Russian Hide-and-Seek

18

At seven o’clock the next morning four officers were breakfasting in ‘B’ Squadron mess: Alexander, Victor, Dmitri and Vsevolod, the aggressive Byelorussian who had been flown in to replace Leo. Boris had already eaten and left to start his day’s work; Major Yakir and George, the second-in-command, were not yet down. The sunlight streamed in through the farmhouse windows cheerfully enough, and yet the prevailing mood was not in the least cheerful: restless, even nervous, under the influence perhaps of the high humidity, the falling atmospheric pressure and the unnatural stillness of the air, all unalleviated by a heavy downpour in the small hours. Dmitri seemed to be the least affected by these intangibles, helping himself to a second coddled egg from the folds of a napkin in the basket before him, skimming through the day’s edition of ‘Angliskaya Pravda’ and finding matters of interest in it. An item on the back page drew a grunt of surprise from him.

‘Listen to this, you fellows,’ he said. ‘Apparently there was a big fire in Northampton last night. In the theatre there – they were putting on some old English play or other. Seems to have been quite a blaze.’

‘What of it?’ asked Vsevolod. He had a red face, bristly hair and pop eyes, all of which went almost too well with his manner.

‘Well, nothing very much if you insist. I just thought somebody might like to know that, against all expectation, something does sometimes happen in this depressingly unimportant part of the world. No more than that.’

‘And quite enough too, thank you.’ Victor had his elbow on the table and his forehead in his hand. His breakfast had consisted of three glasses of mineral water and a cigarette. ‘Not worth shouting your head off, anyway.’

‘Sorry. A girl was killed, it says here. English. She’d been acting in the play. Trapped and overcome by fumes. Isn’t that terrible?’

‘Nothing like as terrible as what you’re doing to the inside of my skull.’

‘Alexander missed a chance there.’ Vsevolod grinned as he spread cherry jam on white bread and butter. ‘If he’d been around he’d have charged in through the flames, snatched up the girl in his powerful grasp and ridden off with her over his saddle-bow.’

Alexander said with great earnestness, ‘Ballocks to you. Fuck your mother, you pig. In this outfit we serve for a while before we start trying to be funny. Have you got that?’

‘Yes, Petrovsky.’

‘See you remember it. – Well?’ he said to the mess corporal, who had just come in.

‘Your orderly is at the door, sir.’

Without another word Alexander threw down his napkin and strode out. There was a ripple of relief and amusement round the table.

‘Can’t he take a joke?’ asked Vsevolod.

‘Usually he can,’ said Dmitri. ‘Another time he’d have roared with laughter. It depends entirely on how he happens to be feeling. He’s probably worried about the court-martial. I don’t blame him. I certainly am.’

Victor scowled. ‘Why don’t they get on with the confounded thing? The prosecutor’s been here a week. What’s he doing?’

‘Getting drunk?’ suggested Vsevolod.

‘That depends how much sense he’s got,’ said Victor.

Dmitri gave an admiring chuckle and said, ‘You never miss a chance, do you?’

‘Horse-shit,’ said Victor. ‘I think I feel strong enough now to try some tea.’

There was no relief from the humidity outside. In the remotest distance, greyish clouds moved sluggishly. The orderly, a bony, bullet-headed youth with a twitching eyelid, drew himself up and saluted – smartly, many would have said, but not Alexander, not this morning.

‘As you were! Again! All right, I won’t waste my time. What is it?’

‘Sergeant Ulmanis’s compliments, your honour, and this has just come by the CO’s orderly.’

Alexander took the proffered envelope. It was grubby, but he noticed nothing; envelopes were always apt to be grubby. This one contained an informal, hand-written note from Colonel Tabidze inviting him to tea and after-lunch drinks at two o’clock that afternoon. If the party went on much above half an hour he would be late for Mrs Korotchenko. Well, that could be endured.

‘Is there an answer, your excellency?’

‘No, and get those trousers pressed before you go on parade or you’ll find yourself on a charge. Move!’

The inspection passed off without incident. Alexander lunched early at the squadron and rode out in good time for the Tabidzes’ house, where the colonel more and more preferred to spend those hours not absolutely required by duty. It was a handsome Victorian red-brick building with a turret at each corner and a porch largely constructed of wrought iron, and must have made an impressive sight in the days before the surrounding grove of Scotch firs was chopped down. From a staff on the roof of the porch the regimental standard hung limply in the motionless air. A servant took Polly’s reins and led her away; an other opened the front door as soon as he knocked, led him down a rather dark passage smelling strongly of furniture-polish and slightly of excrement and showed him into a room at the far end. This was the library, so called because part of one wall was given over entirely to bookshelves; elsewhere, sporting trophies, maps, photographs of rows of stern men in uniform and other objects of unimpeachable soldierliness were to be seen. Alexander had happy but sketchy childhood memories of it all.

‘Ah, my dear boy, how nice of you to come.’ Wearing a belted civilian jacket that showed off his slim figure, Tabidze hurried over to meet him and shook him warmly by the hand.

‘What appalling heat. I shouldn’t wonder if there’s a storm on the way. I must say I hope so. Let me make some fresh tea; this stuff’s only fit to be thrown on the rose-beds. Do help yourself to a drink. And try one of those oatcakes with it – it’s an old Northampton thing, I’m told. Well, how’s my worthy friend Major Yakir?’

Pouring out a small glass of Dufftown-Glenlivet while the other busied himself with a quick-kettle, Alexander answered the question and others that followed. He answered them carefully because, from being quite certain what was in store for him and quite unperturbed about it, he had moved to a state of painful anxiety. It was normal for his commanding officer not to be short of things to say, but his normal style was a slightly remorseless pursuit of one point at a time, not this directionless chatter – he had turned now to incoherent reminiscence. Just as uncharacteristically, he had not yet looked his visitor in the eye.

They soon made themselves comfortable (physically at least) in a pair of imitation-leather chairs, one each side of the empty fireplace. Within Alexander’s reach stood a small round-topped table loaded with tea, whisky, oatcakes, chocolates and cigarettes. Tabidze sipped a glass of white wine.

‘Have a chocolate, Alexander – they go well with the whisky too.’

‘No thank you, sir.’

‘Have a cigarette, then.’

‘That I will – thank you, sir.

‘Let’s get down to business at once,’ proceeded Tabidze, though his tone was less ready than his words. ‘I have things to do later today and I’m sure you have too. First of all, this is nothing to do with your court-martial, so we can have that out of the way to start with. But I will tell you that the proceedings are fixed for Tuesday and, in confidence, that the tribunal is disposed to take a lenient view, at least in your case as the most junior. You’re to be awarded a severe reprimand.’

Alexander said nothing, because he thought nothing, about the principle involved (or the one flouted) in determining the sentence before the start of the hearing. The gloom and uneasiness that had lain upon him ever since waking lifted slightly. The court-martial would never take place, but it was pleasant to be vindicated, even in so unimportant a way. He muttered something and looked suitably humble, grateful and so on. Then, looking anxious instead, he asked, merely because it sounded right,

‘What about the others, sir?’

‘Rather less leniency there. Nothing harsh, however.’

He had just started to look relieved when Tabidze thoroughly disconcerted him with the offensive query,

‘What really happened that night?’

(It was offensive because it took for granted that he had been lying before.) He was soon himself again, reflecting as before that none of this was going to matter in a couple of days. He said with the utmost seriousness,

‘I wasn’t there at all. I stayed away after the first time. Oh yes, it was a favourite diversion of Leo’s. He talked the others into it. He must have been mad.’

‘He was a gambler. And you’re not, of course; it doesn’t go with being a dedicated young officer. Which puzzles me a little. I can’t see why you didn’t have to go and tell your squadron commander what was going on. Surely it must have been… entailed on you.’

Colonel Tabidze’s manner had relaxed somewhat, perhaps because he had evidently deferred business after all, unless indeed this discussion of motives was business. At any rate, he now glanced directly at Alexander, who said, with the merest touch of holy simplicity,

‘But I’d given my word of honour, sir. They refused to tell me anything about the game until I had.’

‘But your oath overrides any such commitment.’

‘Major Yakir made the same point. I’m not looking for a justification, your excellency. I only mean to give you my reason.’

‘So you go in for chivalry too. You certainly make life difficult for yourself, don’t you? I mean we must face the fact that a dedicated young officer is constantly being forced to behave in ways that a man of chivalry would find intolerable. And the other way round, of course, as here. Tell me, do you also practise chivalry in your dealings with women?’

Before answering, Alexander crushed out his cigarette in a silver ashtray that was brightly polished in those parts where the plate had not worn away or become corroded. He could not see what the other was up to. Was this elaborate straight-faced ridicule? On all previous form, unlikely. And yet that chatter at the beginning…

‘Well, sir,’ he said finally, ‘perhaps I might put it like this. In that sphere I practise chivalry as far as possible.’

‘That’s not very far, is it?’ said Tabidze with a chuckle, putting his glass down. Then his gaze shifted and he frowned. ‘Which brings me to… My boy, I’ve known you since before you can remember, since I was a dashing young captain, just appointed adjutant to old Colonel Khvylovy. You might remember him. A very upright old chap with teeth that stuck out and a way of snapping his fingers when he was making a point. Anyhow, what I’m trying to say is that I’m an old friend, an old friend of yours and of your family. You must know how highly I regard your father. And your mother too. So, just for a moment, try to forget I’m your commanding officer. And another thing: there’s no reproach or disapproval in what I’m about to say. It’s just advice. A word of warning from an old friend. Can you accept that?’

‘Yes, Uncle Nick.’ Alexander was as full of curiosity as he had ever been in his life.

‘Ah, how many years since! It doesn’t do to think about it. Now this will only take a minute. I’m told, and we needn’t waste time going into who told me – I’m told you’ve been mixing with some exceedingly disreputable company.’

This last phrase happened to coincide with one of Alexander’s periodical previsions of what he was going to be up to almost as soon as this interview was concluded, and struck him as a very useful description of it. His forebodings fell away; the old fool had had his prick throttled in his corsets for so long that he was all of a dither at having to remember what it was for. And that interfering bitch of a wife had indeed been spreading the tale, as he half guessed at that Friday reception. Even after years of trying he had never actually managed to blush at will, but he had got so good at all the accompanying facial and bodily movements that a positive change of colour would have been a concession to purism. He produced one of his best-ever now and muttered something intended as before to be inaudible, having without conscious thought discarded denial as unlooked-for and therefore unproductive. The next words proved the soundness of his instinct.

‘We all go against our better judgement from time to time in our youth. I’m not so sunk in age that I can’t remember behaving foolishly myself. It’s understandable and forgivable; perhaps it’s even necessary. But what’s none of those things is persistence in foolishness. Being swept off one’s feet, carried away, is one thing; to embark on a course of mistaken action and pursue it deliberately is quite another. Are you with me so far?’

‘Yes, sir.’ What sort of person would it have to be who had been unable to keep up with this?

‘Good. Sooner or later, you know, we have to go back, and it had better be sooner than later. There is such a thing as common prudence, after all. You must consider the immense weight of what is after all accepted as how things are supposed to be run. Will you – I beg you – will you give up this disastrous adventure? Please don’t force me to be more specific.’

Alexander hung his head, or more precisely allowed it to droop. ‘You know, sir,’ he said in an interested tone, ‘it’s funny sometimes, the way things work out.’ As he spoke he was telling himself that next week he would be able to bang Mrs Korotchenko in the middle of Northampton market square at midday if he felt like it and if she felt the enterprise would not be too humdrum. ‘You know you ought to do something,’ he twaddled on, deliberately not thinking ahead or back in the interests of verisimilitude, ‘in fact you want to do it very badly, but you just can’t bring yourself to. Lack of will or energy or something. And then, out of the blue, when you think it’ll never happen, something turns up and gives you a nudge and in a flash you’re the other side of the gap. You’ve taken the decision and you’ll never go back on it. Well, that’s what happened to me while you were speaking just now. I’ll break it off, Uncle Nick. In fact I already have; it’s just a question of letting it be known.’

Having followed this with a series of eager nods and a spreading smile, Tabidze came over and embraced him. ‘I’m delighted! What a relief! Sensible lad, to step out in time, before you do anything really foolish. You’ll never know how glad I was to hear you say those words. Which of course are confidential, like everything I’ve said to you. Have another drink, my dear. No, I insist. I’ll join you.’

A few minutes later, Alexander said, ‘Well, you were quite right, sir, I have things to do,’ and sniggered inwardly.

‘You must just have a word with Agatha before you go. She’d never forgive me if you didn’t. In the garden, need I say it? Never out of it when the weather’s half tolerable.’

Mrs Tabidze was out at the back of the house kneeling on a mat of some rubber-like substance, doubtless in the interests of comfort, since her green denim trousers could hardly have been dirtier; she seemed to be attacking a long row of various smallish plants with a pair of clippers. When she saw Alexander she smiled delightedly, got to her feet and took off her equally dirty gloves. They hugged each other; he was quite fond of her, in so far as he was fond of anyone. After the hug he looked about him, or feigned to.

‘The garden’s looking absolutely marvellous, Agatha,’ he said, trying to ram sincerity into his voice. ‘You have done well.’

She glanced at her husband and laughed. ‘Coming from somebody who doesn’t know a daisy from a hollyhock, that’s a handsome compliment. There’s nothing so ignorant as a man when he’s not on his subject.’ She turned. ‘What are you looking so pleased with yourself about?’

‘Oh, Alexander has made a very satisfactory report to me.’

‘By the way you’re beaming he must have reported they’re going to make you a general.’

‘Nothing like that.’

During this exchange, a matter of the barest particle of genuine interest came to Alexander’s mind. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you, Agatha: you remember you told fortunes at that party at our place? The last one was a certain lady,’ – as he felt at the moment he was able to speak with unexampled naturalness – ‘and at the end something happened that surprised you very much. What was it?’

Her face had changed at the mention of the lady, but it had changed back by the time she answered. ‘Yes, it was most odd. You see, I’d turned up the seven of hearts in the active near-future position, and there it means, as you heard, that the subject will soon do a deed of resounding virtue. Well, in a way of course that isn’t at all remarkable, theoretically any card may come up at any time, but what shook me was that I was quite certain I’d turned up the seven of hearts before, when it was what we call a dead card and didn’t signify – so certain I’d have wagered all I possess on it. But when I looked back to where it had been before, where I thought it had been before, it wasn’t there. Nicholas says it must have been the seven of diamonds I saw, but then… Still, that’s what it must have been. Very strange. Mark you, the whole thing’s strange, fortune-telling by cards, I mean. Did you know it’s a recognised form of proper divination? Oh yes. Cartomancy, they call it. Goes back centuries. You’re going to laugh at me, but I think there’s something in it. Yes, I do. It’ll be interesting to see how that prediction of mine turns out. Not that one would really have expected… But I mustn’t run on. How’s everybody at home?’

Alexander told her how and shortly afterwards took his leave. At one point in their conversation he had felt puzzled, but could not now remember the circumstances. As he rode away he dismissed the matter from his mind. Yes, he thought to himself, there might well be something in – what was it? -cartomancy. There might or might not be more in it than in faith-healing, clairvoyance, palmistry, flying saucers, telepathy, evolution, water-divining, time-travel, the unconscious, religion, the flat-earth theory, art, astrology, relativity, the Loch Ness monster, dreams, racialism, socialism, vegetarianism, spiritualism, reincarnation and the belief that Earth was colonised by beings from outer space. But there was something in it, something in all of them, something for everybody.

Whatever that something was, wondering about it on the way to the house of Korotchenko at least helped Alexander to shut out as far as possible any thought of what lay ahead. This was not only because of the inherent unwisdom of allowing in any such thought while in the saddle of a moving horse; earlier that afternoon, he had found his normal joyfully lecherous expectation becoming tinged with a certain grimness as the hour approached, an almost sullen curiosity best stifled. The English had a phrase about being put through the hoops to describe the experience of having an elaborate ordeal forced upon one by another. To judge by the escalating unconventionality of the ones provided on previous occasions, today’s hoops would have to be rather special.

It took some time to establish what they consisted of, even longer than expected. After a ten-minute search, in which he sagaciously included a checking of all cupboards and wardrobes, plus under the beds and even a none-too-large trunk in the corner of a box-room, he concluded that the house was empty. At that stage he remembered that there had been no cock and balls pictured on the front fence; perhaps Mrs Korotchenko had taken down her sign and moved on. Then in the silence he heard a pig squeal, as last time, and decided there was no harm in making absolutely sure.

Outside the back door there were quite a few pigs loitering about in a three-sided enclosure which also held a number of chickens, a number of ducks, a duck-pond, a dung-heap in an active state, a waggon with three wheels, a trap or dog-cart with one and a great pile of cardboard boxes, still saturated after the rain in the night. At the other end stood a large barn with a tiled roof and an open doorway in its middle. Alexander walked over, picking his way with some care, and looked inside.

His quest was done. Mother and daughter, naked as usual, were sitting side by side on the edge of what looked like a kitchen table near the middle of the building. As soon as they saw him they moved, mother getting up on to the table in her ungainly fashion and daughter getting off. He noticed a rope that had been thrown over a beam below the roof and was looped at one end, and speculated whether the arrangement might be that he should hang Mrs Korotchenko, or perhaps she him, during the act of love. When he got nearer he saw that there was a loop at the other end of the rope too and that she was engaged in putting one of them over her shoulders and under her arms, a task she finished in time to extend a courteous helping hand to him. The table moved a couple of centimetres as he climbed up on to it; he guessed it was on castors, which struck him as mildly odd. Very soon the second loop was round him, and not long after that the act just mentioned had begun. It continued when the table had been moved out from under their feet (so that was the point of the castors) and they dangled together in mid-air, continued further, though with much effort, when Miss Korotchenko, showing some of her mother’s bodily strength, sent them swinging to and fro in wider and wider arcs. Up to within a few metres of the end wall they zoomed, were suspended for an instant at rest and almost horizontal, plunged downwards again. By shoving them at angles to their original path the girl put them into a curved course that bore them out towards the side walls, and also cleverly imparted a spinning effect, so that they hurtled round the barn in a succession of vast unique elliptical orbits. Alexander thought it might never end, but it did; it had just started to when there was a slight jerk and he found himself flying through the air with an altogether different motion, out into the sunlight still locked with Mrs Korotchenko, now bawling her loudest near his ear, across the farmyard over the pigs and poultry and straight into the pile of cartons, which thanks to the soddenness of the cardboard adequately broke their fall. If they had come down anywhere else (except the dung-heap) they would have suffered severe injuries at least. When he had somewhat recovered he said,

‘That was taking a bit of a risk, wasn’t it?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, you couldn’t have been anywhere near sure we’d land on this stuff.’

‘You mean you think I made the rope break on purpose? But we might easily have been killed.’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘You think I’d take a risk like that? In God’s name, why?’

‘Why not? I admit I can’t see you designing and installing the necessary release-mechanism, but you’re perfectly capable of the rest of it.’

‘What nonsense,’ she said, not offended, not amused, not puzzled, just making a denial.

The daughter had been delayed by collapsing with laughter, or a pretence of doing so. Now she came up to them, still giggling. ‘That was terribly funny, mummy. Did you mean to do it?’

‘Of course not,’ said Mrs Korotchenko as before.

‘Do you mind if we go indoors now?’ said Alexander, standing up and taking off the loop of rope. ‘I think I’d like to sit down for a while.’

They went through the kitchen, where there was a lot of dirty crockery and cooking-pots and a lot of flies, and into the drawing-room, previously unvisited by him. He sat in a chair with a torn floral cover and the two females looked at him with expectant interest, as if he had come by appointment to sell them insurance.

‘Can I have a drink?’ he asked.

‘Certainly. I’m afraid there’s only vodka.’

‘That’ll do fine.’

‘Dasha, bring Mr Petrovsky the vodka from the kitchen. And a glass. On a tray. Quickly, there’s a good girl.’

When the girl had gone, he said, ‘Have you got that list?’

‘What if I have? What can you do with it now?’

‘Until I know you’ve got it I can’t punish you, can I’?’

‘It’s upstairs. Will you keep your boots on this time?’

‘If you insist.’

She shut her eyes and moaned softly.

‘But it’ll be just the two of us,’ he went on. ‘No audience for this one.’

‘Agreed.’

He was left alone long enough to puff out his cheeks, rub his eyes and swear a couple of times, but no longer. Dasha came back with his drink, which she proceeded to serve efficiently enough. After considering him for a time, she said,

‘Are you in the army or the police?’

‘The army.’

‘I thought you were in the police.’

‘Well, I’m in the army.’

‘Do you fuck a lot?’

He threw down the vodka in one. ‘Quite a lot.’

‘How often’? Twice a day?’

‘I suppose if you averaged it out it would come to something like that.’

‘Have you got a nice horse?’

‘Yes,’ he said neutrally, curious about where this might lead.

‘What’s he called?’

‘Oh. It’s a mare. She’s called Polly.’

‘My pony’s called Frisky.’

‘Is he?’

‘Yes. And he is frisky, too.’

‘Really.’

‘Yes. That’s why he’s called Frisky.’

‘I see.’

Their colloquy was interrupted by the return of the girl’s mother carrying an envelope. He held out his hand for it but she kept it away from him.

‘Before you can have this I want the answer to a question.’

‘Fire away.’

‘What are you really going to do with it? You’re not the sort that plays jokes.’

He had rehearsed this one till he was word-perfect; not only that, but blink-perfect and shrug-perfect too. First the slackening of muscles to indicate relief, then pressing lips together – momentary resolve not to tell, followed by a glance at the envelope and away again – wavering, on to lowering the head – touch of shame, finally the blunt statement in a be-damned-to-you tone, ‘Sell it.’

‘Who to?’

‘I don’t know. Of course I know who to deliver it to. I should think the man who’s buying it is an enemy of Director Vanag’s, wouldn’t you? But there’s a lot of those, so we’re not much further forward.’

‘But why? You can’t-’

More shame and defiance in tandem. ‘Money.’

‘I was just going to say, you can’t need the money.’

‘Oh can’t I!’ he said with great but not too great bitterness. ‘You try a few evenings of backgammon at a thousand a point with the luck against you and see whether you start needing money.

‘How much are you down?’

‘Nearly six million.’ He stared into space, stricken at the very thought of so much waste.

‘That’s quite a lot of money, even these days. But surely your father would let you-’

‘No. Can I have that now?’

‘It’s very lucky that man came along just when he did, and also when you’d got friendly with me.’

‘He came along originally six weeks before I knew of your existence,’ he said indignantly. ‘The luck was that he hadn’t found a seller in the meantime. And getting friendly – well, I can’t make out it was your idea and not mine, but I didn’t start it… Thank you.’ While he was opening the envelope he went on, ‘Did you have to have a lot of things done to you to get this?’

‘Yes. Well, rather a lot. Some of them revolted me.’

‘Merciful God.’

He drew out a document and unfolded it. What he saw made him jump to his feet without having consciously intended to, something that could have been said of very few other bodily actions of his since early childhood.

‘Christ in heaven!’

‘What is it?’

‘Where’s the telephone?’

‘In the hall. What’s the matter?’

He hurried out to the instrument, which apart from being of inferior manufacture was virtually identical with the one in use here half a century before. As he spoke into it Mrs Korotchenko watched him with mounting anxiety and annoyance. After a very short conversation he slammed the handset back into its cradle and turned towards the front door. She barred his way.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I have to leave. Something very urgent has come up.’

‘I knew you were in the resistance.’

‘Nonsense. Now, if you…

‘What about my punishment?’

‘I’m afraid that’ll have to be deferred till next time.’ She threw a punch that would have knocked him out if her weight had been properly behind it. As it was he staggered back and crashed into the table where the telephone stood, dislodging a mug of the anthropomorphous sort he had noticed in the dining-room on his last visit; it broke in two on the tiles. When he came back at her she was waiting for him with her guard up. Swearing afresh, he feinted with his fists and rammed his knee into the pit of her stomach; she bent double and started noisily trying to breathe; he stepped past her, turned and, his eyes gone distant, fetched her a kick in her bare arse that brought her head against the frame of one of the glass doors hard enough to daze her and laid her sprawling on the chequered floor. Her child appeared from the drawing-room in good time to see this and be reduced once more to what might have been helpless laughter. Alexander banged the front door behind him.

He set off at a fast trot for the Northampton road and the stables where Polly was. What had Latour-Ordzhonikidze had to say about situations of the kind just concluded?

Save that brought by death, there is no true grief in love. All partings of lovers are willed by both, and that will was present in the very impulse that drew them together.

Something like that.