Radimir smiled. “It’s no great honor. They are just firing the entire old regime and hiring any comrade willing to serve. Trotsky made a waiter from a restaurant the head of one department since he spoke a little French.”
“You only studied art since you could walk,” Dina said.
Radimir turned to me. “My parents died when I was a baby and a museum curator and his wife adopted me. Lucky number thirteen child. So, museums babysat me a lot growing up.”
“Who knew staring at naked people in museums could get you a cushy job?” Dina said.
“It requires a lot of travel.”
“How terrible, having to go to Paris and Venice,” Erik said.
“And it is not easy keeping the rabble from destroying the paintings. They almost burned David and Jonathan.” He turned to me. “It shows Prince Jonathan and King David parting.”
“King David?” I asked.
“You don’t know King David?” Dina asked. “He was King of the Jews.”
“I’ve not seen that icon.”
Dina threw back her head and laughed. “We don’t have icons, Varinka. Have you never met Jews before? You do realize all three of us are Jewish?”
I looked at the floor, my face hot.
“Leave her alone, Dina,” Radimir said.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Dina said. “It’s understandable, you being from a small village.”
Radimir linked his arm with mine. “Only those in the Russian Orthodox Church worship their saints via icons. You should see the old ones in the tsar’s collection.”
“I’m not religious, really,” I said. “But my Mamka has the tsar on an icon.”
Erik finished his vodka in one gulp. “Well, he’s no saint, and we’re finally done with that limp prick, happy to say. Done with the tsarina, too, and Rasputin, the whole mess. No more murdering us in the streets and no more samogon. We’ll get our real vodka back.”
“What if the Germans win the war and we all become German?” I asked.
Erik laughed. “Might be preferable. Butter is up to ten rubles a pound. But hopefully we’ll fix our own wages now.”
“I heard we’ll all have pensions if the Bolsheviks win?”
“Lenin’s promising us the moon, of course,” Radimir said.
“At least the wealthy are feeling what it’s like to be hungry,” Dina said. “Don’t we deserve to eat?”
My thoughts went to serving dinner at the estate, the Streshnayvas’ tea table piled with enough food for the whole village. “It is true. But confusing.”
How good it was to talk about the state of affairs with someone honest, instead of Taras, who told me nothing.
Dina handed me a pamphlet. “You should come with us, Varinka, to hear Lenin lecture from his balcony opposite Peter and Paul Fortress. You will understand then. He’s speaking tonight—”
“No, I must get back.” The clock behind the bar read 6:45.
Radimir pulled me closer. “By eight o’clock. That’s a world of time. Come, sit with me.”
Dina handed me a pamphlet. “Just a little something I wrote.” Red Russia: Triumph of the Bolsheviks.
Radimir and I walked to a booth and sat side by side, so close our thighs touched.
“You have such an important job.”
“Never would have happened under the tsar. He employed his rich friends. And hated Jews of course.”
“Because they’re taking all of Russia’s money?”
“That’s his sick propaganda, don’t you see? For years, he has spread lies about us. He’s not the great ‘little father’ he pretended to be, using his pretty family to curry favor with the people. Putting them on every postcard and picture book to distract from his evil ways.”
“But his daughters were good people.”
“Maybe so, but their parents used them to promote an image of goodness and piety that was not true. So many innocent Jews died at his hand.” Radimir shrugged. “I suppose he had to have someone to blame for his failures. But I’m just happy we’re preserving Russia’s great art. Poetry and art are the first things to perish in times like these.”
How smart he was. Surely, he would find me dull.
A waiter lit our candle and Radimir ordered us boiled eggs, black bread, and two vodkas.
“I’ve never had a drink of that,” I said.
“Time to start.”
“I cannot stay long.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll have you back soon.”
Radimir played with his glass. “I have a confession to make. I saw you come into the hotel lobby.”
I tried to hide my smile.
“I went to every floor looking for you. Glad I came along when I did.” He slid closer to me and brushed a stray lock of hair back off my cheek. “What happened to your face here?”
“I had an accident. Ironing.”
He kissed the tips of his fingers and touched my burn just as Max had, with such care.
“Dangerous pursuit, ironing.”
My eyes watered at his kindness.
The waiter came with the vodka bottle and two glasses and set them on the table.
Radimir leaned closer. “You have a pretty smile, you know. Makes me want to kiss you.”
“I’ve never kissed a boy.”
“Really? I don’t believe it. But that’s good for me. Nothing to compare me to.”
Radimir poured vodka into both glasses. “Few girls have let me kiss them, of course, but I’ve studied the art from books and at the cinema.”
I smiled. It was my turn not to believe him.
“Seems there are three things to remember.” He threw back his vodka.
I looked at the clear liquid in my glass, took a breath, and swallowed it all.
“Very good, Varinka. You have promise.”
I set my empty glass on the table. “Tell me the three things.”
He smiled and looked away for a moment. “Well, number one is never go in cold. You must warm up.” He touched the side of my neck with his fingers. “The great ones tease a bit. Maybe brush your lips across this spot just here.” He sent his fingers along the curve of my jaw. “Or here.”
I tingled all over. Was it the vodka?
“And then?”
He moved closer and took my chin in his hand to bring my gaze to his. “Part two is a good one. You must look deep into the other person’s eyes. Maybe you’ll see vulnerability. Or fear. Love, if you’re lucky.”
His eyes shone in the candlelight. What a nice color they were, green as his jacket.
He kept his gaze locked on mine. “Take your time here because that makes part three even better.”
I swallowed hard.
He dipped a finger in his glass and ran it wet down my lips. “The final phase. The actual moment of pressing lips against lips. Soft and sweet if you do it right. The key here is to let it come to you.”
Time stood still as I breathed in his scent, of leather books and hair tonic and smoke.
All at once, the waiter set a plate on the table, the boiled eggs rolling on it, white and smooth. I let out a long sigh. I would not get my kiss. Had I been holding my breath that whole time?
We talked about how good it would be once the Red Army won, until I checked the clock on the wall. 7:45. A spasm went through me and I grabbed Radimir’s hand. How could a whole hour have passed?
“I must go.”
He stood, tossed money on the table, and slipped the eggs and bread into his pocket. We laughed as we ran, on backstreets back to the hotel, trying to eat our slippery eggs.
Just before eight we stood outside the lobby doors in the shadows. I scanned the lobby for Taras.
“Open your mouth,” Radimir said.
I opened it wide.
I could feel him sm
ile in the dark. “You are a trusting one.” His fingers traced my face, feeling for my open mouth, and a thick piece of black bread came gently pushed through my lips.
Had bread ever tasted so good?
“I would like to see you again,” he said.
“I’m leaving Malinov soon.”
“Me, too. Off to Paris.”
I gasped a little breath. “We may all go soon, as well. Taras has an assignment there.”
Something strange flickered across Radimir’s face. “Well, then I’ll see you in Paris.”
He pulled me to him.
I pressed one hand to his chest. “I can’t remember all the steps.”
Would he hate me for rejecting him? Taras would break a wrist for less.
Radimir laughed and brushed the hair back from my forehead. “You’re right, Varinka. I’ve made my kissing tutorial too complicated. And besides, you barely know me.”
“Thank you for dinner.”
“Go now. I will wait until you get in.”
* * *
—
I RAN UP THE STAIRS, considering the elevator too slow, back to the suite and stood at the open door, heart pounding. Taras stood in the bedroom packing, tossing his clothes into a valise on the bed.
There would be no time to bathe away Radimir’s scent.
In three paces across the giant rug Taras was at my side. “Where were you?”
After Radimir, everything about Taras seemed so horribly large and wrong.
I stepped into the suite. “I was in the lobby. I had to look for something to eat.”
“I knew I couldn’t trust you.”
“I’m starving, Taras.”
“Get packed. We’re leaving.”
“So late?”
“I have an assignment and must go. I’m putting you in a car to Malinov.”
I turned away to hide my smile. I would not have to spend that night with Taras. I would glide through the night in the backseat of a motorcar, enjoy that musky scent on me and dream.
Of the boy I would see in Paris.
CHAPTER
35
Sofya
1917
The commissioner stood at his desk, there in Max’s old nursery. “What for God’s sake? Out with it.”
My knees turned to jelly standing there. What if I fell?
Raisa stepped toward his desk. “Just wanted to remind you to have her papers stamped by the transport office, comrade.”
I breathed a quiet sigh. Thank you, dear Raisa.
The commissioner stood. “Of course, I remembered. Stay here. I will be back.” He left the room and closed the door with a slam.
Raisa rushed to me and took both my hands in hers. “Sofya. We must hurry.”
I held her hands tighter. “My family. How are they?”
“Varinka’s mother, a good woman, helps Varinka care for little Max. They’ve taken over your parents’ suite. Varinka is away—”
“I must go to him.”
Raisa held my hands fast. “Wait. The estate has been nationalized. There are villagers living here now, in every room. If you’re recognized you’ll be done for.”
“Has Afon returned?”
“No, but a letter came.” A smile lit up her face and I could have kissed her right there. She rushed to the table, pushed it aside, and drew up the floorboards.
So Luba’s secret place was not so impossible to find after all.
“I put it here, with your things.” She pulled out Luba’s rucksack. “Take it. And leave when the commissioner returns. Do not go to Max.”
“I can’t just leave my son, Raisa.”
Raisa leaned closer. “I heard them talking. Varinka, her mother, and Taras are moving to Paris soon, little Max, too. You can get him back there. Here, you’ll be caught for sure.” She handed me the rucksack and Luba’s sextant poked my side.
“Luba. How is she? My parents?”
Something dark flickered across Raisa’s face. “The laundry wagon is waiting in the near barn. Ride on through those gates and don’t look back until you reach—”
The door opened and the commissioner strode toward me. “Here,” he said, handing me a trifolded paper. “Be off with you and make it quick or I’ll have hell to pay.”
With a quick look back at Raisa I stepped toward the doorway, the rucksack and kit bag over my shoulder.
“Wait,” the commissioner called out.
I stopped, my whole body cold.
“That second sack.”
I turned. “Yes, Commissioner?”
“You didn’t come in with it.”
I clasped my hands together to stop the shaking. Would he demand to inspect the contents? Find the bracelet with the codes?
“Don’t you remember, Commissioner?” Raisa asked. “We now provide lunch for the drivers.”
“What is that metal sticking out?”
“My sextant,” I said. “I use it to chart my course.”
“Well, you’d better hurry up or there’ll be no course to chart.”
I stepped out the door.
“And don’t stop to eat that lunch—” he called after me.
* * *
—
I HURRIED DOWN THE back stairs, my boots heavy on the carpeted steps, and reached the back entry. How could I leave without Max? Once I found him I would release my family and take them all in the laundry wagon.
I stood there, numbed by indecision. But what if a villager recognized me? Vladi would have new plans for me, certainly.
I crept past the dining room, where the bandits had seized us a year ago, where a group of villagers now lay snoring on blankets on the dining table under the dimmed crystal chandelier. It stank of rotting meat and filth.
As I passed the zala, where a group of men sat playing cards and drinking vodka, my back tensed to see one of them wore Father’s university mortarboard, the tassel swaying as he sang a folk song. I stemmed a wave of nausea as one leaned over and spat onto Agnessa’s silk carpet. It was too dangerous to confront them. I had to find Max.
I snuck into Father’s office, braced for the worst, and found it looted, the gun cabinet and desk drawers open and empty. The bookshelves stood bare and books lay in a massive pile on the floor. The Benjamin Franklin bust lay on the floor, shattered.
Making my way up the front stairs, the walls pockmarked with bullet holes, I stopped at Father’s portrait, slashed, the eyes gouged with knife holes. How could the people hate him so, a man who taught their choir? Employed them at the linen factory?
I came to Agnessa’s bedroom door, closed. I steadied myself, one hand on the wallpapered hallway wall, dizzy, my heart hammering so.
There would be no turning back once I entered.
I twisted the knob, stepped into the dark room, and closed the door. In the near darkness Agnessa’s bed looked the same, made perfectly, the boudoir pillows arranged just so.
I walked carefully along the carpeted floor and was almost on top of little Max before I saw him, arranged on his back upon a cloud of coverlets, asleep in his pajamas. I choked back a sob. How he’d grown. I set down my rucksack, crouched next to him, ran two fingers across the top of his curls. He’d become a bit leggier, yes, but at three years old, still chubby with baby fat.
“He sleeps in his coat.”
I stood and turned, heart racing, to find a woman with the Madonna’s face standing in the shadows. Varinka’s mother? One hand holding fast to the neck of her homespun dressing gown, she stepped to Agnessa’s armoire and pulled out a pair of small felt boots.
“He won’t sleep in a bed,” she said, handing me the boots. “Says he wants to camp out so you will come back.”
Tears came to my eyes.
“Take him and go now,” she said.
&nbs
p; “Thank—”
“Hurry. Through the back entrance. My daughter will be back—”
I touched her arm. “I can’t thank you enough for taking such good care of him.”
Behind me, the door to the hallway opened.
I turned to find Varinka standing there. I barely recognized her at first, dressed in one of my traveling ensembles.
“Varinka. Thank you for—”
“Move away from him,” Varinka said.
“What are you doing?” I walked toward her.
“You need to leave. Now.”
“How have you become so cold? He’s my child. Think of all we did for—”
“I owe you nothing.”
Varinka’s mamka came to my side. “Inka, this is the child’s mother.”
She sent her mamka a hateful look. “And you, dear Mamka, would have sent these two off with a lunch pail.”
I glanced at Max asleep on the floor.
Varinka narrowed her eyes. “I will count to three and you had better be gone or I will call for the commissioner.”
“Varinka, think how you would feel—”
“Things are different now. The people make the rules.”
“Have your own child, Varinka. Thank you for taking such good care of him, but Max will always wonder—”
“One.”
I looked down at Max, sleeping there, and tears stung my eyes. How could I leave him? “Varinka, please, I beg you. He’s everything to me.”
Varinka crossed her arms over her chest. “Two.”
What if I just ran with him? Could I make it to the wagon? I bent to gather him in my arms.
“Commissioner!” Varinka screamed, shrill and long.
The sound of steps came from another part of the house.
“They’re on their way,” Varinka said.
Max woke and tried to sit up, still half asleep.
Varinka’s mamka came to me. “He’ll be safer with us for now….”
I hoisted my rucksack over my shoulder and stepped to the door with a glance back at my boy. “May God punish you, Varinka. I’ll get him back.”
Lost Roses Page 28