So far, Kitty had kept this correspondence secret. She intercepted the postman, and took her letters to the post office after lectures. She had hoped that Kostya would help her, but she had to accept that this was not going to happen, and one day she approached Christine — who still had good contacts among the nomenklatura — with her request. They were sitting in a newly opened ice-cream parlour on Rustaveli Boulevard. Kitty stared at a big poster announcing the new opera season.
‘How long have you known?’ Christine stirred sugar into her cup of tea.
‘A few weeks. I got a letter from him. But Kostya —’
‘You should keep him out of it!’
‘Stop leaping to his defence all the time!’
‘What are you hoping Kostya could do?’
‘I thought he might make it possible for Andro to be transferred. There are plenty of labour camps around here, too.’
‘So you still think you have to love him?’
‘What do you mean by that? I’ll always love him — he’s our Andro.’
‘What you love is the memory. You’re not the same person, and I’m sure he’s even less the person he once was — the one you know. You can want to help him, but do it for his sake, not your own.’
Christine finished her tea. Kitty fell silent, chewed her thumb, and gazed out at the street, where young lovers and parents with children were strolling up and down. Although Christine didn’t promise her anything then and there, in the days that followed she considered what she could do. If Andro really had been accused of treason, it was highly unlikely that he would still be alive. It was possible, then, that in the last years of the war he had actually had second thoughts, that he had perhaps been of service to the Reds in some way, and they were thanking him for it now by letting him live. She asked some of her husband Ramas’ old friends for advice, enquired as to whether there was any chance of seeing Andro’s file, and informed Stasia that Andro had made contact with her daughter.
Stasia was racked with guilt. She refused to think that Andro might suffer the same fate as his mother. She could never have forgiven herself for that. She had followed her son to Russia, naively assuming that she could save him, and had left the gullible, inexperienced Andro, to whom nothing was more alien than warfare, to his own devices. If she thought about it long enough, she couldn’t even reproach him for taking this disastrous path and, in doing so, infecting her daughter with misfortune, too.
Stasia made up parcels of food and clothes, and slipped rouble notes into the pockets of post office and customs officials to ensure the parcels reached Nazino; and she took her son to task. He should contact someone in the central administration, she told him, to find out why Andro Eristavi had been sent to Siberia.
Eventually, Kostya could no longer withstand the constant pressure in the house — his sister’s expectant, beseeching looks, Christine’s intercession, Stasia’s insistent demands — and called Giorgi Alania in Moscow. Unlike the search for Ida, which was proving extremely difficult, where Andro was concerned Alania quickly found what he was looking for. In a late-night telephone call he described to Kostya in detail the path Andro had taken. The only reason he was still alive, Alania explained, was his involvement in the Texel uprising.
*
A magical scent wafted through the house. Kostya had gone out, and Kitty was still at rehearsal. Christine, in her nightgown and already on her way to bed, came downstairs and into the kitchen. Since that terrible night, Stasia had never made the hot chocolate for her again; she didn’t know that Christine had been in possession of the recipe for quite some time. Christine sat down at the table with her sister.
‘You haven’t made it for ages.’
‘True. But I thought we two had earned it.’
Stasia poured the thick liquid into two porcelain cups. They began to spoon it up slowly, relishing it.
‘You have to contact him,’ Stasia blurted out suddenly.
‘Whom should I contact?’
‘You know who.’
‘Excuse me?’ Christine’s voice grew icy.
‘We have to get Andro out of there. He won’t survive otherwise.’
‘And how are we supposed to do it?’
‘We’re responsible for this boy. Yes, perhaps he made a mistake, perhaps he made the wrong decisions. But he was so young, Christine. What happened to Sopio cannot be allowed to happen again. We’d never forgive ourselves.’
‘And would I forgive myself for seeking him out again, looking him in the eyes, after all that’s happened?’ Christine’s tone remained icy, and her expression was filled with disgust.
‘It would be to save a life, Christine. To save Andro. We raised him like our own child; imagine if it were Kostya …’
‘I can’t, Stasia. I simply can’t.’
‘I hate myself for having to ask you for this favour, but there’s no other way. With his history he won’t stand a chance, unless … He’s the only one who can help him.’
‘I don’t even know if he would be prepared to receive me, to listen to me, or where I could even reach him. He’s in Moscow most of the time.’
‘He’ll listen to you. I’m sure he will always want to see you.’
‘But he hasn’t. Not in all the years since.’
‘I saw his look.’
‘What look?’
‘The way he used to look at you.’
For a while, Christine said nothing. She licked the last remnants of the chocolate from the cup with her finger. Suddenly she looked up and said, ‘All right. But in that case …’
‘In that case what? I’ll do anything.’
‘In that case, you have to accept that Simon is dead.’
Stasia gulped. She stood up. Sat down again. Lit a filterless cigarette.
‘Say it,’ repeated Christine sternly, fixing her sister with a look of schadenfreude.
‘I don’t know. I don’t know. Why do you want me to —’
‘Say it!’
‘He … he …’
‘Say it, and yes — I’ll seek him out and petition him for Andro to be pardoned.’
‘He’s …’
‘Stasia!’
‘… dead.’
Book IV
Kitty
Got a moon above me
But no one to love me
Lover man, oh, where can you be?
BILLIE HOLIDAY
After one of the student performances, there was a knock at Kitty’s dressing room door. She threw it open in irritation — and froze, speechless. Before her stood Mariam. In a pleated skirt, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail. She held a little bunch of violets clutched tightly in her fist. Kitty hesitated for a moment, then flung her arms around the neck of this girl who should never, by rights, have been her friend. Neither of them knew what to say, or how to describe their feelings. Kitty offered Mariam her chair in front of the make-up table, and sat down on a low stool at her feet.
Although she had never believed it possible, Mariam had been admitted to the Institute of Medicine. It was very unusual for a simple village girl to be allowed to study medicine in the capital, but there was a shortage of doctors. She told Kitty how happy and excited she was, how much she was looking forward to moving to Tbilisi. She had seen Kitty’s name on the poster at the Theatre Institute and had come to watch the performance. For a long time she had been in two minds about seeking Kitty out; she hadn’t been sure whether Kitty would even want to see her, but then she couldn’t stand it any longer, and so here she was.
‘What are you talking about! Of course I want to see you. I’m so pleased.’
*
Soon afterwards, Mariam moved to the capital, and they began to see each other frequently, meeting up and going out together. Kitty showed Mariam the city, took her along to see friends, and later took her home
as well, where she introduced her simply as a friend. No more than that. They never said a word about the events that had brought them together, although the unsayable was always there between them. In the face of what they had been through, words were powerless. Yet their mutual knowledge of one another, of their shared tragedy, was constantly present in their minds.
Unlike with other, ordinary friendships, it wasn’t important to either of them whether they had interests in common, or shared the same sense of humour; whether they could really talk to each other at length; whether they giggled easily and uncontrollably. None of this carried any weight compared to what had created this involuntary friendship. Yet nothing was forcing them to be together. There was mutual empathy, an awareness of their visible and invisible scars, and this prompted a very special kind of love that suppressed their own self-hatred for a while and numbed the worst feelings of guilt. Both of them immediately felt this love to be absolutely essential; they needed it in order to cope with their daily lives, in order to keep doubt at bay — the doubt that they had the right to be alive.
Strangely, since Mariam had come back into her life, Kitty had recovered a little of that former self she’d thought had gone forever: the lightness, the playfulness, the silliness returned, and she blossomed, laughed, and sang along at student parties at the top of her voice. Christine appreciated Mariam’s modesty and reserve; Stasia, too, was surprised that her wild daughter had become best friends with such a simple, reticent girl, and saw it as a good sign.
Mariam was almost excessively polite, and pleasantly shy; not at all noisy, let alone coquettish. She was curious but not intrusive, helpful, and anything but selfish: other people’s wellbeing was always more important to her than her own. Above all, though, she charmed people with her talent for showing gratitude. As if she never expected anyone to praise her for anything, to give her a present, or to recognise her merits, and when this was in fact the case, she seemed so happy, so grateful, that it was worth giving her compliments and presents just to see the look on her face.
Right from the start, Kostya found Mariam completely different from cheeky, insolent Kitty. Although he would never have admitted it to himself, I suspect, Brilka, that, in some way that’s hard to understand, that isn’t even logical, Kostya feared his little sister. Perhaps it was her unpredictability, or the way she had distanced herself from him since Andro had driven a wedge between them; or perhaps it was her impetuous, volatile nature, which was too much for him and made him angry.
I’m not sure whether he was trying to connect with his sister through Mariam; what is certain is that, very soon after meeting Mariam, he started picking the two girls up after lectures and taking them out, inviting them for meals, going with them to the cinema and to dances; occasionally he would give Mariam flowers. At first, Kitty interpreted these gestures as her brother’s attempts to make amends for his refusal to help Andro. The longer she lived with him under one roof, the harder it was for her to accept his rigid world view, his iron discipline, his excessive demands on those around him, his peremptory military tone, and his taciturnity. After his return, she had tried many times to speak openly with him, but in vain. So when his behaviour suddenly changed and he started making an effort with her and her friend, asking them questions, taking an interest, even coming to the student performances and praising Kitty’s talent, his sister decided not to spoil this chance of a rapprochement. But she was still annoyed by his officious, domineering manner. And it bothered her that Mariam was impressed. She started to keep her meetings with Mariam secret from him; she invented excuses and lied to him when she was going to the cinema with her friend, or planned to go to a concert. She tried to keep him away. Kostya, however, had always exerted an extraordinary power of attraction over the opposite sex, and Mariam was no exception.
Whenever Mariam was alone with Kitty, the conversation would constantly return to Kostya. She raved about what an elegant figure he cut, how gallantly he treated her; she spoke of his solicitude, his excellent conversation, his attentiveness. Kitty didn’t respond and tried to change the subject. Now, though, it was Mariam who insisted on going out with Kostya, inviting Kostya, going dancing with Kostya. And even when Kitty didn’t have time to accompany them, Mariam did not forgo the opportunity of meeting Kostya. Kitty was secretly puzzled by her brother’s interest in Mariam. Kostya couldn’t and shouldn’t like a woman as simple as Mariam; all the other young women he knew and had flirted with were striking, unapproachable creatures from good families. Mariam was neither experienced in the arts of love nor liberal enough to allow Kostya to initiate her in them. He wouldn’t be fobbed off for long with stolen kisses and the surreptitious holding of hands, his sister was sure of that. Which meant that soon he would drop Mariam; not to mention the fact that he might leave the city for the north at any moment.
But the longer Kitty observed her friend and her brother, the clearer it became to her that the two had moved on from Mariam’s initial interest and Kostya’s posturing to impress her; they had really fallen in love. A light-hearted flirtation had set off an emotional chain reaction. Initially feather-light, joyous, and full of yearning, Mariam’s feelings grew leaden, heavy, and mistrustful. Her paeans to Kostya practically became interrogations, to which she subjected her friend on the pretext of trying to understand Kostya’s mind: she wanted to know his preferences, to work out how he thought — every word he said to her was carefully analysed, every look assessed, significance ascribed to every touch. Kitty hadn’t thought anything could surprise her, but she had not thought her friend would lose her head so completely, and in such a short space of time; that she would fall for Kostya so entirely, become so desperate for his attention.
*
One mild April evening, Kitty came home from rehearsals and saw Kostya sitting with Christine in the garden, which the two sisters had recently replanted and begun to tend. She stopped abruptly, because something about the picture didn’t feel right. For some inexplicable reason, as she observed them, Kitty felt like a voyeur witnessing something not intended for her eyes. Yet it was just her aunt sitting with her nephew in easy intimacy. A familiar picture; nothing unusual. The two of them were sitting at the old garden table, Kostya leaning forward slightly, holding Christine’s hand in his. The beautiful half of Christine’s face was turned towards her nephew, and she was listening, captivated, to what he was saying. Suddenly she burst out laughing and threw back her head. Their intimate conversation, their uninhibited laughter, their togetherness were so self-contained, so self-absorbed, that Kitty pressed herself against the wall and lowered her eyes in embarrassment. This sight, so seemingly ordinary, concealed a truth the participants themselves were probably unaware of. They’re the perfect lovers, thought Kitty suddenly — and dismissed the absurd idea as swiftly as it had come. But she couldn’t tear herself away from this sight, this image, which made such coherent sense.
Perhaps it was not his aunt’s physical beauty Kostya had fallen for, Kitty considered; rather, that there was something concealed behind that beauty, something vulnerable, mournful, unhappy. And perhaps he needed the aloofness that Christine radiated in abundance; needed to immerse himself in it, to lose himself, so as not to have to face reality. Perhaps, Kitty speculated, it was fear that governed him: the fear that he could not stand the test of the world.
Perhaps his discipline, his longing for power, was nothing more than a constant effort to annihilate this fear. The fear of mistakes, the fear that everything around him might one day turn out to be meaningless. One day — when he might lose something, something he could not hold on to.
Or had it already happened? Had he lost something? And if so, what — or perhaps she should ask herself: who?
He would never be able to look at Mariam like that. The thought flashed through Kitty’s mind like a bolt of lightning. For Mariam had survived the darkest of all worlds. Like Kitty, Mariam had stood the test of Hell and could no longer have any
fear of the world. Mariam would never awaken this longing in Kostya; and Kostya would always avoid his sister because, however paradoxical, however incredible the observation seemed, in this moment Kitty was quite convinced that her brother was governed by this fear just as much as Christine.
Kitty went to her room, closed the door behind her, lay down on the bed, and thought. She would have to amputate her own past, she thought, in order to recover the life she had been observing from the sidelines for so long. She reflected on how wrong it had been to take in Andro’s dream, that it had made her ill, but she was equally aware that for her, unlike the other members of her family, her unfulfilled dreams could actually put her life in danger. Because it was imperative that she be herself, even if enduring that self, living with it, caused her pain.
When she thought about amputating the past, she was certainly not thinking only about the classroom and what had been done to her there. It was beyond her power to forget that, to suppress it, because to do so would also mean erasing her lost child from her memory. Unlike Kostya, who hid his loss — whatever and whoever it may have been — so well, vanishing ever further behind a mask of ignorance, indifference, and strength, she would remember what had happened to her every single day. But everything before that day — before the classroom, before the straps — all that had to disappear. She would have to bid it all farewell.
*
In May, Kostya and Mariam announced their engagement. Kitty refrained from making any comment; she kept her doubts to herself and congratulated her radiant, happy friend. She didn’t question why Kostya had let himself get so carried away as to take this decision; it made no difference to her now, anyway. The most likely explanation was that Kostya wanted to see himself through Mariam’s eyes: as the honourable, courageous, determined, cultivated man who kept his word, never violated a woman’s honour, and had a brilliant future ahead of him. When Kitty came to think about it, all her brother had wanted all his life was to be just such a man. But he wasn’t, and he never would be. And Kitty would have to keep this secret from her friend, his future wife, forever.
The Eighth Life Page 33