by Smith, Dan
Oksana looked back at me with hate in her eyes, an expression that warned me not to underestimate her. She had expected the surrender of the soldiers to result in her freedom from me, but I wasn’t going to release her just yet. That would have to wait until tomorrow, until I had finally confronted Krukov and learned the whereabouts of my family. While I waited, I would have to contend with not just the soldiers, but also an angry and desperate mother.
Anna had retreated to the far corner of the room, the only place where the light did not fully reach. She must have sought refuge there when the men righted the table, and she sat on the floor, arms hugging her knees. As soon as our eyes met, there was a noticeable change in her demeanour. She sat straighter, raising her head, widening her eyes in a more hopeful attitude. She changed from a frightened child to a more confident, expectant one. She was a spirited and resilient girl.
I went to her, crouching beside her so that I was facing into the room. I didn’t want to display too much affection or she might be seen as my weakness, so I resisted the urge to put my arm around her, just as I had resisted the urge to hurry to her when I entered the house. With my back to the others, though, my left hand was out of sight, and I let it brush against hers in an act of reassurance.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked, whispering so the Chekists would not hear my concern.
‘Yes.’ Anna responded to my attempt to comfort her by pinching my fingertips in her own. She held them lightly, as if she understood that I wanted to conceal it, and turned her face to look up at me. ‘Are you?’
I was warmed by seeing her face. Looking into her eyes like that made me feel less cruel. More justified.
‘I’m fine,’ I told her, feeling a vague smile cross my lips. It was such a simple thing, for her to ask me if I was all right, but it meant so much. No one had asked me that in a long time and it made me feel good. ‘Thank you for asking.’
She smiled back, but it was not a natural smile – it was an expression of support and communication, and I couldn’t help but reach out and put my hand on the back of her head. It was instinctive and felt right, but as soon as I realised I had done it, that I was about to take off her cap and kiss the top of her head, I took my hand away and glanced at the soldiers sitting at the table.
Ryzhkov was facing us, watching us like a snake, and he nodded once in acknowledgement.
‘No one hurt you or said anything to you?’ I asked, eyes still on Ryzhkov.
Anna shook her head.
‘Did you see what happened outside?’
‘No.’
‘And did you hear anything we said?’
‘Not really. Some. Who are those men?’
‘Soldiers.’
‘I can see that.’
Again, I felt myself smile and I looked down at her. ‘I think they might be able to help me find my family.’
‘Marianna,’ she said. ‘That’s good.’ Then her face fell as though she was thinking about something serious.
‘What is it?’
‘When you find them . . . will you still . . . ? What will happen to me? Will you still want me?’
I felt a fist tighten round my heart for this poor, lonely child. ‘Of course I will. There’s no question about that. You’re my daughter now.’
Anna turned her eyes to the floor and nodded to herself as if arranging her thoughts. She was tough, but she was young and saw the world in a different way. She didn’t understand the conflicts of adults. She knew right from wrong, good from bad, but the shades of the many colours that lay between were difficult for her to fathom. Experience told her that adults could lie; that they could do awful things.
‘I’m telling you the truth, you know that, right?’
‘Yes. I know,’ she said.
There was movement by the pich and I glanced up, seeing the children’s faces still at the edge of the berth. Just below them, Oksana was looking in my direction, watching Anna and me. Her expression had changed now; it was no longer laced with hatred. There was something else there instead, but I wasn’t sure what it was. It might have been pity or even sadness, but there was also a trace of what looked like guilt. The same expression that had been on Sergei’s face.
There was still something I was missing. Something was happening here that I hadn’t understood.
‘Why is he staring like that?’ Anna whispered.
‘Hmm? Who?’
‘That man,’ she said, leaning in to me. ‘The soldier.’
I turned my attention to the main part of the room and saw right away what she was talking about.
The men at the table said nothing. They sat with their hands on the surface, as Tanya had instructed, and they each had their faces turned to Ryzhkov. They waited for him.
But he was watching us.
When our eyes met, he nodded as he had done before, but there was something different about him now. Perhaps it was a trick of the flickering lamplight, but there was a hint of malevolence in his face and an intensity to his stare. Something about the unblinking way he watched us reminded me of Tuzik when he had caught the scent of new prey.
He was alert but relaxed. Confident. There was an air of superiority about him that I hadn’t seen before, and there was a hint of a smile on his lips.
‘I suppose he’s curious about us,’ I said. ‘About me.’
‘Are you going to hurt him?’
‘I don’t think so, but don’t you worry about that.’ I started to get up. ‘You just stay here and keep out of trouble.’ I touched the tip of her nose. ‘Can you do that?’
She put a hand to her head and saluted, saying, ‘Yes, Commander,’ and I felt a stab of panic. She told me she hadn’t heard what we said outside, that she hadn’t seen what happened.
‘Why did you say that?’ I asked. ‘Why did you salute?’
‘I don’t know. I just . . . Should I not do it?’
‘No.’ I relaxed. It was just a childish action, nothing to do with who I was. ‘No, it’s fine. Just stay where you are. Keep safe.’
She showed me that smile again before I left her.
The men at the table had the quality of battle-hardened soldiers. Outside, they had been concealed in darkness, but now, in the light, they couldn’t hide themselves. Their tunics were ingrained with the blood and dirt of war, but their faces were wiped clean and scrubbed hard, as if they’d recently had the opportunity to wash themselves. Their beards were scraped away, leaving pale patches around their cheeks and chins where they had been protected first from the sun and then from the bitter winds of early winter. But despite their cleanliness, they carried the look of men who had seen fighting. Not as the ordinary soldier might have seen it, but something much more sinister. It might have been because I already knew that they had followed Krukov and because I had witnessed what they had done, but they had the distant, uncaring and arrogant look of men who had known the worst humanity had to offer. I had witnessed the same bearing in small units that had committed some of the basest atrocities. Inhuman men who had lost any notion of right and wrong. Men on the verge of insanity.
These men here were the men who had flayed skin from flesh, crucified and tortured. These were the men who had pressed the branding iron bearing the red star, and it had all been done under Krukov’s orders.
I wondered which of them had been in Belev, which of them had branded the people I knew, and how it must have been for them to follow a man like Krukov, to obey his orders for fear of the most terrible punishment, to kill until they became numb and uncaring. Perhaps even until they came to enjoy it. I could not trust these men, would never be able to trust them. They were Krukov’s; bound to him by their actions, and nothing I could do would break that bond.
And now they sat and awaited their fate, all eyes on Ryzhkov, the man who had assumed leadership of this part of the unit while they waited for their commander to return.
‘So what’s your plan?’ Ryzhkov asked as I approached. His voice was even, and still he watched me wit
h that hungry look. I hadn’t noticed it outside, where the light was sparse, but now I wondered how I could have missed the intensity of those fierce eyes. There was a sense that he was brooding beneath the surface; that his compliance with me was only temporary and that he would strike as soon as he saw an opportunity. ‘You must have a plan, Commander.’
Tanya stood by the door to the room where the weapons were stored, watching me with a disappointed look in her eyes.
‘What would you do?’ I asked him, trying not to be distracted by the way Tanya now felt about me.
Ryzhkov answered without hesitation. ‘I’d make myself as strong as possible – arm your men and wait for Krukov to come back.’
‘You mean you?’
‘Of course.’ He said it as if there could be no question about it. ‘Arm us, ambush him when he returns and find out where he took your family.’
‘My family? What makes you think I’m looking for my family?’
Ryzhkov raised his eyebrows. ‘ “I’m just a man who wants his family back.” That’s what you said to her before.’ He nodded at Tanya. ‘Or something like it. And when you asked about prisoners, you mentioned women and children, so . . . I put those things together and . . .’ He opened his hands and smiled.
‘Fingers laced together,’ Tanya said.
‘Oh. Sorry.’ Ryzhkov clasped his hands and smiled, pointing one of his fingers at her. ‘You, on the other hand, are looking for something else. You didn’t ask about prisoners, but you wanted to know about Krukov, and the look on your face when you found out about him –’ his finger moved in my direction ‘– well, I’d say you’re not keen on Bolsheviks. Revenge? Is that it?’
‘Don’t arm these men,’ she said to me. ‘You can’t arm them. It wouldn’t be safe.’
‘How do I know I’m safe from you?’ he asked, keeping his gaze on her. ‘You’re the one who’s armed. You’re the one who hates Bolsheviks.’
‘You don’t know anything about me.’ Tanya bristled, her knuckles white round the handle of her pistol.
‘That’s right – I don’t.’ Ryzhkov addressed me now, speaking in that calm tone, as if trying to hypnotise me. ‘Who is this woman anyway, Commander? She doesn’t look like a patriot to me. Do you trust her?’
‘More than I trust you.’
Ryzhkov smiled and shook his head. ‘I’m your comrade,’ he said. ‘We’re brothers.’
‘No, we’re not brothers.’
The smile fell away in an instant. ‘Where is your brother?’ he asked. ‘Did he die in Ulyanov, or did he run with away with you? Alek. That’s his name, isn’t it?’
It took me by surprise to hear him talk about Alek and I felt at a disadvantage. Ryzhkov knew more about me than I did about him.
‘Did he die?’ Ryzhkov stood, pushing back his chair. ‘Is that what happened to him?’
‘Sit down.’ Tanya stiffened.
Ryzhkov snapped his head round to look at her. His expression intensified, becoming angry. He lifted his hands, still clasped together, and pointed at Tanya. He stood that way for a moment, arms trembling, before he controlled himself and lowered his hands.
‘Don’t let her give me orders,’ he said. ‘You’re my commander, not her. You are in charge, not this woman.’
‘Sit down,’ I told him.
He ignored me, leaning forward and separating his hands to put his palms flat on the table. ‘They all said you were such a good commander. Fair, they said. It’s what I expected from you.’
‘Sit down.’
Ryzhkov stood straight and stared right at me, raising his voice, challenging me. ‘Why won’t you trust me? We’re brothers.’
‘You’re not my brother.’ I felt my anger rise. I had kept it inside for so long, suffered every mental and physical hardship, trying to keep it all at bay while I did the right thing for Anna, for Tanya and Lyudmila, and for my family, but now I felt it consuming me. It burned in me, and Ryzhkov’s words only fuelled that fire. The way he looked at me, the way he spoke, everything about him needled me, pushed under my skin. ‘You could never be my brother. The things you did for Krukov. You might have been one of the men in Belev. Maybe you murdered those men and threw the women into the lake. Maybe you dragged my wife from our home.’
‘We had no choice,’ Ryzhkov argued.
‘There’s always a choice.’
‘You’re wrong. With Koschei, there was never a choice. If you disobeyed . . .’ He shook his head and grinned as he drew a finger across his throat. ‘You know how easy it is to do that? Well, of course you do. There’s a war; people die all the time. You’ve killed your share.’
‘Women drowned?’ I said. ‘Children taken away? That’s not war. That’s just—’
‘You did those things.’
‘No. Not like that.’
‘What about all the people you killed at Grivino?’
‘I was fighting for my life. I never skinned a man alive, never branded anyone, never—’
‘Then why did you join the Cheka? You always knew what it was.’ He made a fist and held it out to me. ‘Fear. That’s what the Cheka is. Fear. To drive the enemy into the shadows.’ His face reddened as blood flowed to his cheeks.
‘The enemy?’ I said. ‘No one knows what that even means anymore.’
‘I know,’ he said, slamming his fist on the table. ‘I know. Anyone who opposes the revolution. We are the heroes who keep it from failing.’
‘The revolution? The revolution was supposed to make us all equal. That’s what we forgot. The same people still suffer. And there’s nothing heroic about taking food from the mouths of children. What kind of shit has Krukov been spinning for you? Can’t you men think for yourselves anymore?’
Ryzhkov fell silent, the colour fading from his face. He sighed and shook his head. ‘You disappoint me, Commander. I thought you were better – a true patriot.’
‘I am a patriot,’ I said, ‘but men like Krukov are tearing this country apart, using the war as an excuse to commit the worst crimes. You think calling himself Koschei is patriotic?’ My anger was hitting its peak now. ‘You know how far I’ve come? What I’ve seen?’ My voice was growing louder. ‘How my eyes have been opened? I’ve seen the trail of horror men like Krukov leave behind them. The things he gets his men to do – men like you and the four at this table. My wife and sons taken away. So many dead and . . . I saw a woman stuffed into a barrel and left to drown. Did you put her there? Did you . . . ?’ I took a deep breath and closed my eyes tight as I tried to calm myself. I knew how Commander Orlov felt now. Useless. Unable to change anything.
When I looked at Tanya, she said nothing, but her surprise was undeniable. She had never seen me like this. Anna cowered in the far corner as if seeing me as a new person. Sergei and his wife sat with confused expressions on their faces, but they were not looking at me; they were looking at Ryzhkov. Oksana appeared horrified by what I had said, disturbed by the monstrous things she now knew these men had done.
Ryzhkov stared past me, looking at Oksana, shaking his head. Then he smiled at me. He stepped back from the table and rubbed a hand across his head. ‘You know what I remember about you?’ He looked at the men seated round the table. ‘You know what I remember about this man? About Nikolai Levitsky?’ He waited, as if he expected one of them to reply, but they remained silent.
‘We were tracking deserters,’ he said. ‘Someone reported a deserter in some shitty village in the middle of nowhere. This was my first day with him. The great Nikolai Levitsky. Order of the Red Banner. The deserter who hunted deserters.’ He stood with his back to the front door and looked at his boots as if trying to order the story straight in his mind.
‘You should sit down,’ I said, feeling the weight of the revolver in my hand.
‘Should I?’ Ryzhkov raised his voice and snapped his head up, taking me by surprise. ‘Should I? No, I think I’d rather stand when I tell this story. You’re disappointing me, Comrade Commander. I expected more from you. The way
you’re judging me after the things you’ve done. Don’t you remember how you shot that old man? Sitting up there on your horse and the old man came forward, pleading with you, and you shot him in the face. It was magnificent.’
‘He was armed,’ I said.
‘I don’t remember it that way. I remember a poor old man begging you to spare his son, and you shot him like you were swatting a fly. And what was it you said after that? Oh yes. “Hang his son.” You were magnificent. Magnificent.’
‘No. I was doing my job. The old man was armed, and his son was a deserter.’
‘Yes, you were doing your job, and it was an inspiration to see. You said that we had to pull out the weeds to make the crop grow strong – that’s what you told us – and I knew exactly what you meant. You were so right, and it felt good when I threw the rope over the tree. And when we hauled that boy up and watched him struggle at the end of the rope, his feet kicking, didn’t you feel it too?’
‘He was not a boy; he was a soldier,’ I said.
‘A deserter, like you. A weed that needed to be pulled out. He struggled for a good few minutes, you know. It wasn’t quick.’
‘He was a deserter who murdered two men. Two good soldiers with families.’
‘What difference does that make?’
‘It makes all the difference.’ I stared at him, this vile and misguided creature, wondering if it really could have been me who created the man who led these soldiers to Belev. But he had made me look at myself again, reminded me who I had been, who I was now and how my beliefs had changed. The anger slipped away, smothered by other feelings of guilt and denial and realisation. I was questioning myself, my former actions, knowing I had found excuses for them then, just as I was trying to do now. I didn’t know if I was a product of my time or if my time was a product of men like me, men like Krukov and these soldiers in front of me. Men who can use twisted and misinterpreted beliefs to vindicate their most base actions. ‘It makes—’
‘No. A deserter is a deserter. That’s why I was so let down by you. When we realised you weren’t dead, that it was all a trick . . .’ He sneered at me. ‘You were such a disappointment. I thought you were so righteous, so solid. Such a patriot. The things you said, the things I’d heard about you. I was honoured to join you, honoured.’ He spat the word, then stopped. He looked down and sighed. ‘But in the end, you were nothing more than a coward and a traitor who lied about what he believed in.’