I joined the scowling Cossack. His men were already looting the train, watched by helpless Red sailors. Not only Jews were suffering, although these were getting the harshest treatment. A Hasid with a bloody crotch was spread-eagled, dead, half-way up the embankment.
I followed the Cossack as he plunged towards the crest. Having slipped a couple of times, I was now covered in snow. I was shivering and uncomfortable. We reached the top. We looked down on a thin, earth road. There were some ponies standing there, attended by a young boy in a tattered sheepskin. Their breath looked whiter than the snow and there seemed to be a tranquillity here. Further along the road were three carts, harnessed to horses, and a motor-van. From the van came more vapour. German insignia had been partially scraped from its sides. It flew a red flag. The bonnet was open. Two Cossacks were arguing about what they could see inside. They spoke in dialect. As we approached, they fell silent. One of them removed his cap, then put it shamefacedly back on. Their leader said, ‘This is a mechanic from Moscow. He’ll look at it.’
I could see immediately that the radiator hose had come loose. All it needed was tying back on with a leather thong. I decided to try to impress them. My life depended on it. ‘Who drives?’ A sickly fellow, the one who had removed his cap, raised his hand. ‘You start the engine,’ I said to his companion. The crank-lever was already in position. He began to turn it like a peasant winding a bucket from a well. At last the engine fired and immediately began over-heating. I enjoyed its warmth in that bitter air. I walked round and round in front of the truck, as if thinking deeply. I told them to stop the engine. I told them to stand back. They did this with alacrity. I took the hose in my gloved hands and replaced it. I asked for a thong. One was found. I bound the hose up, unscrewed the radiator cap and told them to put snow into a bucket and warm it on the engine.
‘Snow!’ said their leader. ‘The thing runs on benzine.’
Even I was surprised by this ignorance. ‘Do as I say.’
The two men found a large water container and began to pick snow up in their hands, cramming it in. When it had melted I told them to begin pouring it into the radiator. ‘Not too quickly.’
Eventually the radiator was brimming over. I told them to start the engine again. As the truck spluttered and shook the leader yelled at me: ‘It hasn’t worked. What else is wrong?’
Then the motor was turning. The Cossack who had cranked it jumped back. By the smell of the fumes, it was hard to know what kind of fuel they were using. The black smoke suggested it might have been unrefined oil. The truck began to roll towards me. The driver yelled and swung the steering wheel. Their driving was only slightly better than their knowledge of the internal combustion engine. A brake was applied. I picked myself out of the snow-drift. From behind the embankment I heard sounds and saw steam. ‘The train’s leaving.’
‘You’ve just saved your life.’ The leader grinned. He was pleased to see the truck running. ‘Thank God, if you like. What’s a trip to Odessa worth now? You’ve just been saved a trip to Hell. I don’t know what you thought you were: yid, Katsup or Bolshie. But you’re now an official engineer with the host of Hetman Hrihorieff, serving under Sotnik Grishenko. Aren’t you proud?’
The bandits were coming back, grinning, waving and displaying their dishonourable booty. The stuff was thrown into the truck. I was made to climb aboard with the rest of the loot. I found myself in a tangle of stolen goods, machine-guns, ammunition, salted pork and two small girls who giggled when they saw me and offered me some herring. I accepted. It might be the last food I would get. The girls murmured at me in their thick accents. They were survivors from a village fought over by Reds and Nationalists. The truck moved off. Sotnik (Captain) Grishenko rode up close behind us. He had a look of self-satisfaction on his hard features. ‘Fix the canopy, if you like. You’ll be warmer. Don’t eat too much. That’s food for a lot of soldiers.’
‘Where the hell are we going?’ There was no point in my remaining polite.
‘Don’t worry, yid, you’re in safe hands.’
I shouted back at him. ‘I’m not Jewish. I’m travelling on Party business.’
‘Then you’re on Jewish business, aren’t you?’ He was pleased at his wit. He whipped his horse into a trot and was gone. I looked out at the bleak, uninhabitable hills. The line of yellow mist had joined the land. I tried to see smoke, either from the train or from a farmhouse where I might seek refuge. But there was nothing.
All I had worked for was in a suitcase in a carriage full of Bolsheviks who would steal it without a scruple. My mother and Esmé might be waiting at the station and learn of my fate. There was nothing I could do except hope we passed through a town. I would try to escape and send a telegram to Odessa. I shifted myself into a more comfortable position against a machine-gun tripod. In the end I was forced to rest my elbow on a side of pork. It became colder. I lowered the canopy, but let a corner flap. I would be able to see if we reached a good-sized settlement.
I was in the position of an enslaved magician. While I was able to perform simple tricks for these barbarians, they would keep me alive. I had been horrified by the bandit’s assumption that I was Jewish because Cossacks felt no conscience at all about killing Jews. Accuse a Slav of being a Jew and you take his breath from his body, the saliva from his mouth, the soul from his eyes. I do not fear death. I have God and I have my honour. My pride has gone. They laugh at me in the market. They call me names, even Jew. They steal from my shop and put their greasy hands on my clothes, and they sneer and ask stupid questions. Mrs Cornelius screamed at them and made them leave. The young girls are so sweet. They buy the white night-dresses and the little blouses and the silk knickers and they are so beautiful. They should sing the ‘Dante’ of Liszt to the music of harps. Lament for exiles; lament for Dante in his exile and his greatness. Lament for Chopin, who could never come to terms with his own Slavic spirit, and who also became an exile. I should like to die in Kiev, looking at lilacs and chestnut trees. The Bolsheviks have probably cut them all down to make their motorways. It is all flats. It is like the flats around here. That is your socialism. The rationalists destroy our world. Where we see beauty and the boundless wonders of science, they see only tidy shapes; their flats. Give me the old Russian rutted track across the broad steppe. Give me that again and I shall forget God’s gifts of Science and Prescience. The people do not want Prometheus. Prometheus is burdened by knowledge.
The road did not improve. The truck had no real suspension. It veered frequently. The driver used vodka as a substitute for experience. He needed courage, considering the speed at which he was driving and the condition of the road. Horses and carts vanished behind us. I would have a better than average chance of escape if I jumped clear then. But I would have frozen to death. I had no proper clothing. I had no map or knowledge of the area. I was not even sure which province this was. In spite of the noise from the truck, the discomfort and the fighting of the two little girls, towards evening a sense of peace came. The truck began to slow. I looked through the flap. To my elation I saw we passed through a fair-sized village. I eased myself towards the canopy and was about to squeeze out when the truck stopped. I was thrown amongst pork and machine-guns. The little girls squealed and giggled. I asked them if they knew where we were. They could not understand Russian. My bad Ukrainian baffled them. They had had no education at all. If they had been sent to school, they would have known Russian. It was the official language. Voices came from the twilit street. I drew back the canopy and jumped out. I faced two men wearing blue jackets with gold frogging. For a moment I thought they were officials and was relieved. Then I realised they also wore bandoliers. One had a sailor’s cap. The other had a fur hat with ear-flaps. They were heavily bearded, with a slight oriental appearance. They were bandits.