, but continued to smile. I went out and shut the door behind me.

  I suppose I still intended - as I walked away down the street -to catch the coach. It’s hard to say. I was already fairly sure I didn’t want to catch it, but I certainly wasn’t considering any alternative. Brobek’s place was over the bridge, near the hospital, and I had nearly an hour in hand, so I simply proposed to get a drink and something to eat before what would surely be an arduous and freezing journey in an antique vehicle up corkscrew roads probably blocked with snow.

  The best place to eat and drink quickly in Bilavice at this stage of the evening - night-life was more or less non-existent at the best of times - was the bar in the railway-station. So there, through an inch or so of slushy snow on the pavements, I went, like King Wenceslaus homing for his supper after the good deed done with the winter fuel. I was very conscious of Susha’s happiness and pleased with myself for being the cause of it. When and if anyone comes to write my biography, he will probably - or she certainly - conclude that it was the prospect of being cooped up through the winter in Chostok, with both Gerda and Susha at loose ends and probably in cramped accommodation, that made me behave so shoddily and walk out on them rather than risk damaging my self-esteem. It wasn’t like that at all. I daresay my self-esteem would indeed have been damaged, but I liked them both too much to give them any pain on purpose.