The Prince of the Soviets

14. THE RIVAL

For a little while after the night of Christmas Eve, Galina was in seventh heaven, but her joyful mood soon passed. Klim did not seem at all like a man who had found the love of his life.

She was plagued by doubts. Perhaps he did not find her beautiful? Or was Tata the problem? Klim was probably reluctant to get involved with a woman who already had a child, particularly when that child was so difficult.

What had taken place that Christmas Eve was repeated several times, and Galina cursed the infertility she had once considered a blessing. If she had got pregnant, Klim would almost certainly have married her. He had told her many times that children were the most important thing in life.

She could not understand what was happening to Klim. He had become sullen, withdrawn, and sarcastic. Increasingly, he wanted to be left alone, and it was impossible to talk to him properly about anything besides work because he refused to answer any questions.

Alov was not making things any easier for Galina.

“Have you found out yet what this Nina Kupina means to Rogov?” he asked her.

Unfortunately, Galina could find out nothing from Klim, even about matters far closer to her heart than this Nina.

“You’ll be in trouble at this rate,” Alov warned her. “I could have you removed from your post. Staff reduction.”

In order to be seen useful, Galina prepared reports on all of Klim’s acquaintances: Elkin, Seibert, Magda, and others.

Alov carefully filed them away. Galina thought he looked like a praying mantis, waiting with expressionless eyes to pounce on an unsuspecting fly.

Galina delivered a package to a censor on the other side of Moscow. On the way back home, the tram broke down, and she arrived back at her apartment exhausted and chilled to the bone.

She found her room turned upside down. Tata and Kitty had been using one of her old aprons to make a toy horse, and the room was strewn with pieces of material, buttons, and tattered bast fibers for the horse’s mane and tail.

Galina hadn’t even the strength to scold them. All she wanted to do at that moment was to drink some hot tea and crawl under a warm blanket. She shivered at the thought that she would have to take Kitty home.

The telephone rang in the hall.

“Galina, it’s for you!” called one of the other tenants.

It was Klim.

“Could Kitty stay the night with you?” he asked. “Kapitolina is out of town, and I have something to do.”

“Of course,” Galina replied.

Klim had never let his daughter spend a night away from home before now. It was all very strange.

In the morning, Galina tried several times to ring Klim, but there was no answer.

“Let’s go home, Kitty,” she said, dispirited. She could not bear the thought of waiting any longer in suspense.

All the way back home, Kitty pretended she was riding on her new toy horse. She was happy. She had gone to bed without washing her face the night before, and Tata had promised to take her to the circus the next time she got free tickets at her school.

They’re just like sisters now, the two of them, thought Galina. If only Klim could be made to see sense, how happy they could all be together!

When they reached her house, Kitty climbed up onto the hillock of snow Afrikan had made for her in the yard.

“I want my horse to slide down with me!” she said.

Galina went up onto the porch and opened the front door. “Come on, Kitty, or I’m going in without you. I’ll count to five: one, two—”

At that moment, there was a clatter of boots on the stairs, and a woman in a magnificent fur coat rushed out past Galina.

Galina’s heart leaped into her mouth. That woman had been with Klim!

Galina dragged Kitty upstairs. The door to Klim’s apartment was wide open, and from inside, there came the smell of burned coffee.

Klim was in the hall, his face ashen and his eyes like a madman’s.

“What happened?” Galina gasped, but he did not even look her way.

“Daddy!” shouted Kitty, thrusting her toy horse toward him. “Look what I’ve got!”

“Yes, that’s wonderful. Thanks,” muttered Klim, clearly not taking in what she had said.

“Who was that woman?” asked Galina.

He met her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I just saw a woman on the stairs. What was she doing here?”

Klim came to his senses at last. “She had the wrong address,” he said. “Come on inside now that you’re here. I need you to type something for me.”

Birch logs blazed in the hearth. The room was as hot as an inferno, but Klim did not seem to notice.

“Portraits of Trotsky and his associates,” he dictated, “have been taken down from walls of official buildings. Books written by Trotskyites have been removed from libraries. Streets previously named after their leader have been renamed after Marx, Lenin, and so on. There has been a spate of suicides. The most passionate Trotskyites are leaving notes declaring ‘The counter-revolution has won. Farewell, comrades!.’”

“Perhaps there’s no need to write all this?” pleaded Galina. “After all, it will never get past the censor.”

“Keep typing, please,” Klim told her. “When it was announced that Trotsky was being sent into exile in Alma-Ata, a huge crowd gathered at the station. A man resembling Trotsky was put onto the train under armed guard, but it later turned out this was an actor made up to look like the opposition leader. After standing in the freezing cold for several hours, the crowd dispersed.”

Galina pulled the sheet of paper from the typewriter and dropped it by accident onto the floor. Bending down to pick it up, she noticed a crumpled pink chemise lying beside the divan.

Klim followed her gaze.

“Would you do me a favor and make me some coffee?” he asked.

As Galina was on her way out to the kitchen, she noticed that the telephone wire had been pulled out of its socket.

It was quite clear to her now what had happened. A woman had spent the night with Klim. This was why he had left Kitty with Galina and had not answered the phone.

Who can it be? thought Galina in dismay. A foreigner? The wife of some Nepman? Has she been coming to see him for long?

When Galina came back, there was no sign of the pink chemise, and the room smelled of scorched cloth. Klim had clearly thrown the garment onto the fire.

“Tell me the truth,” Galina began in a trembling voice. “Who was it who came to see you last night?”

He glanced at her quickly and looked away. He had absolutely no talent for lying.

“Please don’t ask me anything,” he said at last. “I lost my wife not long ago. Since her death, I’ve been finding it difficult—”

So, that was it! Now Galina understood everything—Klim’s misery and his detached, distant air. He had come to the Soviet Union to make a fresh start, but the wound was still too raw. He was not ready to marry again so quickly.

But who was that woman who had come to see him then? Galina guessed that it was probably one of the girls who hung around all day at the Commissariat of Foreign Affairs, trying to seduce wealthy foreigners. Klim must have let her stay the night, but then thrown her out, realizing that this was not at all what he wanted.

Galina was glad of one thing: she knew now that Klim’s affections were not engaged elsewhere. All she had to do was to bide her time and make sure no other woman tried to steal her beloved.