Now that I had gone a little wrong, I paid more attention to the people around me than the buildings. I realised that I was always watching out for a foreign coat or pair of shoes, someone who might be able to help, but I didn’t see anyone like that until I turned up another road to the right and found the gallery. There were Inturist guides here with small groups of Westerners, and another gang of Pioneer children in red scarves. I didn’t think I’d seen any children who weren’t wearing that uniform, other than the very young ones in the park. I watched them march in silence behind a woman up to the pointed white entrance that looked like a church door, then followed them in.
The large coatroom only had a few coats and bags, but I had nothing to leave there. In the winter I could imagine it was packed.
I wondered around the large rooms, having little idea where I was heading, and found Smith to be right in saying the gallery was a little chaotic. Also, I couldn’t seem to get out of the nineteenth century. I consulted Smith’s Moscow again, asked for directions from a passing Inturist guide to Andrei Rublev – ground floor, rooms 38 and 39, on the right at the back. But, no, I couldn’t go right, I had to do an entire circuit of the ground floor to get there, but, really, I should start upstairs at room 1 and see the upper floor first.
Once alone, I sneaked down the corridor on the right. This took me past rooms 40 to 52, which held their collection of realist paintings, lots of greys and browns and people mowing. Smith didn’t recommend anything modern and Stalinist, but I wasn’t sure about Rublev either once I got to room 38. ‘Trinity’ was much brighter and more beautiful than the reproduction in Москва Moscow, but the necks of the figures were weirdly bent in a way which made them look as though they’d been hanged. I thought there were people covered in sheets behind them until I realised they were wings. The figures all had the same shapes, the same draping, the same circular haloes. I walked around the room, trying to be moved by their age and importance, but they were too angular and odd.
There was a familiar voice from behind me.
‘Have you been offered any ikons yet?’
I turned. It was that woman, Eva Mann. She wore the same brown dress as before with a cream jacket, but no hat. Maybe she’d lost it.
‘Yes, I have, in a subway.’
She nodded. ‘They’re all fake, of course. I’ve been watching you look at these ikons. You don’t seem impressed by Rublev.’
‘I’m not. They feel forced somehow.’
‘Shall I explain how you should read an ikon?’
‘Please.’
‘In traditional Western art the vanishing point is at the back of the picture space, but in these it is between us and the painting,’ she put her hand out, ‘here. It draws us into the other world, the sacred space between us and the image. Reversing the perspective pulls us in but a knowledge of perspective, ironically, pushes us out.’ She led me to another ikon. ‘This is the Ascension. The hovering figure of Jesus doesn’t make sense on a literal level, and its understanding of chronology is not ours, but look at the use of circles. The earth is square and heaven is circular. An image of equality,’ she smiled, ‘that some places on earth are trying to replicate.’
I took a step closer. It was making a difference to know the ideas behind the images.
‘The Soviets are the ones to have popularised the ikon. We worked out how to remove the soot and dirt after years of neglect and sent ikons to exhibitions all over the world. Of course, some people believed that they should be left in the monasteries and churches, but they had no idea what condition they had been left in. The Soviets regard museums as being as culturally important as churches, but accessible to everyone, like our metro stations.’ She gestured around the room. ‘These were all blackened and half-forgotten until the State took over, and then after they were cleaned they went to South Kensington in the 1920s, Boston in the 1930s, and so on. The tour included some of Rublev’s ikons from the iconostasis in the Dormition Cathedral.’ She noticed my face. ‘Do you know what an iconostasis is?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I saw one in Bucharest. I was just wondering why you said “we”. Are you Russian?’
‘Ah.’ She smiled. ‘I thought you’d been warned about me. Does it make you feel uncomfortable?’
‘No. I’m just surprised.’ I thought of my conversation with Christopher. ‘Someone warned me off you, but I didn’t understand why.’
‘I moved here some time ago, and there are some people at the embassy who think that makes me some kind of traitor. Really, it makes me a free woman, making my own decisions, but they’re not keen on that either. Would you like to carry on this conversation over a drink?’
I nodded. ‘My guidebook says that they serve orange crush and ice cream in the courtyard.’
She patted my hand. There was something about Russia that encouraged women to pat my hand.
‘Let me take you to a stolovoya.’
My feet were hurting a little. ‘Does it have chairs?’
‘Of course, it’s not a pivnaya. A stolovoya serves simple meals, but I was thinking maybe cognac or wine. You’re not hungry yet, are you?’
I was, but I said no.
She led me out of the gallery, and right, which I was pretty sure headed back towards the river but I’d taken a roundabout route and I wasn’t quite sure. A couple of turns, and we were in a small café-type place. As she ordered wine, I jiggled my coins, trying to remember how much I had left.
‘It is my pleasure to get this,’ she said. ‘You are a guest in Russia.’
‘Thank you. I am running a bit short of cash.’
‘In Britain, when I left, people used to hide the fact that they didn’t have money. It’s good to see that things change. There’s no shame in poverty, just in the system that creates it.’ She poured the wine. ‘Didn’t I see you at the showing of Girl from Hanoi? I thought it was the best film I had seen in months.’
‘I did like that a lot, yes.’
‘Will you write about it? You do write for a magazine, yes?’
‘I will write about it. Whether they’ll publish it or not, I’m not sure.’ I shrugged.
‘Why wouldn’t they?’
I didn’t answer.
‘Propaganda?’ She tutted. ‘Same as ever, eh? If you could choose, what would you like to write about? Art, maybe?’
I hesitated. ‘I’d like to report news, rather than films. Films are interesting, but they are temporary. Very few are important in a way that lasts.’
‘The news could be seen as temporary too.’
‘It could, but it builds on the previous news and becomes history. It feels a part of something bigger.’
‘That is true.’ She sat back as if waiting for me to speak.
‘Do you work here?’
‘Everyone works in the Soviet Union. I work at the Foreign Language Publishing House, Novosti. We work on guidebooks, among other things. It’s good work. I enjoy it very much.’
‘And what is it like to live in Moscow?’
‘It can be hard.’ She looked pensive. ‘But I find it’s worth the effort. I have no regrets.’
I looked around. I hadn’t noticed the kind of hardship I’d seen in London recently. The electricity didn’t cut out, the streets were clean, there were no kids without shoes urinating in the gutter.
‘Sometimes you just don’t belong to the place you were born,’ she continued. ‘It’s odd that the kind of person who has benefited most from the class system takes criticism of it so personally.’
‘Do you know anyone who works at the embassy? Like Christopher?’
‘I’ve heard of him.’ She looked at her tiny gold watch. ‘We’d better be heading back if you wanted to catch the last film today.’
I must have missed her paying. I felt nicely numbed, not drunk, and hoped I would stay awake for the film. I should have eaten something. We walked out together.
‘I was wondering if we could have a longer talk. I’d like to know more about what it�
�s like to live here.’
‘You’d like to know more, or you’d like to write about Moscow? I’ve read articles which are very rude.’
‘Why would I be rude? I’m just interested.’
When she took my arm, I was aware of how much shorter she was than Ursula. She led me down streets lit gold by the sun. I listened to her talk. She didn’t need any responses, and it was hypnotic, just one foot after another and the flow of words above the background noise of the cars.
‘I should be taking notes,’ I said, but to myself.
‘We can talk again, properly.’
We reached the river and turned right.
‘I have a river cruise booked for Saturday,’ I said.
She pointed out the embassy on the other side of the road, then we were on a bridge and it all felt familiar. We stopped at the viewing point from where I’d seen Christopher, and I could see a group of women heading towards the entrance of the Rossiya. I was late.
‘The translators are going in already,’ I said. ‘I still don’t see her.’ Eva was sitting next to me on the low wall which ran around the viewing point, looking at the hotel. ‘Do you know one of them?’
‘Not really. I was asked to see if I could find someone, to find something out. A man lost his sister and she might know what happened.’
‘That’s sad. What’s her name?’
‘Ingrid. It’s not much to go on. I think she speaks Romanian and German.’
‘And do you?’
I shook my head. It was starting to clear a little.
‘How were you going to talk to her?’ Eva laughed gently. ‘In any case, you can’t approach the translators. They aren’t allowed to talk to any of the attendees.’
‘Why?’
‘I suppose it’s to avoid any accusation of bribery should anything go wrong in a film showing. What if they’d been seen talking to the Japanese party and then an important word was mistranslated in a Chinese film? It’s just better to keep everyone separate.’ She looked back along the bridge. ‘I suppose this is different, as you’re not attached to any film studios. I could arrange for you to talk to Ingrid, if you like?’
‘Could you?’
‘Only if it would be helpful.’
‘Yes, thank you. I would like to.’
‘Come on,’ she said. She didn’t take my arm this time.
CHAPTER 28
I was happy to leave it all to Eva. She would probably be able to get further than I could, in any case.
That evening, I ate alone in the Natsional café with no interruptions, and had an early night after just one glass of wine. I felt much better in the morning.
I headed to the restaurant for breakfast. Ursula was already sitting there, surrounded by the four North Vietnamese women. Even sitting she towered over them and I wondered what Alan would make of the scene, these women protecting Ursula from my approach. She stared at me so I walked to an empty table where I couldn’t make eye contact. I’d assumed she was long gone. Had she heard something about Alan? I wanted him to walk in more than anything.
I ordered eggs and bread and coffee and flicked through my notebook. By the time I had finished, all the women had left. My shoulders relaxed. I don’t know why I felt guilty, but when everyone else believes you are it’s infectious.
The drizzle had returned. I walked across Red Square, alert to groups of women. There were a lot of tanks parked up here today, and more soldiers than usual, which didn’t help my paranoia. I went to the cinema early and took a seat at the back, out of sight.
The first film, We All Loved Each Other So Much, was one that I felt Alan would not approve of. Italians fighting the fascists was fine, but the only happy one was the communist who, of course, got the girl. I was a little tearful as I thought about the band of three reduced by circumstances to competition with each other, and Antonio ending up in hospital just made me think of Alan. There is always something about films which cover decades, lifetimes, which made me feel nostalgic for a future I hadn’t had yet. It made no sense, but I desperately didn’t want to look back on my life with regret.
I headed for the café. I would need to eat properly to manage all three films today. This was what I should have done every day. What kind of hardship was it to be fed and shown films?
Ursula was sitting in the café, still protected by the women, but it was my café too. I took a seat on the far side, away from the picture windows. I waited for my food, my eyes fixed on the wall. There was a waft of musty aftershave and Terence plumped himself down next to me. He’d had a shave. I wondered if he’d been to the barber in the hotel.
‘Being a dedicated film reviewer today?’ he said.
‘Sorry?’
‘I haven’t seen you at many films.’
‘I’ve been here.’
‘There’s a sense among some people here that film reviewing, criticism, is fun. I do hope you’re not one of them.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Film has a heritage as important as politics. It encapsulates societies and peoples. What more could you know about a country than what they want people to see?’
‘Yes.’
‘And a good film reviewer needs to know all about that society to understand what isn’t being shown.’
Now I knew why Christopher wanted Terence to be my minder. A bit of lunchtime indoctrination. I listened as I ate. Finally, Terence excused himself and I wandered out to the lobby to have a cigarette, but it was sunny and warm so I went outside instead. I still noticed men in grey jackets. There was one in the phone booth, one in a cartoon-shaped black car, one in deep conversation with – oh God, Christopher.
I headed around the hotel towards the river side and bumped into the guard leading the translators back inside for the next film. I stood to one side, seeing Christopher waiting further up the line. I thought, I hope Ursula isn’t watching this from inside, Christopher chasing me down, and then I saw Eva. She stepped out of the group to speak to me. The final guard said something to her, and she replied in a way which made him lower his eyes. She definitely wasn’t a normal translator.
‘Ted, I have arranged for Ingrid to meet us after the final film. Shall we meet at the Metropol?’
I had a few extra dinner vouchers, having missed some meals. If it was one meal, I could cover it. ‘Yes. I’ll meet you there at half past eight.’
She nodded, and I saw her glance at Christopher who was waiting until we finished talking. She nodded at him too, and he turned away. Her smile was wide, amused in a way which made me think she had met him before after all. She walked on and I waited for Christopher to come over. He was smiling as well. That was odd.
‘Ted, can we have a word?’
‘I have to get in for the next film.’
‘I understand that. You’re busy.’ He was still smiling. ‘Could we meet for dinner this evening?’
‘I have plans.’
‘Who with?’
‘None of your business. And, to be honest, I’m angry that you set that bore on me.’
‘Bore?’
‘Terence. Being here isn’t supposed to be some kind of punishment, you know.’
He put his hand out, as if to touch my elbow, and I stepped back.
‘And everyone keeps patting me. What is that for?’
He folded his arms. ‘Ted, I apologise if you feel Terence has been sent to talk to you on my behalf. I do think we should talk properly, clear the air. Do you have any free time tomorrow? I’d be happy to meet you for breakfast again, if that suits.’
‘Yes, breakfast will be fine.’ I felt magnanimous. He had something to say and I was allowing him to wait. It would eat me up to wait, but I had a feeling it would be worth it. I moved to go in.
‘Just one thing,’ he said. ‘I’d like you to be careful when you speak to Eva Mann. I saw you just now and I know that she’s good at getting very close to people. Whatever she promises you, she will want something in return.’
‘Have yo
u met her before?’
‘No,’ he hesitated, ‘we’ve never formally met. I have heard a lot about her.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Half eight?’
‘That’s fine.’ Twelve hours apart.
I walked past the Lubyanka on my way to the Metropol. It wasn’t as scary as the first time, as the setting sun made the windows bright orange. There were no shadows moving in the corners.
In the Metropol, Eva was waiting at a table next to a woman with dyed-auburn hair, an open bottle of wine and two glasses. I felt a jolt in my stomach. Ingrid was here. I would find out what Marku wanted to know about his sister, where Ana had gone.
Eva said, ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered for us, Ted. The food can take a little while, and I’m sure you have places to be.’
‘Thank you.’
I sat down at the table and got my first good look at Ingrid. I didn’t recognise her. Even adding a few years to the picture I’d been shown, she was unfamiliar to me. I would never have picked her from a crowd.
Eva looked pleased with herself. The woman, this Ingrid, looked as if she’d rather be anywhere else.
‘I’m going to translate.’ Eva repeated everything in Russian. Ingrid asked something. Eva answered and Ingrid nodded. ‘She just asked if you spoke any Russian.’
Ingrid was keeping her eyes down on the tablecloth. Her hands were clasped together, as if in prayer. She mumbled something.
‘Ingrid regrets that she cannot stay for a meal as she has a prior appointment. She is happy to answer any questions. What would you like to know?’
I felt I was taking advantage. Her head bowed, Ingrid was as unhappy as I had ever seen anyone. Eva said something, and she lifted her face to me, still looking at the table. She was terrified. I would make it quick and let her get out of here.
‘I heard of a girl that was taken from her family in Bucharest, Ana. She was ill and a German doctor said she’d take her for treatment in a German Sanatorium. They never saw her again. I wondered if you knew anything.’
The Starlings of Bucharest Page 17