Russian Treasures

25. PREPARING TO RUN

The spring and the early summer of 1919 were fraught with expectation and filled with frantic activity. Klim managed to obtain official permission for a railroad car for his propaganda efforts. The car had once been used as a mobile chapel and was now lying disused in a siding. But although the cogs of the bureaucratic machine continued to turn and meetings were held to decide on programs and budgets, no locomotive could be found to pull the propaganda car. All serviceable engines were working at maximum capacity, transporting troops, ammunition, and food.

Admiral Kolchak was advancing from the east, General Yudenich was coming in to attack the Bolsheviks from the north, and General Denikin was moving up from the south. The newspapers were reporting that “the ring of the frontline is closing in.”

Clearly, things were looking bad for the Soviets to judge by the panic and frenzy in government offices. The city was in an agony of suspense, and senses were heightened. No one knew in which direction the Whites were moving, how strong they were, and which of the “damned imperialists” was giving them support.

Nina tried to remain skeptical. A year earlier, it had also looked as though the defeat of the Reds was inevitable. There was nothing for it but to wait and listen, to keep their ears and eyes open.

Klim drew up the staffing plan for the members of his propaganda team himself. He now had a number of official documents covered in stamps and signatures, according to which Dr. Sablin was charged with explaining the health benefits of personal hygiene to Red Army soldiers, Sofia Karlovna was to handle supplies and requisites, Nina Kupina was to work as an administrative assistant, and Klim himself was to provide ideological leadership.

“We’ll need to hope Osip doesn’t check the staff list,” he said. “Otherwise, he’ll realize in no time that we’re planning to bail out.”

They bided their time and waited for their chance, saving what they could for scraping together an “escape fund.” They sold Sofia Karlovna’s earrings, but by spring of 1919, the Russian ruble had lost all of its value. The People’s Bank might as well have been printing candy wrappers—nothing to be ashamed of perhaps for those who espoused the Bolshevik view that the communist state would eventually have no need of money. In the meantime, banknote printing became the most efficient and fastest growing industry in Russia. The only thing that kept a check on rising inflation was the availability of paper.

“Soon, we’ll see announcements in the street,” Klim said, “for sale: an elegant snuffbox for your monthly food ration and a large wheelbarrow for your monthly wages.”

But the situation had serious implications for their “escape fund,” which had to be kept in foreign currency if they wanted it kept safe. Meanwhile, the deutsche mark, the French franc, and the British pound were all losing value due to postwar inflation. And in any case, the banknotes rustled if you hid them in your clothes, as Nina soon found out.

“If the Cheka searches us, they’ll definitely find the money,” she said after a few experiments. “Perhaps we should try dollars.”

But while it might still have been possible to find European currency at the flea market or in the alleys beside the railroad station, American dollars weren’t to be had at any price, and there were provocateurs and counterfeiters on all sides. Once Sablin brought home a forged banknote signed by the “Komissar of Finanse.”

In the end, they decided it would be best to convert their savings into alcohol. Klim and Sablin made a wooden field kit with slots for tubes, and Nina labeled each tube with a label saying, “Caution! Typhoid bacteria!” On the side of the box, she wrote, “Medical equipment of vital importance.”

The question of clothes was a worry. Should they buy them or not? On the one hand, it would be good to take as many clothes as possible because garments could be swapped for food. On the other hand, anyone traveling with luggage was asking to be robbed by local commissars eager to requisition “bourgeois property.” At the very least, they needed military uniforms for Klim and Sablin so that they could pass themselves off as frontline soldiers. It was rumored that the barrier troopers were afraid of them.

The most difficult problem of all was how to disguise the old countess. Sofia Karlovna was horrified at the thought of pretending to be a simple old peasant woman. Moreover, since the death of Anna Evgenievna, the old countess’ mind was beginning to wander, and on occasion, her tongue ran away with her.

“Good gracious, their butler has a mustache!” she exclaimed upon seeing a policeman in the waiting room at the Executive Committee offices. “When did you ever see a butler with a mustache? He should wear side whiskers.”

Nina felt very uneasy at the thought of traveling with her mother-in-law. What if she was to let slip something like that in the presence of Bolsheviks and give them all away?

Sofia Karlovna lectured Nina time and again.

“At the market today you called out for Mr. Rogov by name. A well-brought up young lady never raises her voice. If she wants to be noticed in a crowd, she must take off her hat, put it on her parasol, and raise it above her head.”

“But, Sofia Karlovna, I have neither a parasol nor a hat.”

“That won’t do. And don’t look at me like that. I understand that your family believed that a woman’s place was in her kitchen and thus didn’t set great store by your upbringing. But how are you supposed to raise a child if you know nothing yourself?”

Sometimes Nina wished that Klim had never met the old countess in the street. But, however difficult life was with Sofia Karlovna, they couldn’t have done without her diamonds. And besides, the old countess had influential relatives in Paris who could help them find visas and accommodation once they got to France.

Lubochka was pregnant, and she had decided that Nina could be of help to her running errands now and looking after the baby in the future.

“It will be hard to cope with the baby and the canteen at the same time,” she told Nina. “You will help me, won’t you?”

Nina went with her to market. On the first day, they bought swaddling clothes and on the next, a goat.

“I’m afraid my nerves will affect my milk,” Lubochka fretted, “and I won’t be able to feed the baby myself. We need to get a goat just in case. Do you know how to milk them? I’ve heard it’s not that difficult. I’m sure you’ll learn.”

Lubochka quite legitimately asked for favors in return for her kindness, and Nina couldn’t refuse her. She tried to put Lubochka’s mind at rest, did everything she was asked, and assured her that her figure would soon get back to normal after childbirth.

“I’m so ugly these days,” Lubochka sobbed. “Osip doesn’t pay me the slightest attention anymore.”

Indeed, Osip came home, and every night after dinner, he suddenly got up from the table and went to Klim’s room.

“Are you there?” he asked, knocking on the door. “May I come in?”

They played cards and always ended up in heated arguments.

“You think that society is divided into classes that have to compete with each other,” Klim said to Osip. “But I still can’t figure out for the life of me which class I belong to. I was born into the nobility, but I’ve lived my life like a tramp. Whose side am I supposed to be on?”

“You’re a declassed element,” Osip told him, “and you have to decide which side you should move to. Look, some live by their own work while others exploit them, and we need to put a stop to it.”

“I don’t mind being exploited,” Klim said, shrugging his shoulders. “If a publisher pays me well and stays out of my private life, why should I fight him? If I fight him and win—God forbid—there won’t be anyone to pay my wages.”

“Then the products of your labor will be yours, and you can do with them as you like.”

“But what if that doesn’t suit me? For me, it’s much more convenient to write an article and sell it to an exploiter.”

“Pah!” Osip spat in disgust. “Why do you always bring everything back to yourself?”

“All right then, let’s talk about you. What class are you?”

“I’m a worker, of course. What else?”

“I don’t think so. You haven’t worked in a factory since 1914. You’re a bureaucrat just like my father.”

Osip laughed. He was amused by the comparison with the Public Prosecutor.

Klim feigned innocence. “What are you laughing at? Who rides the workers? Who produces nothing but paperwork?”

“But I don’t assume the products of someone else’s labor.”

“Really? Then where do your party rations come from? Some might say you’re an exploiter yourself.”

“I’ve never heard such rubbish in my life!” Osip exclaimed, blood rushing to his face.

“That’s exactly what my father used to say.”

Nina pleaded with Klim to stop arguing with Osip. “What if he gets angry and does something to harm you?”

But Klim thought that the arguments with Osip were helping them find common ground.

“Osip doesn’t trust anyone, you see. He thinks everyone is out to exploit him, but he feels safe with me because he knows exactly what to expect. He’s lonely, and all he’s trying to do is make friends.”

“But you’re completely different from one another.”

“So what? We’re honest, and we respect each other.”

“You respect Osip?” Nina asked in surprise.

“Absolutely.”

The pregnancy took its toll on Lubochka. First, she suffered from sickness and then from back pain. She was terribly anxious that she might not be able to carry on working at the canteen after having her baby. If she lost her job and access to provisions, how could she hope to feed a child? She no longer put her faith in Osip. Recently, he seemed to have lost interest in everything except his precious Military Commissariat, his card games, and his political discussions. He wasn’t happy at all about her pregnancy and treated her as though she had a serious illness.

She tried to alarm him by telling him that Sablin had become particularly attentive toward her, but Osip didn’t believe a pregnant woman could be of any interest to any man in his right mind.

“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?”

It was true. Lubochka had all but lost what looks she had. Her thighs, chest, and neck had puffed up, and her fingers were now so fat that her rings no longer fit her.

“Will I stay like this?” Lubochka pestered Sablin. “Why don’t you say anything? You’re a doctor. You should know.”

“It’s not really my field,” Sablin said, averting his gaze.

Anton Emilievich also felt nervous about her situation.

“If you ask me, you made a bad choice,” he told Lubochka one day. “You couldn’t have found yourself a worse husband.”

She lost her temper. “If it weren’t for Osip, we wouldn’t be living in this house, and there would be no canteen.”

“Look at you now weeping and wailing,” Anton Emilievich said. “And where is he? Playing cards with Klim, that’s where. You were the one who brought your cousin here, so it serves you right.”

Lubochka had gathered various strands of love under one roof. For Sablin, she felt the sort of pitying love that one feels for a child; she loved Osip for his ability to provide for her, but her passion was reserved for Klim and Klim alone.

Lubochka watched him sitting in the armchair and writing something down in the notebook she had given him. He scratched his thick eyebrow and chuckled to himself. He had probably thought of a joke but didn’t want to share it with anyone yet.

She cherished every memory of him ever touching her. The one when he had brought her a shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders to keep her warm or when he had gently placed his hand on her belly after she had told him the baby was kicking.

Lubochka did her best to persuade herself that she wasn’t feeling jealous, but one day, as she was walking down the corridor, she heard Klim’s voice.

“If you cut my hair crooked,” he said, “that hard-boiled crew will laugh me out of the classroom.”

The door to the bathroom was slightly ajar. Lubochka tiptoed to it and saw Klim sitting on a low stool. His shoulders were covered with a white sheet, and he was trying to sit still while Nina trimmed his hair.

“How much longer?” he asked.

“Hold on a minute.”

She blew the cut hair from his neck and took the sheet off his shoulders. Lubochka had never seen her cousin half-naked like this before. She drank in the sight of his broad, swarthy back and his reflection in a mirror—his chest covered with dark hair and the narrow strip of hair running down into the waistband of his trousers.

“I think it’s turned out well,” Nina said. “Do you want me to cut a little more from the left side?”

“No, I don’t.”

Suddenly, Klim pulled Nina close to him.

“Stop—” she gasped. “What if someone—”

He lifted his wife and put her on a low cabinet by the wall. Klim parted Nina’s knees and pressed himself to her, and Lubochka felt as though her heart was about to burst. Nina put her arms around him and sank onto his shoulder. Suddenly, her gaze met Lubochka’s.

“Don’t forget to clean up after yourselves,” Lubochka said and staggered to the kitchen, scarlet with emotion and with tears starting in her eyes.