3 Great Historical Novels (52 page)

‘I won’t go,’ said Sonya.

It was mid-morning and a breeze was blowing, lifting the leaves on the plane trees so their silver undersides flashed like the bellies of trout. There was a similar nervous quality to the sunlight; it slipped down the gleaming onion-shaped domes as if, for today at least, it wanted to go unnoticed.

It was barely ten minutes since they’d left the house, but already Nikolai could feel sweat running between his shoulder blades. He stepped aside to avoid a line of female factory workers pushing laden handcarts towards the outskirts of the city. They kept their eyes trained on the ground, anticipating bumps in the cobblestones; their sleeves were rolled up to reveal muscular arms. The rumbling wheels drowned out the rest of what Sonya was saying, but Nikolai could see her lips forming words that were definitely defiant.

Finally the procession of carts reached the other side of the square and the racket died away. But now Sonya wouldn’t move at all. She stood like a donkey, feet braced on the stained stones. ‘I’m telling you, I won’t go,’ she said, stamping her foot. Nikolai had never seen anyone do this except on the stage, and he was surprised at the level of rage it conveyed. There was nothing remotely theatrical about it; it was as if Sonya’s white-hot anger needed an outlet and had conducted itself, like lightning, through the nearest object.

‘Sonya, it’s not for you to decide.’ He sounded sterner than he’d expected, considering his sorry state: streaked shirt, dripping hair and
sinking heart. ‘You’re a child, and children don’t make decisions on such matters. It’s already been decided for you by —’ He hesitated. ‘By the officials of Leningrad. By the Chief of Staff, and the Chief of the General Staff, and the leaders of the army, and the leader of the Party — and, well, just all the important people you can imagine.’ He hoped he sounded sufficiently authoritative to stop further argument. If he let it slip that, even before the announcement of planned evacuations, he’d decided to send Sonya out of the city to her cousins, he’d be lost. ‘Pskov!’ she would exclaim in horror. ‘Pskov is just a little town! Mama would never have wanted me to go there. They don’t even have their own ballet company.’

Sonya said nothing. She stuck out her bottom lip.

‘It won’t be for long,’ urged Nikolai. Why was it that parental lies came so easily, when children were rigorously trained to tell the truth? ‘It mightn’t be for long,’ he corrected himself. ‘You have to remember that Leningrad may not be safe to live in for a while.’

‘I don’t care! Do you think I’m a sissy? I suppose Gessen One blabbed to you about me rescuing that baby blackbird.’

‘I never listen to the Gessens, from One to Five. You know that.’ He put his arms around her, but it was like hugging a small unyielding tree.

‘What about Aunt Tanya?’ challenged Sonya. ‘Are the generals sending her away, too?’

‘Aunt Tanya is needed here.’

‘For what? Cleaning? I can clean. Why don’t you send Aunt Tanya off to Pskov instead of me?’

‘Tanya isn’t cleaning,’ sighed Nikolai. ‘She won’t even be helping us out any more. She’s going to work with some other women, building blockades.’

‘Blockades? What are they?’

‘Obstacles to keep the German tanks out.’
Supposedly
, he added to himself. He’d seen the small forest of concrete pyramids sitting in the fields to the south-west of the city, backed by spindly wooden fences. If the Panzers got that far, they’d roll through with little more than a bump. ‘Can’t we walk while we talk?’ he pleaded. ‘I have to be at the hospital by twelve.’

‘All right.’ But Sonya looked stern. Clearly, the battle was far from over.

They walked along the Moyka Canal in silence, but everywhere around them was shouting, hammering, the falling of timber, the constant clatter
of wheels. The entire city was an anthill of activity, its citizens marching out in lines to dig and build. The energy infected Nikolai — not with a desire to be part of the action, but simply to believe it wasn’t all in vain. Leningrad, city of vapours and mist, built by dogged dreamers who’d balanced stone towers and gilt domes on top of quaking marshes!
Foolhardy
. He slapped his feet harder as he walked. Foolhardy and foolish. This had been a doomed city long before Hitler had set his sights on it.

Sonya led the way over the Antonenko Bridge. She walked in a perfectly straight line but the parting in her hair was crooked, zigzagging to the left and the right. As if aware of Nikolai’s gaze, she spun around. ‘Can’t you walk a bit faster? If you’re going to be on time, we’ve only got four minutes to visit the Horseman and leave again.’

‘Perhaps your watch is fast? By my calculations we have at least five and a half minutes to spare.’

Sonya ignored his half-hearted joke. She passed St Isaac’s Cathedral without a sideways glance, though normally she liked to walk up the steps and scrape her feet on the small iron oxen by the door. But when they reached their destination she gave a gasp. ‘The Horseman!’

In front of them was the familiar bronze statue of Peter the Great. He sat astride his huge rearing horse, face averted from the city he’d founded, eyes fixed eternally on a far horizon. His sword had a greenish hue towards the hilt, but its tip was bright from the touch of many hands and the bent fetlock of his horse had been stroked to gold.

‘What are they doing?’ Sonya spoke in a half-whisper.

The Czar and his horse stood as high as ever, but scurrying around the base, hacking away at the earth, were men and women with shovels and pickaxes. They’d driven poles into the ground, and were hammering a wooden platform on top of them. Immediately below the rearing horse stood an officer of the Home Guard. In spite of his shining brass buttons and his wide chest, he appeared puny, insignificant, as if he might be crushed by the giant hooves.

‘They’re putting a shelter around the Horseman.’ Nikolai stared at the bent backs and straining forearms, the jolt of shoulders when a shovel hit rock.

‘So that the Germans can’t hurt him?’ Sonya’s hand crept into his. ‘What would they do? Steal him?’

‘Maybe. Or smash him up.’

Suddenly a pile of wood tipped off the platform and slid, with a roar,
all the way down to the bottom of the earth mound.

‘Incompetent fools!’ shouted the officer, hitting the statue with his whip.
Wham! Wham!
The strokes rang out over the grunting and hammering. ‘How the hell can we keep out the Germans with clumsy bastards like you as defence?’

‘He doesn’t need to hit the horse!’ said Sonya indignantly.

‘Nor abuse the men like that.’ Nikolai had just realised who the officer was: Vladimir Lisin who, many years earlier, had married a friend from Nikolai’s student days. Just three months after her wedding, Anya Lisin had pushed her way out onto the attic windowsill, balanced there for a second, then hurled herself into the street. Her skull had cracked, her delicate ribcage smashed, but her disappointed heart had gone on beating for several hours afterwards, as if rebuking the brutish Lisin for as long as possible.

‘We should get on,’ he said abruptly.

But already Lisin was slithering down the dirt mountain, his spurred heels digging into the ground. For a second it seemed his cold gaze would pass over them, then he gave a start of recognition. ‘Nikolai Nikolayev? Am I right?’

‘You are.’ Nikolai’s throat clenched with dislike. ‘But we’re just on our way.’

‘To —?’ asked Lisin, as if it were his job to oversee the movements of every citizen in Leningrad.

‘Papa has a hospital appointment,’ announced Sonya. ‘We mustn’t be late.’

‘A worthy attitude.’ Lisin slapped his boot with his riding crop. ‘Punctuality wins ground. Lateness loses wars.’ He laughed, revealing crooked and stained teeth.

Sonya stared up at him. ‘My father’s going for his medical examination for the army, and I must go home to pack my bags. I’m leaving Leningrad soon.’ There were bright spots of red on her cheekbones.

‘You won’t be leaving right away,’ said Nikolai, squeezing her hand. ‘But Sonya is right. We have places to go. Please excuse us.’

‘How’s your wife?’ Lisin seemed reluctant to return to work. ‘I remember seeing her years ago in a performance by the Leningrad Philharmonic. Tchaikovsky, if my memory serves me right. Such beauty, such talent! Is she still playing?’

‘My wife is dead.’ It had taken Nikolai four years to say this sentence without hesitation, and five to achieve it without a break in his voice. Now
his words sounded as flat and chilly as the flanks of the metal horse.

‘Dead?’ Lisin flushed. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Such a looker! Such a gorgeous woman, dead!’

Nikolai clenched his right hand in his pocket. He wanted to smash Lisin to the ground, topple him like a tree in front of the labourers he’d been swearing at — and let them cover him over with soil and suffocate him.

‘My wife was indeed beautiful.’ He spoke as coldly as he dared. ‘As, I believe, was yours. The difference is that my wife was taken from me, whereas yours —’ He paused. ‘Well, of what value is life, when living is a hell?’

‘How dare you speak to me like that!’ Lisin’s face was florid but his eyes were as pale as a wolf’s. ‘What do you know about my marriage?
What do you know?
’

Several women stopped their digging to listen. Their half-curious, half-blank stares reminded Nikolai of cattle.
So this is what we are reduced to,
he thought.
Before they’ve even marched into our streets, the Germans are reducing us to animals.

‘Come on,’ he said to Sonya. ‘Come away quickly.’

‘How dare you?’ Lisin was almost screaming. ‘You’ll soon know about living hell, damn you. The Germans will get you! You’ll be punished!’

Nikolai couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such rage. He spoke loudly over his shoulder, not caring if the staring workers heard. ‘Be careful on whom you wish that fate. Even the Third Reich doesn’t look kindly on men like you.’

Once they reached a small deserted square, he stopped and took a deep breath. ‘That’s a man whom it’s better to stay well clear of. Remember that, Mouse. If you ever see him again, put your head down and walk away.’

‘Why was he so angry?’ Sonya was breathless. ‘How did his wife die? Did the Germans kill her?’

‘Nothing like that. The Germans were still our friends back then. Maybe one day —’

‘When I’m older, I suppose —’

‘Even I don’t like thinking about it, so I’d rather you didn’t have to.’

‘He used very nasty language. The Nazis seem to bring out the worst in people. Whatever will happen to Aunt Tanya? She was cross enough before the war.’

‘In some families,’ explained Nikolai, ‘the eldest child ends up with
the lion’s share of the responsibility. Aunt Tanya was a lot older than Mama, so she had to look after everything and do most of the chores. I suppose that’s why she comes across as a bit —’ He had a sudden heart-wrenching vision of Tanya, scarf knotted around her face, driving a pickaxe into rock-hard soil.

‘A bit bossy?’ suggested Sonya.

‘Efficient,’ modified Nikolai. ‘And now she’s being efficient for the whole of Leningrad.’

‘God help her, wherever she is now,’ said Sonya cosily.

‘Sonya!’

‘What?’ Sonya looked defensive. ‘I’m just saying what Mrs Gessen said about Grandma Gessen.’

‘Grandma Gessen died of pneumonia. Aunt Tanya is ditch-digging somewhere near the Forelli Hospital. There’s a slight difference.’

‘I’m sure Mama’s glad to be in the sky right now,’ mused Sonya, ‘rather than down here being ordered about by horrible men.’ She walked in silence for a minute, and then caught Nikolai’s elbow. ‘Oh, no! I have to go straight home! I can’t come to the hospital.’

‘It’s just up ahead.’ Nikolai pointed past a line of trucks piled with concrete pillars. ‘Anyway, I don’t like you walking on your own.’

‘But I haven’t done my morning practice yet, and it’s nearly afternoon.’

‘Is that all?’ He was relieved. ‘Can’t you just add some time onto your afternoon session?’

‘No, it’s not the same!’ She stepped blindly into the street, narrowly missing an oncoming bicycle

Nikolai pulled her back onto the pavement. Her heart was beating so hard her whole body was shaking. ‘The check-up won’t take long,’ he said, though he suspected this was another lie.

‘You don’t understand! Morning practice has to be done in the morning, afternoon practice in the afternoon and evening practice after dinner. Otherwise everything goes wrong.’

‘What goes wrong?’ He began to feel concerned. ‘You mean your playing?’

‘Not just my playing. Everything!’ She flicked her braids back with desperation. ‘Things will not be … safe.’

Nikolai felt a chill run through him. What did she mean, things would not be —

‘Greetings, Nikolai Nikolayev and Sonya Nikolayevska!’ Shostakovich stood in front of them, dressed in a jacket and tie, his cowlick slicked
back off his forehead. ‘Where might an esteemed violinist and a
promising
cellist be heading on such a fine day?’

‘Mr Shostakovich!’ In a second Sonya’s anxiety disappeared. ‘Papa’s going for his medical exam, although he’s promised he will try not to fight in the war. And I’m going home to do my practice.’ She fished her key out from her dress, the sunlight catching in the silver chain.

‘You have your own latch-key!’ Shostakovich recognised the importance of this instantly. ‘When were you entrusted with that?’

‘Only this week. Aunt Tanya isn’t home any more to let me in. I could have had one for a lot longer, though. I never lose things.’

‘If more Russians had your responsible nature,’ replied Shostakovich gravely, ‘our country wouldn’t be in this pickle.’ He looked at Nikolai. ‘So you’re volunteering? According to Sollertinsky, there’s no need in the world. You’ll be evacuated before it comes to that. The Philharmonia and the Conservatoire are two of the cultural jewels in our Great Leader’s crown.’ Behind his glasses, his eyes glinted with contempt.

‘Sollertinsky could be right.’ Nikolai nodded. ‘He always seems to know what decisions are being made behind closed conference doors. All the same, I’m going through with the medical exam as a kind of … superstitious precaution.’ This was as close as he could come to explain his motives, even to himself.