by Smith, Dan
‘No.’ He shook his head and looked about. ‘No, that can’t be right. We came from there. Fighting the Greens . . . Or was it the Blues? I can never remember.’
‘Do you know Koschei?’ I asked him.
‘Koschei?’ He looked confused. ‘Why do you—’
‘Do you know him?’
‘From the skazka? You want me to tell you a story?’ His voice was thick with sarcasm.
‘Or do you mean the man?’ A voice spoke beside me and I turned to look at the young soldier who was staring into the forest. His face was streaked with blood, and his uniform was caked with dirt, but he didn’t appear to be wounded. He continued to look into the trees while running his fingers through the dark hair of the man resting his head in his lap.
‘Yes,’ I said, moving closer to him. ‘Yes. The man. Do you know who he is?’
‘No.’ He turned his head but still didn’t seem to be looking at me. His eyes were vacant, as if unseeing. ‘But I’ve heard of him.’
‘How? What do you know?’
‘That he’s like the devil. They say he boiled a priest and made the monks eat the soup.’
‘What?’
‘Stas would have told you. He knew him.’
‘Stas?’
The soldier looked down at the man lying in his lap. ‘He died on the train.’
I shifted and reached out to touch the dead man. I knelt in the dirt and hefted him so that his face was to the sky. The young soldier made no move to help, but also made no complaint.
I brushed the dead man’s hair away from his face and recognised him straight away.
‘Dotsenko,’ I whispered.
Now the soldier looked at me. He leaned in so his foul breath was in my face. ‘You knew him?’
I took my hand away from Stanislav Dotsenko’s body, wondering how he had come to be on this train. ‘I fought with him.’
‘You fought with him?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you’re a—’
‘Did he say a name?’ I asked. ‘Did he say who Koschei is?’
‘Nikolai Levitsky,’ the man whispered.
‘What?’ The shock of hearing my own name was like being charged with electricity. Any regret or sadness I felt for Stanislav Dotsenko was shattered and I was suddenly aware of everything around me. My senses heightened, as if I saw better, heard better. But he couldn’t have said my name. I must have misheard. ‘What did you say?’
‘Nikolai Levitsky.’
‘No.’ I sat back. ‘No. That’s not right.’ I looked around, hoping no one else had heard it. From having been just another man in a crowd of men, I now felt singled out. I knew it wasn’t so, but it was as if all eyes and thoughts were on me.
‘He didn’t say that Koschei is Nikolai Levitsky,’ I pressed him. ‘Tell me he didn’t say that.’
‘He didn’t say that.’
‘Then what did he say?’
‘He said that someone called Levitsky let it happen.’
‘What?’ His accusation was somehow even worse: that I could have somehow unchained this monster.
‘Levitsky made Koschei. He let him loose, is what he said. It didn’t make any sense, but he kept saying it, over and over, and that he was sorry.’
‘What for?’
‘How should I know? I hardly knew him. He just needed someone to die on.’
A comrade to share his last minutes. None of us wants to die alone. I could understand that, but not the meaning of his final words. How could I have been responsible for Koschei? How could I have had anything to do with his actions?
I grabbed the soldier’s lapels with both hands and shook him, pulling him so close that our noses touched.
‘What’s his name?’ I asked. ‘Who is Koschei?’
‘I don’t know.’ The soldier displayed no fear. No emotion. No resistance. His expression remained blank, as if I were shaking a doll. ‘I don’t know.’
I released him, pushing him away so that he fell back and Stanislav slipped from his lap. I looked down at the dead soldier and felt the sting of shame and anger that now followed me wherever I went, always festering just beneath the surface. I stood and backed off, suddenly wanting to be away from here, back out on the steppe, just as I had done when I found the place of bones close to Belev. I took a deep breath and controlled myself, made myself remain calm. I didn’t want to attract attention. I wanted to slip back among the trees and go to Kashtan, find comfort in her companionship. I wanted to see Anna’s small, pale face and know there was something better in this world. I wanted to press on in search of my beautiful Marianna and my growing boys.
As I turned to pick my way back through the mass of the dead and the dying, though, I found my way obstructed by the commander who had noticed me earlier.
He looked me up and down as if to highlight my lack of uniform. ‘Who are you?’ he asked. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m a doctor,’ I said.
‘There are no doctors on this train.’
‘And yet here I am.’
‘So where are your . . . your things? Your bag. Your medicines.’
‘Stolen,’ I said, looking back in pretence. ‘I put them down and now they’re gone.’
‘Do you want me to find them? We can turn these men inside out and—’
‘No.’ I put out my hands. ‘Please. That’s not necessary. Don’t you think these men have suffered enough, Comrade Commander?’
‘Most definitely. Thank you.’ The soldier cast his eyes over the sea of men and sighed. ‘The division commander is wounded,’ he said. ‘If you’re a doctor, you can fix him.’
‘I have no—’
‘We have supplies in the division commander’s cabin.’
I had to think quickly. I had to get away.
‘What about these other men?’ I turned and swept my arm about me, taking the chance to peer into the forest and make sure Lev and Anna were well hidden. ‘They need a doctor too.’
‘More than the division commander does?’ His voice darkened and he stepped closer to me. ‘Do I need to remind you that—’
‘No,’ I said, turning back to him. ‘Of course not, Comrade Commander.’
He stiffened his back and pushed out his chest as he stared at me. ‘Then come with me,’ he said. ‘Now.’
I didn’t have time for this; there were men pursuing me, and ahead, time might be running out for my family if they were still alive. I was trapped here in the middle, but I had no choice other than to follow him. Although I was armed, my revolver heavy in my pocket, he was surrounded by men who would do his bidding without a second thought. Questioning orders in this people’s army could result in the most severe of penalties.
I risked another glance back at the forest to reassure myself that Lev and Anna were still hidden by the mist and the trees; then I did as I had been ordered.
The commander led me to the blind carriage directly behind the engine and we stepped through the steam that billowed from the undercarriage. He moved to one side, instructing me to climb aboard, so I pulled myself onto the steps and waited for him to follow and open the door into the car.
The interior was basic. Slatted plank walls, some of them reinforced with more wood nailed into place at random. The outer sides of the carriage were clad with welded metal plates, but the designer had clearly not anticipated attack from below because the floor had been left as it was. Some light crept through the firing slits cut into the walls, and yet more found its way through the cracks in the floorboards. Looking down, I could see the track below us. Benches lined the walls, and there were still one or two soldiers occupying places on them, but there was, by no means, a full complement of men aboard.
The men looked up at us as we came in, but paid us no more attention than that, going back to rolling cigarettes and drinking tea from metal cups.
In the centre of the carriage, an iron stove burned, warming the air to an almost bearable temperature, but the chimney, which fed through the roof, was cracked in pl
aces, and grey smoke swirled in the draught that cut in through the firing slits. The scent of burning wood and coal and decay was thick and sweet, almost covering the unwashed smell of the countless soldiers who had sat in here.
The inside of the carriage was stunted, though, smaller than it had looked from the outside, and I realised right away that it had been separated into two compartments.
‘There,’ the commander said, pushing past and marching to the door at the far end of the car, his boots clicking on the wooden floor.
I hesitated, glancing at the men seated on the benches, then followed, making my way past the stove and the pile of loose coal on the floor. The commander knocked on the door as I reached him and pushed it open without waiting for an answer.
‘Doctor for you, Division Commander Orlov,’ he said, ushering me in. Then he backed out and closed the door behind me.
There was the same odour of smoke and decay in here, but the room was more comfortable than the one I had just walked through. The bench at the side of this compartment was cushioned and upholstered with red fabric. There were no windows or firing slits here. Instead the walls were adorned with colourful maps of the Tambov area, nailed to the woodwork. Fingers of natural light filtered up through the cracks in the floorboards, smoke and dust swirling and eddying like magic in its glow.
In the far corner a small stove, this one in full working order, and beside it a stool with a colourful samovar balanced on it. In the centre of the compartment there was a table laid with maps and papers, a collection of used glasses, a lamp, a bottle of vodka and a pistol.
The large man who sat behind the table was Division Commander Orlov, whom I knew by reputation and had met once, a long time ago. I hoped he would not recognise me and was glad for the hat and scarf to cover my face.
Everything about him seemed square, from his shoulders to his chest and his short legs, and he would have been powerful in his youth, sturdy and well built, but he had aged a lot since I had last seen him. There was a beaten look about him now; a strained weariness reflected from him, filling the room. His hair was cropped close to his head, but there was little growth there anyway, and his cheeks were shaved clean. He still had the thick moustache I remembered, dropping at the corners of his mouth and pointing to the edge of his square jaw, except now the whiskers had turned from black to grey.
Commander Orlov leaned back in his chair, tunic open to reveal a dirty white shirt beneath, with his right foot propped on a stool. He wore no boot on that foot, and the material of his trousers had been split to the waist so that it hung loose to display the wound that festered in the meat of his calf.
A young soldier knelt on the floor, fumbling with a collection of medical supplies. Unravelling a bandage, it was clear the boy had no idea what he was doing.
Behind the commander, hanging on the wall, a clock told me it was just after ten, but it had to be at least midday by now.
‘So you’re a doctor?’ Orlov said, looking up and beckoning me over. ‘I didn’t know we had any doctors on this train.’
I pulled my hat down further and lowered my head.
‘When did you get on?’
I thought for a moment, trying to think where the train might have been coming from, where it might have stopped, but it would be dangerous for me to guess.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said, before I could answer. ‘We’ve picked up all manner of stragglers. Every time we stop, a whole lot more climb aboard. Don’t they know we’re going to hell?’ He slurred his words and I guessed the vodka on the table was his way of killing the pain. ‘Get over here before this boy keels over from the smell. He’s useless anyway.’
Orlov shooed the boy away with one hand and reached for his glass with the other. The boy stumbled past me, making me step back, and hurried from the compartment, closing the door behind him so that I was left alone with the commander. I stared at the door for a moment, hoping that Lev and Anna had stayed where they were; that they had done as I had instructed.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Fix me up.’
I turned and glanced around the carriage, my eyes settling on the pistol resting on the table for a second, then I approached the commander, pulling the other chair towards me and rummaging among the medical supplies. My fingers worked quickly as I looked for the supplies I needed to dress the wound. The sooner I was back with Lev and Anna, the better.
Close to the commander, the stink of his wound was nauseating, even through my scarf, and I tried to take only shallow breaths.
‘Take off your hat,’ Orlov said. ‘Let me see your face.’
Without looking at him, I reached up and removed my hat. I placed it on the floor beside me, continuing to search through the bandages and field dressings. Outside, the muffled calls of soldiers shouting orders was beginning to die down.
‘The scarf,’ he said, taking a drink from the dirty glass, slurping the liquid.
I pulled down the scarf and looked up at him, our eyes meeting. For a long moment he held that look, breathing heavily, running his tongue round his teeth. His face glistened with sweat, and his whole demeanour was that of a man struggling with a fever.
When he spoke, his lips were wet with vodka, and flecks of spittle fell onto his chin. ‘Do I know you?’
I shook my head.
‘We’ve never met?’
‘No, Comrade Commander.’
‘You look familiar.’ He drank again, staring at me over the rim of the glass as he drained it. He swallowed hard and wiped his sleeve across his mouth. ‘There was a time I never forgot a face.’ He shook his head and sniffed. ‘Now I see so many damned faces I don’t know how I ever remember any of them.’ He reached for the bottle and refilled his glass. ‘Most of them don’t live long anyway, so there’s no reason to remember them all, is there? But you . . .’ he said, pointing with the hand holding his drink. ‘For some reason I feel I should know you.’
‘I’m just a doctor,’ I said, leaning over and making a pretence of looking through the medical supplies. I was trying to decide what was my best course of action. I could dress the wound and leave – I knew how to do that, but he might decide to keep me as his personal physician. I could simply leave the carriage. Orlov was wounded, probably dying from the infection, so he was in no shape to come after me, but his pistol was close to hand; he could shoot me before I was at the door. I had my own revolver, but even if I could take it from my pocket before he could reach for his own, I couldn’t shoot him, not with soldiers just a few paces away, in the other part of the carriage. They would be in here in an instant, and when I was lying on the floor, bleeding and full of lead, I would have failed my children and my wife. Lev and Anna would be forced to continue into the forest alone.
I would have to overcome him silently, kill him without a sound if I were to escape from here unharmed. Perhaps I could reach the knife inside my coat, but I would have to be fast – his pistol was within easy reach.
In my contemplation, I had looked up without realising it and Orlov followed my attention, putting his hand over the pistol. He dragged it towards him and held it in his lap.
‘You’re not a doctor, are you?’
I stopped what I was doing.
‘You don’t even look like a doctor. Don’t act like one.’
I took my hand away from the supplies.
‘All the doctors I ever met were soft intellectuals. Weak and spongy men who never did a proper day’s work. Soft hands and waxy skin.’
I sat up and looked at him.
‘Not you, though. You move like a soldier – I saw that the second you stepped through that door. I’m not too old and blind to see that. Your hands have done too much work – killing work, I would say, judging by the way your fingers reach for the button of your coat. What do you have in there? A knife would be my guess. The pistol in your pocket would draw too much attention, but the knife . . . ah . . . that would be quiet, wouldn’t it?’
I hadn’t even noticed my hand move, but ther
e it was, ready to unfasten the button and reach inside for the blade.
‘But it’s your eyes that really tell me what you are.’ Orlov drained his glass once more. ‘It’s always the eyes that give it away. I can see your intent just by looking into them. I can see you sizing me up.’
He leaned over to put his glass on the table, then lifted the pistol, staring at it. ‘Pour us both a drink,’ he said, ‘but keep those killing hands where I can see them, eh? This wound in my leg makes me . . . twitchy. It shames me. I’ve been in more battles than I can count and this is where I get shot. It couldn’t have been the heart or the brain – a good clean death – it had to be here so I can die slowly while my men watch. I might as well have been shot in the arse.’
I reached across the table and put two glasses together, looking over to the side of the carriage, wishing I could see through the metal plating, beyond the crowds of men and to the place where Lev and Anna were hiding in the forest. I wanted to get back to them, to be on with our journey. I envied the connection they had to one another, and I had enjoyed what little of it they had been prepared to share with me so far. It had left me wanting more; to be with them, in the presence of warmth and love, rather than here where there was only death.
‘Something out there?’ Orlov’s voice snapped me back to the moment.
‘Hmm?’
‘You were looking at the window. Where there was a window anyway. Is there something out there demanding your attention?’
‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘No.’
Orlov watched me as if he didn’t believe me, pushing out his neck so that his face was closer to mine. He put two fingers to his eyes and narrowed them at me. ‘It’s all there,’ he said. ‘They give it all away.’ Then he leaned back again, wincing in pain and slapping his hand on the table.
‘Probably just as well you’re not a doctor,’ he said, recovering. ‘You’d only want to cut it off. The whole leg. To get rid of the infection, you’d say. Just . . .’ He made a sawing motion with one hand across the top of his thigh. ‘I’d only be half a man then, and what’s the point of that? What use would I be then? Maybe it’s just as well there are no doctors here – I’d have a train full of cripples.’