On the morning of March 4, Marie woke with a start. The room was still pitch-black and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Eventually she could make out the shape of her mother sleeping beside her.
‘Mama.’ She shook her shoulder. ‘Listen, the shelling has stopped.’
Running to the bay windows, Marie pulled back the heavy curtains.
‘What’s going on?’ Valentin asked, his voice groggy with sleep.
Across the room, Pauline Kulbas sat up stiffly.
‘Herman?’ She turned to her husband. ‘Herman, wake up. The shelling … it has stopped.’
Suddenly alert, Herman Kulbas sat upright then sprang up to join Marie by the window. Father and daughter stared into the quiet expanse of the morning mist carpeting the fields. After weeks of continuous shelling, the silence was almost unnerving.
‘What do you see?’ Pauline Kulbas asked.
‘Nothing,’ her husband replied. By now, Valentin too was standing by his father’s side.
They were startled by loud knocking at the front door and, soon after, a knock at the drawing room door. Zoya, her face flushed and looking as if she had dressed in a hurry, walked in.
‘Sorry to disturb you, Madame,’ she said with a curtsy, adjusting a woollen shawl over her shoulders. ‘There is a messenger here with an urgent letter for Monsieur Kulbas.’
‘It’s from the mayor, Monsieur,’ Zoya said as he pushed past her.
Marie, still in her nightgown, followed.
‘What have you got for me, young man?’ Monsieur Kulbas addressed the tall youth waiting for him at the landing.
Reaching deep into the pocket of his winter coat, the young man pulled out a white envelope. ‘From the mayor, Monsieur.’
Having known the mayor for many years, Herman Kulbas immediately recognised the handwriting. ‘Why didn’t the mayor call me on the telephone?’
‘The phone lines are all down after last night’s shelling.’
Ripping open the sealed envelope, Monsieur Kulbas read the brief note, his grip tightening into a fist when he reached the end.
The messenger shifter nervously from one foot to the other. Thinking the youth was waiting for a tip, the butler stepped forward with a few coins.
The messenger stepped back, shaking his head. ‘No, Monsieur, thank you all the same but I was told by the mayor to wait for the Monsieur’s response.’ He turned shyly to Monsieur Kulbas. ‘He said it was urgent.’
Monsieur Kulbas nodded his understanding. ‘Zoya,’ he said, ‘take this young man to the kitchen and make him some breakfast.’ He turned back to the messenger. ‘Have the butler bring you to the library when you have finished eating. I will have your response to the mayor then.’
Marie waited for the messenger to leave with Zoya, before stepping forward. ‘What is it, Papa?’ She touched him lightly on the forearm. ‘What did the mayor say?’
‘Narva has surrendered to the Germans.’
Pauline Kulbas, who had come to stand by Marie’s side, drew in a sharp breath. Herman Kulbas walked over and pulled his wife into his embrace. She whimpered into his chest, her round shoulders quaking under the wrap she had hastily flung around herself.
‘Now, now, my dear, stop this nonsense,’ he soothed. ‘As long as we cooperate with them, they will leave us be.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘It will be like having house guests.’
Marie tensed. ‘What do you mean “house guests”?’
Her father’s face grew serious. ‘The Germans will billet their soldiers and officers among the city’s residents.’
‘Can they do that?’ Valentin asked. ‘Just march into people’s homes?’
Herman Kulbas let out a hollow laugh. ‘They are the victors, my son. They can do whatever they like.’
Spring had always been Marie’s favourite season. After the dark winter months, the longer days, new green shoots and the migration of birds never failed to lift her spirits. Today, however, looking out from her bedroom window, the blossoming of spring did little to lift her sombre mood.
Hearing footsteps, she turned to see her father and Valentin walking rapidly along the gravel path towards the shed. Wearing heavy winter boots, her father carried a spade in one hand and a satchel in the other. He waited outside the shed for his son, who emerged a few minutes later pushing a cart.
There was a knock at the door and her mother entered.
‘What’s Papa up to?’ Marie asked.
Madame Kulbas joined her daughter at the window. Together they watched as Monsieur Kulbas crossed the open field with Valentin and disappeared into the woods.
Reaching into the folds of her dress, Pauline Kulbas produced a velvet bag of the deepest shade of green. ‘I need you to listen carefully,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Get your most precious pieces of jewellery and place them in this bag.’
‘What will you do with them?’
‘Your father is burying them in the woods in waterproof bags.’ Taking her daughter’s hands between her own, she warned, ‘You must not speak to anyone about this. The Germans will suspect we have buried our gold and they will bribe the servants to find out where.’
‘Surely our servants would not betray us,’ Marie cried. Most of the household’s staff had been with the family for years.
‘My child,’ Marie’s mother looked at her sadly, ‘these are desperate times. In a few hours, the whole of Narva will be swarming with German soldiers. Who’s to say who can or cannot be trusted?’
Looking into her mother’s face, Marie saw the deep lines of worry around her eyes and agreed to do as she had asked.
Going to the jewellery box on her dressing table, she chose a few pieces, mainly ones with sentimental value, and placed them in the bag.
‘Here you are, Mama.’ She handed over the bag.
Madame Kulbas touched Marie’s wrist, her fingers cold as ice. ‘These are dark days, Marie. Pray they will not last long.’
Once her mother had gone, Marie returned to the window in time to see Valentin leave the woods alone and run to the stables. He had no sooner disappeared from view than Marie became aware of the noise of approaching cars.
Valentin emerged from the stables. He paused a moment, his face turned to the sound of the engines, before he started running towards the house. Still some distance away, it was clear the cars were moving fast, their engines shredding the stillness in the air. The sound of running feet reached her door.
‘Marie, come quick.’ One hand on her chest, Anna was panting for breath. ‘The Germans. They will be here soon.’
Marie’s eyes darted to the woods. Papa!
‘Get my boots,’ she said to Anna, her eyes searching the edge of the thicket.
‘Marie, the Germans …’
‘Do it now.’ Marie cut her off. ‘Quickly!’
Outside, Marie ran to where her father had entered the woods. She hadn’t stopped to put on her coat and the chill wind cut through her thin layer of clothing.
‘Papa!’ she shouted when she reached the trees. ‘Papa!’
Her lungs burning, Marie leant one hand against a tree.
‘PAPA!’
‘For heaven’s sake, Marie. Stop this racket.’ Herman Kulbas stepped from behind the bushes.
‘Didn’t you hear me?’ Marie asked. ‘I’ve been calling and calling.’
‘Of course I heard you. I’d be surprised if the whole German regiment didn’t hear you.’ He walked towards her with unhurried steps. She noticed he no longer carried anything.
‘What did you do with the cart and the spade?’
‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’ He wiped his hands on his trousers.
‘I saw you go into the woods with them.’
Herman Kulbas straightened and looked at her as if considering how much he should tell her. ‘I hid them,’ he said eventually.
‘Oh, Papa.’ She handed him a handkerchief. ‘You’ve got mud all over your pants.’
Herman Kulbas cocked hi
s head to one side. ‘Stop fussing over my pants.’ He took her handkerchief and wiped his hands. ‘What are you doing out here anyway? You’ll catch your death dressed like that.’
‘I was worried for you.’ She was still slightly out of breath. ‘The Germans are almost here.’
A look of worry passed over Herman Kulbas’s face but he quickly regained his composure and gave Marie a confident smile. ‘In that case, let’s not keep our guests waiting.’
Back at the house, they found two wagons and a motorcar parked by the front steps.
‘We’ll go through the front door,’ Marie’s father whispered, offering her his arm.
Keeping her head high, she walked past the Germans. Braving a glance at the wagons’ occupants, she was surprised by how young most of them looked. Their coats hung off their thin frames, giving them the appearance of children dressed as soldiers.
The household staff carried buckets of water to the soldiers, who took it in turns to fill their canisters. As Marie passed, a few of the men called out words that made her blush.
At the top of the stairs, a group of German officers in long woollen coats and Pickelhauben stood beside Valentin and a pale-faced Pauline Kulbas.
Together, Marie and her father climbed the stairs slowly. The nearest officer took off his spiked helmet, tucking it under one arm. He stepped forward, clicked his heels and gave them a short bow. ‘I am Captain Klaus Greenhauser. My men and I are to be stationed here.’
Next to Marie, her father returned the officer’s bow with a tilt of his head. ‘I am Herman Kulbas and this is my daughter Marie. I see you have already met my son and wife.’
‘They greeted us in your absence.’ The captain looked pointedly at Herman Kulbas’s trousers.
‘You must excuse my attire,’ Marie’s father said apologetically, and motioned for them to go inside. ‘Let us all move into the drawing room. We will be far more comfortable out of this cold.’
The officers made no move to go inside. Marie noticed the captain was now staring at her muddy boots, frowning.
‘May I enquire as to why you were in the woods, Mademoiselle?’
‘My daughter and I always enjoy an invigorating walk first thing in the morning.’ Herman Kulbas looked down at his pants. ‘I’m afraid I tripped,’ he said lightly, but no one smiled.
‘Indeed.’ Captain Greenhauser’s gaze lingered on Marie a moment longer. ‘You must have left in a hurry, Mademoiselle,’ he observed. ‘You didn’t even stop to put on a coat.’
Marie’s heart skipped inside her chest. Had the captain guessed what her father had been doing?
‘Captain, we have refreshments prepared for you.’ Despite her smile, Marie detected a tremble in her mother’s voice.
With a small nod, the captain, followed by the other officers, walked after Pauline Kulbas to the drawing room and Marie hurried upstairs to change.
Descending the stairs a few minutes later, after having changed out of her muddy clothes, Marie found the cook, Lara, and Zoya standing with their ears pressed to the closed doors. Seeing Marie, the two stepped back quickly, dropping their eyes.
‘What are they talking about?’ Marie asked in a low voice.
‘I’m not sure, Mademoiselle,’ Lara said, staring at her shoes. A pink flush rose from her neck to her face. ‘We only just got here.’
‘Thank you, you may go,’ Marie told them.
They hesitated, seemingly reluctant to leave.
‘What is it now?’ Marie rolled her eyes.
‘It’s the soldiers, Mademoiselle. They are hungry.’
‘So why don’t you feed them?’ Marie asked, frustration creeping into her voice.
‘There’s not enough food.’ The cook wrung her hands nervously. ‘I sent the stable hand, Ivan, to see if the baker had any bread he could sell us. He came back empty-handed looking white as a ghost. Isn’t that right, Zoya?’ She looked to Zoya who nodded her head vigorously.
‘Tell her about the baker,’ Zoya prompted.
Lara looked over her shoulder at the closed doors and lowered her voice further. ‘Ivan found the baker sitting outside his shop with a big gash across his forehead. The soldiers had beaten him with their rifles for resisting when they robbed him of all his bread and several sacks of flour.’
‘They’re going to starve us to death,’ Zoya whimpered.
‘This is no time to fall apart,’ Marie said sharply. Seeing Zoya recoil, she added in a softer voice, ‘We’ll manage. I assure you my father will take care of us.’
Zoya blew her nose loudly into a handkerchief.
Lara said, ‘The Germans have posted a notice in the middle of the town square ordering all residents to take soldiers into their homes. Ivan said some people have chosen to leave instead, but the Germans are only allowing them to take one suitcase and everything is searched to make sure no one has packed any valuables. This lot –’ she pointed to the wall, beyond which the soldiers had already started to pitch their tents ‘– are only marginally better. I’ve given them all our bread and cooked them what eggs we had and they threw their dirty uniforms at me to wash.’
‘Some of them have broken into Master’s wine cellar and are passed out drunk on the lawn.’ Zoya shook her head. ‘Savages. God help us all.’
‘That’s enough,’ Marie snapped. ‘We must not let them see us in despair. Zoya, you get started on the uniforms. And Lara, take Ivan with you to the cellar and see how many potatoes we can spare. Maybe you can make the soldiers a broth for later.’
Marie’s decisive instructions stirred the two women into action. ‘Yes, Mademoiselle.’
They hurried off and Marie rapped on the drawing-room door, waiting a moment before opening it wide enough to put her head through.
‘Come in,’ her father beckoned and, together with the German officers, stood when she entered.
She walked over to the settee where her mother sat with a straight back.
‘Naturally all livestock and food reserves will be confiscated by the army,’ Captain Greenhauser was explaining to her father.
‘What will we eat?’ asked Herman Kulbas, visibly taken aback.
‘You will receive rations.’ Leaning back in his chair, the captain continued. ‘My officers and I will live in the house. You and your family will share the servants’ quarters with your staff.’
Madame Kulbas threaded her fingers through Marie’s, squeezing them tightly.
‘No need to upset yourself, madam.’ The captain smiled. ‘As long as you cooperate, you’ll find us quite civil.’ His smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Now if you will excuse us, my officers and I need to discuss private matters of importance.’ And with those words, the captain signalled an end to the conversation, dismissing the Kulbas family from their own parlour.
45
Fortress of Peter and Paul, Petrograd, June 1918
The only light in the crowded prison cell came from a single window set high in the wall.
Dampness pressed at Alexei’s chest. He slept badly, coughing and shivering with the cold. During the day, he spent hours watching the sunlight shifting along the wall and tried to think about how people in the city’s crowded streets were spending their day.
Today he watched the patch of light through a hazy filter. His head, burning like a furnace, rolled from side to side.
He was dimly aware of men moving about him, occasionally kneeling before him and staring into his face with concerned looks. In his weakened state, the voices all sounded muffled and distorted and he looked back at the faces with little comprehension.
Falling into fitful dreams, he imagined himself in a bright sunny room. Marie was there, in the dress she had worn to the races. Smiling, she looked at him with her warm grey eyes. She offered him a glass of water and when she bent over, gently cupping his head in one hand, the light caught the small gold cross dangling from her neck. Alexei woke feeling parched, his breath shallow in his lungs.
A commotion outside distracted him from his d
iscomfort. Men’s shouts mixed with the sound of heavy footsteps running down the corridor. The gates flew open and guards carrying torches entered, yelling and pulling men to their feet.
‘Get up, old man.’ A large guard kicked Alexei’s boot. ‘You are all to move to the courtyard.’
Hooking a hand under Alexei’s armpit, the guard lifted him to his feet and, sensing Alexei was too weak to walk on his own, kept his hand there, propelling him forward. In the corridor, the guards used their rifles to push the prisoners into lines.
Led out into the public square, Alexei, accustomed to many days in the dark, blinked in the sunlight. Shielding his eyes, he shuffled into the middle of the square, where the guard who had been supporting him threw him to the ground. Two prisoners helped him back to his feet and held him upright, which was when Alexei saw that they were facing a mob of guards. As he watched, one of the guards stepped forward and, without warning, raised his pistol and shot the first prisoner in the head. Stepping over the crumpled figure, the guard shot the next prisoner.
The man beside Alexei murmured his last prayers. Alexei, too, consigned his soul to God and silently said goodbye to his family. As a third, fourth and fifth man were executed Alexei focused on the image he carried in his head, wanting his last thoughts to be of Marie.
‘Halt! What is going on here?’ A man with straw-coloured hair shouldered his way to the front. The guards reluctantly parted to let him through.
One of the guards stepped into the man’s path. ‘Papers?’ Reaching into his jacket the man pulled out a folded piece of paper, which he offered to the guard. After studying the papers, the guard stepped aside. ‘My apologies, Comrade Commissar.’
‘What is the meaning of this?’ the commissar asked when he saw the dead bodies.
‘These men are officers from the imperial army and enemies of the revolution,’ one of the guards replied.
The commissar frowned. Raising his voice, he said, ‘Comrades, listen to me. My name is Sergei Bogoleev and I am a commissar with the Red Army. We need to stop these executions. We must show the Russian people that we are not mindless killers.’
The Russian Tapestry Page 26