The House by the Dvina (24 page)

This was followed by consternation and a hasty consultation at the end of which Sashenka was informed that her objection was upheld and that I was allowed another chance. I removed another slip of paper from the box and read out the question. To my great relief I understood it and answered correctly.

The examination was over. I danced and hopped on the wooden pavements all the way home. There would be no more lessons, no more Sashenka and slaps over my hands. I was free to play with my brother in the garden, free to go down to the river, to splash with my playmates and learn to swim, for the water of the Dvina close to the shore was now warm, heated by the sun-baked boulders.

In June the tender white nights returned. Sunset and sunrise met Ч there was no darkness. People strolled on the river front and in parks where the bands played well into the night. Once again ships skirted the island of Solombala and the fishing fleet in full sail hurried seaward. Once again there were midnight picnics to the islands and the sounds of voices floating across the river. My Uncle Sanya joined in these midnight excursions as part of his merry-making, but now that the white nights of high summer had arrived there was an additional craze as a finishing touch to his parties. Draped in towels the guests would all go down to the river and splash and swim around until they sobered up before dispersing.

One night, in the early hours of the morning, I was awakened by the noise of a great commotion coming from the courtyard. I ran to the window. In the yard close to the gates four men were holding the comers of a sheet on which lay the naked body of a man. They were throwing it up and down, the old Russian way of reviving a drowned person. Dedushka, half-dressed, appeared on the scene and ordered them to place the body on the grassy verge. Going down on his knees, he began to apply the professional method of artificial respiration. He worked hard and long to the stage of utter exhaustion, perspiration pouring down his face, until another doctor arrived and took over.

Standing around, watching helplessly, were all the guests and Uncle Sanya.

On the grassy verge, still with a towel draped around him, his head buried in his arms and his entire body shaking with convulsive sobbing, was Petya Emelyanoff. It was his father whom the doctors were trying vainly to bring back to life.

PetyaТs father was a man not given to merry-making. He had called casually, with his son, on Uncle Sanya and found himself involved with the others. When, in the early hours of the morning, they all decided to go down to the river, he joined them. PetyaТs father had been a powerful swimmer in his day and while everyone was frolicking in the shallows he struck out from the shore into deep water where he was suddenly overtaken by cramp. Uncle Sanya and his friends, shocked into sobriety, brought him ashore. It was too late.

Later in the morning the police arrived and came back again to ask many questions. The whole family were upset by this tragedy. Father, who had always been very close to his only brother, sided with Babushka when she accused Sanya of reckless behaviour.

A few weeks later, Sanya left his flat and rented a house in a street nearby. There he engaged a young housekeeper to administer to all his wants. I was sorry when he left us, although he regularly came back to the house and in time there was no ill feeling between him and Babushka or my father. He was a kind man, with a slightly absentminded air about him who had always welcomed me when I called on him. He was usually to be found reading a book or newspaper, lying stretched out on a large shabby sofa covered with faded chintz.

There was an enormous tiger-like cat whose amber eyes were intently fixed on the numerous squirrels that Uncle Sanya kept. These animals, with their bushy tails, leaped about the furniture, cracked hazelnuts laid out on the table, made little clicking noises and amused themselves by running up and down the walls, tearing off strips of paper.

There was also a large cage which housed several black-beaked, red-breasted bullfinches. At times the door of the cage was open and the little birds flew out to have a bath in the flat dish on the table, where they chirped happily while hopping about and scattering the water all around them.

When Uncle Sanya left, his squirrels, birds and the cat went with him. The flat remained empty and silent for many years. The days were unusually hot during that summer of 1913 and the nights sultry. No breeze stirred the curtains of the wide-open windows and not a ripple was seen on the glassy surface of the river. The servants, in search of a cooler place, carried their mattresses out of the house and slept on the balcony beside the hayloft.

I remember being awakened early one morning by the bright sunlight pouring into the nursery, where for some reason the curtains were never drawn.

Already from the street below our windows could be heard the rumbling of the carts rolling down to the river. Feeling rather bored, I decided to waken my brother, sleeping soundly in his small cot next to mine. We lay for some time talking quietly and watching the strange shadows appearing and gliding along the wall opposite the windows.

“What are these shadows?” asked Ghermosha, secure in the knowledge that his sister was bound to know the answer. “These,” I enlightened him carefully, “are the reflections of the little men going back to the mountains.” “What mountains?” he enquired, doubt creeping into his voice.

“Their own special mountains,” I replied firmly and, before he had time to ask any more questions, suggested that we should go out into the garden.

We dressed and, tiptoeing through the silent house, ran into the courtyard and from there to the garden.

I remember with great clarity the joy of that early morning. The welcoming shrill chorus of the little birds, mostly sparrows, the shimmering gauze of the dew spread over the lawn, the crimson carpet below the old balsam tree, lazily shedding its scented catkins. We gathered these catkins, held their sweet softness close to our faces, scattered them over the grass and chased each other until we tired.

Nearby the stone steps, flanked by hawthorn and wild roses, led to the summer house. After the snows had melted, the door leading into it remained locked for some time, but now it was open. Inside there was nothing but the prosaic furnishing of a plain table, some chairs and, in a glass cupboard, cups and saucers. But through the coloured diamond-shaped panes of the Gothic windows, light filtered in rainbow splashes. “Look, Ghermosha,” I called out, peering through a crimson pane, “the garden is on fire.” “Look through the purple glass,” he called in turn. “All is dark and СBaba YagaТ is hiding in the bushes.” We ran in great excitement from window to window, seeing the garden in all the different hues Ч the sinister dark green; the golden yellow, when the trees, the flowers, the butterflies and even the birds turned gold. It was all strange and mysterious. An outside stair led to the platform above the room. Here on the east side the tips of the trees were level with the shallow walls. The white heads of the rowan trees and the scented racemes of the wild bird-cherry spilled over the side. We climbed up to the turret. From here we could see the sparkling water of the Dvina, sweeping down to the north, the shores of the opposite islands, strung together in a long dark line, the golden domes of the churches, the houses, the leafy gardens and the wide cobbled streets.

As we stood on this high platform, almost afraid to move, we saw Babushka bending over the flower beds and hurried down to join her. It was now time for breakfast, so we started to stroll back together. It was then that we noticed an old man walking along the path in our direction. He was dressed in the faded uniform of a civil servant. He had a thin straggling beard and below his shabby peaked cap the snow-white hair tipped his shoulders.

Babushka halted and then began to run. “Vanya, Vanichka,” she cried, throwing her arms around the old man, tears streaming down her face. “I always knew you would return, always knew it.”

The news of Uncle VanyaТs return spread fast. By lunchtime his two daughters, Lidochka and Ludmilushka, and their children along with Aunt Peeka had arrived together from Solombala. Tanya was already there. Uncle Mitya and Uncle Volodya also came to join in the celebrations. Everybody was mildly surprised to see Uncle VanyaТs estranged wife Osa appear on the scene as well. After formally shaking hands with him and expressing the hope that he was none the worse for his long walk, she took her usual place at the table.

Uncle Vanya, a man who was never talkative, sat smiling benignly at everyone. It was Tanya who did all the talking. It transpired that the day before, when she was preparing the midday meal, her papachka walked in and calmly sat down at the table, “Just as if he had never been away,” she concluded happily. Uncle VanyaТs momentous trek through Siberia earned him the nickname of “Siberiyan Ч the Siberian”, and from that day I never heard him referred to as anything else. He was a gentle and deeply religious man who had a great love for all wild animals, birds, trees and flowers. I never heard him talk about his experiences except that he did once express his opinion that the great “Mother Volga”, about which so many songs were sung, was not nearly such a beautiful river as our own “Dvinushka”, with her crystal-clear waters.

On another occasion, while admiring some of the flowers in the garden, he described the wondrous sight of the steppes in the early spring, when as far as the eye could see the whole great expanse became a flowered carpet.

But, he added sadly, this colourful mass of flowers didnТt last very long and was soon burned into dry whispering grass by the merciless rays of the sun. He had gathered seeds and bulbs in Siberia and brought them to Babushka, who planted them in the garden where they flowered successfully year after year. To us all he brought little carved crosses, small ikons and souvenirs from the monasteries. That day, as we were all gathered round the table, a letter was delivered to my father. He impatiently tore open the envelope and scanned the pages. “Our Jenya,” he announced, “has passed her examination and is accepted by the Mariyanskaya Gymnasium.”

Everyone kissed me. Sashenka received a special vote of thanks. Not given to praise, she merely commented: “Strange are the ways of God. This is a miracle!” Miracle or not, I had been accepted. The following week Nastenka, our dressmaker, arrived at the house and took my measurements for the school uniform.

Uncle VanyaТs homecoming was followed by the arrival of my Scottish granny and Uncle Henry from India, whom my mother had not seen for eight years.

They were accompanied by Pavel Petrovich, the beekeeper, who had come to keep an eye on the precious bees while Dedushka, Marga and Seryozha were on vacation in the Crimea. Granny, now a seasoned traveller, had come via St Petersburg, where she had arranged to meet Henry who had come by a more adventurous route Ч by sea to Vladivostok and then across Russia on the Trans-Siberian Railway.

Mother was overjoyed at seeing Granny and Uncle Henry again. It had been such a long parting Ч she could not stop talking to them in between listening to all the news from Scotland. As for Uncle Henry, all friends and relatives took this young man to their hearts. Uncle Henry was young, good looking, debonair in his well-cut tropical suits, but above all generous and friendly. The servants vied with each other to clean his shoes and to carry the cans of hot water into his bedroom every morning.

Ghermosha and I followed him about wherever he went. Like Uncle Stephen of earlier days, he was invited to all the houses and lavishly entertained.

A trip up the river, of a few daysТ duration, was organised on one of the more luxurious passenger paddle-steamers. The whole family went, including Babushka. The weather was pleasantly cool. The steamer meandered gently around the winding shores. On the landing stages barefooted children surrounded us, offering baskets of wild strawberries. At night we ate these fragrant berries with cream.

To us children the trip was a novelty of absorbing interest. We liked to watch the foaming wake from the paddles, the tying up of the boat to the landing stage and the lively scenes that followed when the motley crowd, with their bundles and baskets, surged on to the lower deck.

We returned back in time to attend a garden fete held in the Summer Gardens in aid of some charity. Before leaving for the fete Babushka decided that we should all have our photograph taken together, as a record of GrandmaТs and Uncle HenryТs stay in Archangel.

The delay caused by the taking of the photograph (and by YuraТs insistence of having his bicycle in it) resulted in us arriving at the Summer Garden when the fete was almost over. The stalls were empty with the exception of one, where stood an enormous doll. I had never seen such a large doll before and asked my father if he could buy it for me, but Uncle Henry stepped in at this point and said that the doll would be a present to me from him. Unfortunately, the doll was not for sale and would be raffled.

Disappointed, he bought the few remaining tickets and we all went strolling through the leafy avenues in the garden up to the stage where a band was playing. There we found a table where we sat eating tubular-shaped waffles filled with cream, and listened to the music.

Someone came over to our table and congratulated me on winning the doll.

“I told you,” said Uncle Henry laughing happily. Triumphantly I carried the doll back to the house, but as the poor thing only had a pair of shoes and a pink shift I wrapped it up in a shawl and tucked it in its cot. A few days later it mysteriously vanished. To all my enquiries I received vague replies to the effect that the doll was away being fitted out with some clothing.

Somehow I soon forgot about it as other events occupied my time. There were trips into town to buy a schoolbag, a pencil case, books, jotters and all the things that are new and exciting for the beginning of oneТs first schooldays.

On the day of Granny and Uncle HenryТs departure, we all got into the carriage and were driven to the docks. Permission was granted to board the ship. Normally this would have resulted in we children romping around the decks, but there was this heavy sadness in the air which transmitted itself to us. When we had to say our goodbyes and leave the ship, Mother clung to Grandma, weeping bitterly, and she in turn lost her habitual calmness and broke down. There were tears in Uncle HenryТs eyes, when he embraced us and shook hands with my father. Seven years were to pass by before I saw Granny. As for Uncle Henry, never again was there to be another meeting.