The Prince of the Soviets

12. EX-WIFE

The sleigh was running along the busy Boulevard Ring. Snow was falling, soft, thick and gentle, covering the road and pavements under the bright light of the streetlamps.

“Come on. Hurry up!” pleaded Klim under his breath. But the driver seemed to dawdle deliberately, barely moving the reins.

At the crossroads, a street vendor had scattered his goods across the road, bringing traffic to a standstill.

“Hurry up, damn you!” Klim begged silently.

Chains of carts carrying firewood made their way slowly along Tverskaya Street with its magnificent buildings from the prerevolutionary era. The dray horses plodded on gravely, lifting great shaggy hooves caked in ice.

“Here we are!” the driver shouted, stopping the sleigh opposite the elegant tower of the station.

Klim paid the fare and dashed off through the crowds to the lacquered doors.

The train to Warsaw that took foreigners out of the country was still standing at the platform. The crew had not even begun to get up steam.

Klim made his way back to the station entrance. He needed to take a breath, to calm down. Oscar Reich still hadn’t left Moscow, and all Klim had to do was just wait for him.

Traders from the countryside who had come into the city for the day were hurrying to catch trains out of town. Little boys ran about selling spare buttons, playing cards, and wire brushes for cleaning kerosene stoves.

At last, Klim saw Reich’s dark green Chevrolet—the only one of its kind in Moscow. The chauffeur jumped out and pulled back the front seat to let out a passenger in an expensive fawn coat.

Klim set off to greet him.

“Mister Reich, I’m so glad I caught you before you left! I want to send a letter to London. Would you mind posting it for me in Warsaw?”

Oscar shook him by the hand. “Good to see you. Let’s have the letter.”

Klim held out the unsealed envelope. “There’s nothing in it but postcards, so there won’t be any problem with customs. Take a look if you like.”

“The customs men won’t bother me anyway.”

Klim gave a tense smile, unsure how to steer the conversation around so that he could ask what he was dying to ask.

“I wonder… I wanted to…” Klim did not finish.

Giving her hand to the chauffeur, an elegant woman in a luxurious fur coat with a small felt hat pulled down over her forehead, emerged from the car.

It was Nina.

“Klim…” she whispered, her hand to her mouth. A large diamond ring glittered on her finger.

Oscar turned and handed Nina the envelope. “Could you put this into my briefcase, darling? By the way, Mr. Rogov, have you met my wife? We were married only a week ago.”

Klim, still smiling, murmured some suitably polite words, thanking Oscar and wishing him a pleasant journey. He even managed to bow to Nina, who stood dumbstruck, staring at him.

“You must call in on us when I get back from Europe,” said Oscar and turned to the chauffeur. “Are the suitcases already on the train? Then let’s get on. I haven’t much time.”

Klim turned on his heel and walked away.

Idiot! he cursed himself. Why did you have to come here? Why did you come chasing after that… that…. He was lost for words.

A young driver in a leather coat came rushing up. “Taxi! Where can I take you, sir?”

Klim looked at him blankly. “To Chistye Prudy.”

“With pleasure, sir. In you get!”

Klim got into the back seat and was about to close the door when Nina came running up.

“Please don’t go, for God’s sake!” she cried, panting for breath.

Without looking her way, Klim tugged the door shut.

“Drive on,” he told the driver.

“Who was that young lady?” asked the driver as they came out onto the Garden Ring.

“Just some tramp,” said Klim without expression.

He felt as a bomb had fallen straight into his heart, leaving nothing but a heap of smoking ruins.

Galina rang Tata and told her she would be late back from work. She had decided that she would not leave the house until she had made it up with Klim.

Galina put Kitty to bed and then, in order to get the servant out of the way, suggested that Kapitolina go to a Christmas service.

“Ever so grateful to you, ma’am!” Kapitolina said and a moment later ran off to church.

The minutes went by, and still, there was no Klim. Galina heated up the iron on the stove, spread a blanket on the kitchen table, and began to iron the linen. All sorts of anxious thoughts swarmed in her head. Something important had happened, clearly—otherwise, Klim would never have left Kitty right after some maniac had tried to kidnap her.

At half past nine, there was a ring at the door bell, but it turned out to be a dashing courier in a smart overcoat and a gray astrakhan hat with a red star. He held out a thick envelope decorated with the Soviet state emblem.

“Sign for this please, ma’am,” he said.

Galina stared in awe at the large wax seal. “What’s this?”

“Special delivery from the Kremlin,” said the courier.

He got her signature, snapped a salute, and was gone.

Galina threw her coat over her shoulders, grabbed her cigarettes, and went out around the back of the building for a smoke. Just between its windowless wall and the fence of the neighboring house, there was a secluded spot where she could enjoy her cigarette without fear that Klim would come across her.

What if he doesn’t marry me after all? she thought fretfully.

It was quiet and dark all around. The wind was whipping up clouds of glittering snow, and the clear winter stars hung motionless overhead.

Galina went back inside. Taking the pile of freshly ironed linen, she walked into the living room, turned on the light, and gasped. “Good lord!”

Klim was sitting on the windowsill, his arms folded over his chest.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” said Galina.

He did not look at her. His shoulders were oddly hunched as if it hurt him to move.

“Kitty and I are leaving the country,” he said in a strange voice.

Galina stood aghast, the linen falling out of her hands. “Are you being expelled?”

“No.”

“Is Owen getting rid of you?”

Klim dismissed her with an irritated gesture. “No, it’s not that.”

Galina saw that there was no point in plying Klim with questions—he was obviously not going to explain.

“But you can’t just leave,” she said miserably. “You have a contract! You’ve paid the rental on your apartment in advance!”

“That’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“What about me? Am I nothing to you too?” asked Galina, going up to Klim and looking into his eyes. “Don’t you understand that if you do this, you’ll destroy everything? Everything I have?”

“Spare me the hysterics, please!” said Klim through gritted teeth. “That’s the last thing I need.”

“Can’t you see after all this time?” she asked quietly. “I love you!”

He looked at her for a long while and then suddenly pulled her toward him. Shivering with fear and unexpected joy, Galina kissed him.

As Klim led her to the divan, she turned out the light. She was horribly ashamed of her scar and of her old, darned underclothes.

Galina lay beside Klim listening to him breathing. It was difficult to believe what had just happened.

What now? she thought. Would Klim really leave the country? No, that was impossible. He would never have done all that if he wanted to go. That would have been too dishonorable, and Klim is an honorable man.

Galina felt the urge for a smoke but did not dare breathe a word to Klim about cigarettes.

“You should go home,” he said. “Tata is probably out of her mind with worry.”

Galina closed her eyes for a moment. Was Klim throwing her out? Or was he really concerned about Tata?

“Yes, I’m going. I’m going.” She kissed Klim on the cheek and stood up.

It seemed there was something left unsaid. She wanted to explain to him how she felt, but there was only one thought in her head: Please don’t leave me!

Klim reached for his trousers on the floor.

“I’ll tell Afrikan to hire a cab for you,” he said. “You shouldn’t walk about alone at night.”

He switched on the desk lamp, and Galina’s fear grew—she saw no sign of tenderness, no interest in his eyes; nothing but a look of painful, inscrutable misery.

As Galina was getting dressed, Klim began to sort through the post on his desk. His movements were more abrupt than usual: he tossed the envelopes to one side carelessly, and a couple fell at Galina’s feet.

She saw Klim opening the letter with the state emblem.

“What is it?” she asked.

He held out a piece of thick paper with a typewritten message on it:

Galina stared in amazement at the signature, written in blue ink.

“He sent you a personal answer?” she gasped. “Even though you’re considered an ‘enemy journalist’?”

“I’ve got a Christmas present after all,” said Klim with a mirthless laugh.

“Look,” said Galina, “he’s written here that the situation might change in the future. You can’t leave Moscow now! You’ll lose your chance to somebody else.”

“Galina, you don’t understand—”

“And I never will!” she broke in. “Your life here is fine. You have a house, work, and friends. If you go abroad, you’ll have to start all over from scratch. How do you think you’re going to pay the money owing on the apartment? Right now, you have it on credit, and don’t think Elkin will give you anything back—he’s sunk everything into his business. Good god! You can’t just ruin your whole life like this!”

Galina went up to Klim and put her arms around him. “Whatever happens to you, I’ll be by your side. I’ll always do what I can to help you.”

“Thank you,” he said and gave a deep sigh. “It was foolish, of course, to talk about leaving. All of this would pass eventually.”

Galina suddenly realized that Klim was looking at her scar. In her haste, she had forgotten to button her dress.

Klim also had a scar on his chest from a deep wound, which, by the look of it, had not been stitched and had healed haphazardly.

“Do you mind me asking what that is?” Galina asked him now. “If I don’t know, I won’t be able to stop staring at it every time I see it.”

“Spoils of war,” he said.

“It must have almost hit your heart.”

“Something like that.”

Galina breathed a sigh of relief. She had hinted that this was not the last time she would see the scar, and Klim had not said anything to contradict her.

How could she find out what had happened? It was wrong to leave Klim all alone with his gloomy thoughts, but Galina understood that he did not want her around.

“All right. I’m going,” she said.

Klim took Galina by the shoulders, took a step back, and looked at her as if for the first time.

“You know, you’re a fine woman, Galina,” he said.

She kissed him on the lips. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

So, Klim had become her lover after all, and Galina found it almost impossible to believe. She had to do her best not to ruin everything, not to make the mistake of blurting out something that would annoy him.

She should buy a new brassiere and new underwear too. Damn it all—she would have to get a loan from the OGPU cooperative again!

At the thought of the OGPU, Galina cringed inwardly. Would Alov realize that she had allowed this foreigner to take his place? Alov was terribly possessive and took the view that it was acceptable for men to be unfaithful, as it was in their nature, but that women should remain devoted all their lives to a single man.

What would happen now when Alov called her in to his office? It would be unthinkable to let him have his way with her now that she had become romantically involved with Klim. But should she try to make excuses, Alov would immediately suspect something was up.

I’ll tell him I have women’s problems, she decided. I’ll get a doctor to write me a note if I have to.

As the sleigh took her home past the Church of the Archangel Gabriel, Galina lifted her eyes to the gold cross gleaming faintly in the darkness and swore that never again would she smoke or beat Tata.

This was the beginning of a new life filled with excitement, fear, and an amazing sense of hope.

Klim shut the door after Galina and went back into his room. He sat at his desk and opened the “Book of the Dead.”

The entries in his diary did not correspond with the dates printed on the pages, and the last notes he had made in December had been written under April dates:

Klim dipped his pen into the inkwell and wrote beneath: “Nina is dead too.”

He sat for some time looking at the damp violet letters. It was hot from the light of the electric lamp.

He noticed that his fingernails still bore the traces of dried blood from the man who had tried to kidnap Kitty. In his haste, Klim had not even had time to wash his hands properly.

Disgusted at the sight, he tried to wipe away the blood with blotting paper but soon gave up. What difference did it make anyway?

He remembered how Galina’s kisses had smelled horribly of tobacco and some sort of medicine. She was no more than a dismal substitute, and what had happened between them had been a desperate attempt to burn his bridges and show himself that he had put the past behind him.

But Galina would not be disloyal to him, he felt sure. Or was it a mistake on his part to trust her? After all, she had already reported on him to the OGPU, and disloyalty was her professional duty.

The front door creaked open.

“Why aren’t you in bed, sir?” he heard Kapitolina’s voice. “Are you still working?”

She put her head around the door and looked with quizzical merriment at Klim. “Happy Christmas! I made you a new towel.”

She ran back to her room and came back with a hand towel and a pair of mittens. “This is for you, and these are for Kitty. If I had any more yarn, I’d have made some for Tata too. Galina says the poor little one hasn’t any mittens, and that’s why her nose is always running.”

Klim gave Kapitolina two rubles and then added another so she could buy some yarn and make Tata a pair of mittens.

“Oh, sir, you’re too kind!” Kapitolina exclaimed. “You’ve made our day—all of us girls, I mean!”

She unwound her shawl, wrapped the money in it, and hid it beneath her shirt.

“I’ll go to a witch and ask her for a love charm so as I can find me a husband,” she said, blushing. “The best thing would be to get a worker from the state catering department or the member of some factory committee. I’ve got my eye on a soldier too—one of the guards at the Lenin Mausoleum. I’ve been twice now to stand in the queue and get a peek at him. Such a job he has, standing stock still all day and making sure nobody runs off with the body of our leader!”

“Don’t tell me you believe in witches?” asked Klim.

Kapitolina put her hands on her hips. “There are some very powerful witches out there, you know! They can cast all sorts of spells.”

She looked around the room for a fitting example and saw a book of fairy tales lying on the carpet. On the cover was a picture of Snow White sleeping in her coffin.

“You see what a spell can do?” said Kapitolina.

Klim gave a grim laugh. That was a good comparison. His Nina, the Nina he had once known, had tasted the forbidden fruit, and her true self had died. She was still breathing, her heart was still beating, but there was nothing left of his wife but an empty shell.

That night, Klim could not get to sleep. He kept remembering Nina standing next to her new husband, clear-eyed, gorgeous, and unattainable. He remembered how she had pounded with her palm on the window of the taxi, wanting, for some reason, to explain something to Klim.

What was there to explain? She had acted exactly as he might have expected—she had found the only millionaire in Moscow and married him. As for divorce, under Soviet law, a former spouse could be notified by post. All you had to do was pay the state tariff, send a letter recorded delivery, and you could consider yourself free.

That Christmas Eve, Klim had received a more valuable gift than a personal letter from Stalin. He had also got a clear reply to all the questions that had been plaguing him. He was afraid that Nina met her end in Moscow—and he had been right.

There was no point in going back to Shanghai. What sort of future could Kitty hope for there? The Europeans and Americans living in China regarded the Asian races as second class citizens, and in Chinese society, a woman was of about the same status as a piece of furniture.

There was only one way to overcome Kitty’s “unfortunate” parentage, and that was to give her a brilliant education. By fair means or foul, Klim had to get Kitty a place in a good European school, and to do so, he needed money and a residency permit. It would be good if he were transferred to London, but Klim knew he had not been with United Press for long enough yet to be in line for a position in a European office.

Well, now his future plan of action was clear. First, he had to get an interview with Stalin, and then he could get out of the country to Europe.

And Nina? As far as Klim was concerned, she no longer existed.