— And did you get one?
— No.
— Why not? You’re pretty enough.
She tapped her finger on her head. —I couldn’t find a man to keep up with me.
— No, I suppose not.
Temerity almost smiled; once again, he seemed so disarming. —I’ve done nothing wrong, comrade. Can you tell me why I’m here?
He stared at her again. —Travelled anywhere else?
She stared back. His exhaled smoke obscured his eyes and, perhaps, the flicker of emotion there.
Kostya walked around the edge of the light spill. His stomach tingled. —Answer my question.
Temerity recalled Neville Freeman’s voice: People disappear in Russia.
Dirty water splashed as Kostya strode though the puddles in a tight circle around the stool. Then he paused behind her. The insanity of coincidence now felt quite unexceptional to him, no worse than the insanity of queuing for necessities in a country claiming surplus and glut, no worse than the insanity of the entire Purge. He murmured, voice solicitous, pleading. —Don’t turn around, and don’t think. Just answer me. Have you travelled anywhere else?
— No.
Once more studying the back of this woman’s head, Kostya felt his mouth work.
He strode back to the shadows and beat his fist on the door.
Temerity took a deep and shaky breath and discovered she was weeping. —Wait. Comrade Officer, wait. You’ve not yet told me why I’m under arrest.
The lock clunked, the door swung open, and the tap of Kostya’s boot soles faded as he stepped out of the cell. Then the heavy door slammed shut.
As Temerity dried her face with the backs of her hands, she saw how a puddle reflected back the caged light.
PARTY FAVOURS
Saturday 5 June–Sunday 6 June
— Because truly, comrades, life is more cheerful than ever before. And now, Tchaikovsky.
Temerity strode down the corridor to the communal kitchen of Hotel Lux, hotel workers staring at her. She wished she could rip the bolted radio speaker off the wall and leave it trailing torn wires like guts. Then again, Temerity reminded herself, at least the blare of the speaker meant the hotel’s electricity still ran.
For now.
Just outside the kitchen, Temerity could hear many of the gathered Comintern women speaking quiet Russian. They had yet to notice her. In the middle of the crowd, the French mother with the smiling baby wept. After arresting her husband, NKVD officers had sealed the hotel room with padlock and tape. All of her clothes, her baby’s diapers and blankets, and her travel papers lay in that sealed room. She could access the room again once her husband returned, and he would only return once proven innocent. For now, she must find someone willing to share a room and perhaps a bed with her and the baby.
On the edge of this circle, her situation just as dire, Mikko Toppinen’s mother Kielo scowled. Next to her, Nina Fontana sobbed as she told the other women how she’d sacrificed her relationship with her parents and most of her friends to serve in Comintern and move to the Soviet Union. —We’ve done everything asked of us, everything. Why must this happen?
Temerity wanted to spit. Loyal servants of the Revolution, and this their reward: loved ones and faith bloody torn away.
Kielo noticed Temerity then, and flinched: a spectre, a fetch, a Lubyanka wraith. —Comrade Bush?
Nina gasped. —Margaret!
Temerity wanted to strike Nina full on the mouth, that mouth so quick to give her up to NKVD. And yet, Temerity asked herself, what else could she have done?
Sounding happy to see her, relieved, Nina took Temerity in her arms. —I knew all along you weren’t a traitor. Some of us might think NKVD sent you back to spy on us, but that’s nonsense.
The others seemed to consider the suggestion as perhaps, just perhaps, more than nonsense.
Anger fled, leaving Temerity numb. She patted Nina on a shoulder and eased out of the embrace. —Of course it’s nonsense.
Kielo laid her hand on Temerity’s shoulder. —Did you see Lauri?
Nina grasped for Temerity’s hand, missed. —What happened to Marco?
Temerity glanced about for an escape. The other women filled her sightline.
— Jean-Pierre?
— Carlos?
— Dietrich?
— Olafur?
She cringed. Don’t touch me. —I don’t know.
The other women stared at Temerity, demanding a better answer.
She tried to give it. —They shoved us into different cars, and then I was in a cell by myself. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
Nina wobbled and swayed. Temerity and Kielo caught her and helped her to a chair. The samovar hissed. Then Temerity noticed several of the children had gathered as well. They now studied Comrade Bush, their English teacher, arrested but freed and returned in under twenty-four hours, when some of their parents had been gone for weeks, with no word.
Temerity saw evacuees’ name tags hanging from their necks. When she blinked, the name tags disappeared, some shred of a dream.
Ursula Friesen broke free from the crowd in the kitchen and shooed the children away, telling them to go review their language lessons, for she and Comrade Bush might set a quiz tomorrow. Then she embraced Temerity, whispering in her ear. —I feel like I hold a ghost.
As her vision greyed out, returned, Temerity felt no affection, no relief.
Just fear. A buzz of it, a steady whisper, like static in the speakers.
Arrest and disappearance: it had happened once, so it could happen again, at any moment. And to add to it: guilt, wretched, clammy guilt at being one who came back, and came back useless, with no information. If she had a drink, she’d raise a toast to NKVD. Not twenty-four hours’ captivity, a gentle interrogation, a release, a drive back to Hotel Lux, and now a two-man surveillance detail parked outside, all so polite by NKVD standards, and yet she felt gutted, marked, pried in two with emotions wild and intellect bound.
Well done, gentlemen.
Radio Moscow fell silent as the electricity failed.
Ursula offered her arm.
Temerity first shook her head, then accepted, and Ursula guided her away from the kitchen.
Away from the others, Temerity murmured in Ursula’s ear. —I’m sorry. I need to tell them how sorry I am.
— You’re limping.
— NKVD forced me to sit on a stool.
— Is that all?
A fair question, Temerity told herself, yet she snapped her answer. —What?
Ursula held Temerity’s gaze. —We hear of much worse. Really, I’m very happy to see you again. Let’s get you cleaned up.
As Ursula and Temerity reached the next floor, they found children playing, five boys, eight to ten years told. Four chased one, and they made very little noise. One of the chasers, Mikko Toppinen, broke off, turned around, and ran towards them. He stood before Temerity and gave the little bow due a teacher. Then he stared up into her face, asking so much yet saying nothing.
She shook her head. —I don’t know.
His reply in English sounded hollow and rehearsed, and he gave another little bow. —Thank you.
Then something changed with the other boys. As they strode to Mikko, calm, certain, and, after two steps, in unison, they seemed older. Faster. They surrounded Mikko, Temerity, and Ursula, and their voices, calm, even bored at first, soon trembled with something like desire.
— Are you Comrade Toppinen?
— I am.
— Pack a few things and come with us. It’s a small matter.
Ursula’s face flushed a deep red. —Stop it. Stop it now.
The boys all laughed, laughed at how the adults understood nothing, until Mikko cried out.