‘It could be a mistake, I suppose,’ said Dmitri, disappointed.
‘No, no, she seems to be there all right. But not under the name you gave.’
‘Shumin?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Her real name’s Semeonova.’
And then, as that didn’t seem to register either:
‘The women called her Anya.’
‘Yes, that’s the one. She seems to be there, all right. But there’s some bother about the name.’
‘Well, yes, you could certainly say that.’
‘Basically, it’s: If you want to see Shumin, you can’t, but if you want to see Anya, you can.’
‘I’m not following this,’ said Dmitri. ‘They’re the same person.’
‘Well, I’m not following this either. All I know is, you’ve got to say which it is you want to see: Shumin or Anya?’
‘Well, Anya, of course.’
‘All right, then. That should be OK.’
Methodosius went off, leaving Dmitri bewildered.
The following night, however, things went ahead. Shortly after midnight Dmitri descended the stairs from his room and emerged into the yard. Despite the lateness of the season a thin, powdery snow had fallen and covered the yard. Snow was still sifting down. On his face the flakes seemed slight flecks, but against the lantern in the yard they seemed big spots, as if it intended to snow seriously.
Two men slipped out of the shadows and fell in alongside him.
‘This way, Your Excellency.’
They led him not towards the main gate but to a little gate in one of the side walls. It was slightly ajar and all they had to do was pull it open and then close it again, almost, behind them.
They walked across the road, their feet crunching in the snow. Dmitri was worried about the noise; worried, too, about the footprints they would leave. The snow was still falling heavily. Perhaps it would cover their tracks. The men didn’t seem bothered.
They went up the road, past the women’s prison and then on to a smaller, palisaded building that Dmitri had not really taken in before. The men went straight round to the back of the building and found a door, open as the previous one had been. They went through. The building, a large wooden one, was just ahead of them.
The men looked at each other, for the first time uncertain. Then one of them approached the wall of the building and began working his way along it.
He stopped and signalled. They went over to join him. There was a chink between the logs through which came a faint, yellowy light. Dmitri bent down and looked through.
Inside were beds, arranged in separate rows. There were tables beside some of the beds and on the tables were candles. On one table someone was lighting up an old silvery ikon. There were other ikons about the place but he couldn’t see them as well. Beside the one he could see, a man was lying in a bed. His chest and head were heavily bandaged and he was holding a crucifix in his hands. Dmitri could now see the other beds. There were people in them, all bandaged.
One of the men with him tapped lightly on the logs. When nothing happened, he tapped again.
There came an answering tap further along the wall. One of Dmitri’s companions moved towards it. In the darkness Dmitri could just make out his hand, beckoning.
He went to join him. The chink here was bigger.
Dmitri bent down and looked. Through the chink he saw a mass of silvery blonde hair.
‘Anna Semeonova?’
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other side.
‘Who are you?’
‘Kameron,’ he said. ‘Examining Magistrate at the Court House at Kursk. You saw me there. We spoke, if you remember.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Looking for you.’
There was a long silence.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘Why are you coming like this? Working with … them?’
‘I had to. Look, I’ll explain later. What I wanted to do was establish that you were here. It’s been difficult – ’
‘What do you want?’ said the girl.
‘Want? To get you out, of course. To take you back to Kursk.’
‘How do I know?’
‘How do you know? Well, for God’s sake, you can recognize me, can’t you? Can you see me through the hole?’ Dmitri moved his head back and let the light play on his face. ‘You can recognize my voice. You know who I am. What else would I be doing?’
There was another long silence, so long that he applied his eye again to the chink and saw again the mass of silvery blonde hair.
‘How can I be sure?’
Dmitri was taken aback. What else would he be doing? She must be daft or something. Then he upbraided himself. Not daft, but confused. Understandably, quite understandably, confused. Who wouldn’t be? After all these weeks. And after all that had no doubt happened to her. And then the circumstances! Dead of night, a man at a hole in the wall claiming to be Examining Magistrate at the Court House at Kursk!
‘Look, I know what you must have been through – ’
‘Do you?’ she said. ‘Do you?’
‘I’ve got a pretty good idea. But it’s all over now. You can come back with me – ’
‘How do I know it’s not a trap?’
‘Trap? Why should it be a trap?’
She did not answer. At least, not directly. Instead, she said:
‘Who are you? Who did you say you were?’
‘Dmitri Kameron. Examining Magistrate at Kursk. You met me, if you remember.’
‘Whose side are you on?’
‘Whose side am I on?’
It was that question again. Only this time, Dmitri knew, he would have to answer it differently from the way he had done to himself when deliberating in the seclusion of his room.
‘You can trust me,’ he said.
‘But can I?’ she said. ‘After …’
‘You have been through some terrible things. All that is now at an end. I am here to take you home to your parents. You are quite safe with me.’
Again there was a silence.
‘Who did you say you were?’
Oh, God, thought Dmitri. What’s happened to her?
‘Kameron. Dmitri Kameron. You met me – ’
‘No, no,’ she said. ‘The other bit.’
‘Examining Magistrate? The Court House at Kursk?’
This time she didn’t say anything for so long that he looked again to see if she was still there.
‘I’ve come to take you home,’ he said gently.
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s better if I stay here.’
‘Anna Semeonova!’
‘I’m not Anna Semeonova. Not any more.’
‘Shumin, then …’
‘Nor Shumin either. Least of all, Shumin.’
‘Then …?’
‘I’m Marya Serafimovna now. Yes, Marya Serafimovna.’
Dmitri left, convinced she was off her head.
10
‘Marya Serafimovna?’ said Timofei. ‘But – ’
‘Well?’ said the Scarfaces eagerly.
‘Well, what?’ said Dmitri ungraciously. He needed to think things over.
‘You saw them, didn’t you?’
‘Saw who?’
‘Them in the ward.’
Dmitri considered. He had certainly seen some people in the ward.
‘I saw them, yes.’
‘So?’
‘So what?’
‘Bandages,’ prompted Single-scar. ‘Were there bandages?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, then.’
‘Well, then, what?’
Single-scar sighed.
‘You don’t get bandages with typhoid, do you?’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘Nor with any other fever. Smallpox or something.’
‘Well, no.’
‘So what do you get them with?’
‘Wounds, I suppose. Wounds of some sort.’
‘Ther
e you are, then!’
‘You’re telling me that all those people there have been wounded?’
‘Well, they don’t put the bandages on for nothing, do they?’
‘How did they get wounded?’
Single-scar looked at him suspiciously.
‘I thought you knew that. I thought that maybe that was why you was here.’
‘Just tell me,’ said Dmitri.
Double-scar could wait no longer.
‘I was there, see,’ he said. ‘I saw it all. In fact, they would have bloody got me, only when I saw them loading the rifles I thought, bloody hell, that’s not for practice, and down I flops. I was away to the side anyway, so when it starts, away I rolls, and down a little bank and into some bushes and there I bloody stays until it’s finished. But I saw it, I saw it all.’
‘Let’s get this straight,’ said Dmitri, things clicking at last: ‘when did this happen? On the journey here?’
‘Yes. We were in them woods about two days’ walk from Tiumen. I don’t know how it was, whether somebody was trying to get away or something. But I don’t think it was that. They were standing there arguing and then the guards started unshipping their guns, and then I thought, bloody hell, this is getting serious. So down I flops.’
‘They opened fire?’
‘They opened and then they went on. They went on till they were all down. Every bloody one!’
‘I don’t call that right,’ said Single-scar. ‘You don’t need to do it to everyone, do you? One or two would do. I mean, that’s what you would expect. But to do it to them all, that’s not right, is it? I mean, that’s a bloody massacre!’
‘They went on till they was all down,’ said Double-scar. ‘They was all lying there. There was smoke all over the clearing, drifting, like a great cloud. I just lay there. I was in no hurry to move, I can tell you. Well, then they begins to go round, and I thought, Jesus! They’re going to finish them off! But they just sort of prodded them with their guns and stood around looking at each other, as if they didn’t know what to do next. Well, then an officer comes, and he says Jesus! You stupid bastards! and he looks at the sergeant and says “What are we going to do?” And the sergeant says: “Let’s put them on the carts. They’re sick, aren’t they? Let’s put them on the carts.”
‘So someone goes off to fetch the carts. It takes an age. And all the time they’re lying there, and I’m lying there – I’m not going to bloody move, I can tell you. Well, then the carts start coming and they begin to load them on. And the drivers, they’re ordinary muzhiks, you know, they don’t like it, and they say: “Aren’t you going to do anything for them?”
‘Well, then they go and fetch the doctor and he gets busy and after a while he says, “Christ, I can’t do it all myself, can I? Get someone to go with them on the carts and look after them till we get to Tiumen.” But the bit I don’t like is them groaning. I didn’t notice it at first. I’d still got the bangs in my ears and I was a bit stupid from it all. But then when they started putting them on the carts, and while they were still lying there, and afterwards when they’d loaded them and they were beginning to move away, I suddenly noticed it. The groaning. Christ, it was going on and on.’
‘That’s not right, is it?’ said Single-scar. ‘I mean, that’s not right.’
‘No, it’s not right,’ said Dmitri.
‘Well, I don’t know how many was killed. But with all them in the ward, all wounded, it stands to reason some of them must have been killed, doesn’t it? Well, I don’t know how many that was or what happened to them. They put them all on the carts. I just lay there till they was all gone and then I hopped out quick, I can tell you.’
‘They took them straight to the infirmary,’ said Single-scar. ‘They didn’t take them to the prison, like they normally do.’
‘They wanted to hush it up, see,’ said Double-scar. ‘They wanted to hush it up. But I don’t reckon you can hush up a thing like that, can you? Someone will know something and some time it’s going to get out.’
‘Yes, but you can hush it up for long enough,’ said Single-scar. ‘We thought they was going to get away with it. And then you came. We thought that someone back in St Petersburg had got wind of it and sent you. I mean, this cock-and-bull story about a girl! And then you didn’t exactly behave like, well, what you’d normally expect from a judge. So we thought – ’
‘You didn’t seem to be getting anywhere,’ said Double-scar. ‘So we thought maybe you needed a bit of help.’
‘Yes, well, I do,’ said Dmitri, brain whirling.
‘The fact is, we wanted to do something and we didn’t know how to set about it. “You need a bloody lawyer for that,” said Ivan. Well, I wasn’t so sure. I’ve seen a few lawyers in my time. I reckoned they wouldn’t be too keen to involve themselves in something like this. And then, how do you get hold of one? The right sort of one, I mean? And then you came along.’
‘We’ll pay. That’s what you’ve got to do with lawyers, isn’t it? I mean, we’d want to do this on the right basis. Do it properly. We’ll all club together and pay a bit into the Artel – I mean, it’ll be cigarettes and such, but you don’t need to worry about that. By the time it gets to you, it’ll be real money.’
‘Look, you don’t need – ’ began Dmitri.
‘No, no. We want to do it properly. Get a good lawyer, says Ivan. Well, I don’t know if you’re a good lawyer, you look a bit young to me, but you’re the only one around so I reckon you’ll have to do. How about it, then?’
‘It’s a deal,’ said Dmitri.
But first there were a few things, a few hundred things, to be worked out. Dazed, Dmitri went back to his room and tried to make sense of all the things that had happened to him in the last few days.
What they had said seemed incredible. But then, quite a lot of the things that had happened to him recently were incredible. Was it credible, for instance, that he, Dmitri Kameron, Examining Magistrate at the Court House at Kursk, should creep like a thief through the night and spy through a hole in the wall of a prison infirmary? Was it credible that he should have to break into prison in order to conduct his inquiries? Was the subject of his inquiries itself credible – a girl from a well-to-do family in the provinces sent into exile in Siberia apparently by accident? And was it credible that when at last, after considerable difficulties, she had been located, she would have refused to return home?
Yet he had seen the bandages himself. All right, that was not enough in itself to establish the truth of the Scarfaces’ assertions; there might simply have been a dreadful accident, a collision of carts, perhaps, or even some frightful explosion, which had resulted in injuries which had needed to be bandaged. It was something he would need to find independent evidence for. But one thing was certain, and he didn’t need independent evidence of that: the authorities were trying to hush up something.
Was that, however, any concern of his? Well, yes, it was, for in some way or other Anna Semeonova had got caught up in the business and the effort to hush things up had extended to her. It could even be, although at the moment he couldn’t quite see how, that whatever they were trying to keep quiet was bound up in some way with Anna Semeonova’s refusal to be repatriated.
So, yes, it was a concern of his, a proper subject for investigation. And since for the moment, for the life of him, he couldn’t see any way of making further progress on the Anna Semeonova affair, he would, yes, he would, give it some attention.
The first thing to do was to establish what had happened. Something had happened, there was no doubt about that, for afterwards the hospital carts, and the ward, had been full, so full that extra nursing help had had to be called in. Had shots been fired? That ought to be possible to establish. There must, after all, have been plenty of witnesses.
Here, however, Dmitri paused. Witnesses, there might be; but would he be able to get anything from them? The guards wouldn’t talk, they would be afraid of incriminating themselves, and they would have been ordere
d not to say anything, anyway. The victims were in the infirmary and at the moment he could not get access to them. The drivers of the hospital carts? Perhaps, but if they were anything like your average muzhik, centuries of experience would have taught them to lie low and say nothing.
Where, then, to start? The place itself? If shots had been fired, there should be some evidence of it. Although people would not talk, the place might.
So late in the spring, the snow that had fallen the night before had not stayed. Here and there beneath the trees there were white patches, but they were melting fast. What was left was mud, which flew up in a steady spray behind the wheels of the tarantas and was kicked up to the occasional disconcertment of the passenger by the hooves of the horses in front.
Dmitri had been obliged to travel by tarantas because at this time of year there was no other vehicle available. The tarantas was a large, heavy, four-wheeled wagon with a boat-shaped body resting on two long poles which ran fore and aft connecting the front axle with the rear axle and serving to some extent as springs. The driver sat sideways on the edge of the carriage in front of the passenger and drove three horses harnessed abreast.
Once the horses had got up speed they could maintain about six miles an hour. At that rate it would take three hours to get to the nearest post station and the place where the massacre had occurred was, according to the Artel, two miles beyond that. He should be able to manage the whole journey, there and back, within the day.
The horse express service, which had supplied the tarantas, was a private company and he had had no difficulty in hiring transport. At this time of year there wasn’t much demand for its services and the company’s agent at Tiumen had been only too glad to supply Dmitri with horses and driver. The driver, possibly, had been less keen, but then he had not been consulted.
‘Muddy,’ said Dmitri conversationally, once they had got into the forest.
‘More comfortable,’ said the driver.
‘Comfortable?’ said Dmitri, thrown continuously from one side of the vehicle to the other by its heavy jolting.
‘Softer ground,’ said the driver. ‘You should come in the summer. Or the winter,’ he added.
‘Thanks,’ said Dmitri. ‘I won’t.’
Dmitri and the Milk-Drinkers Page 14