— Correct. You miss complete savagery by the grace of this one book. Let me read it.
He covered it with undershirts. —It’s dull.
— Then could you go to a library and—
— No! Hurry up and get changed while I take a shower.
— Kostya, please. I am bored witless in this flat.
He exposed Turgenev’s Fathers and Sons. —Fine, fine. Take it.
In the bedroom, she closed the door and listened. Once the water ran, she stashed her Temerity West passport back under the mattress. Then she changed into the pyjamas, rolling up sleeves and cuffs, which promptly unrolled again as she folded the clothes she’d worn, and laid them on the closet shelf.
As Kostya’s shower finished, Temerity settled herself in the armchair in the front room. She ran her fingers over the book’s binding, then lifted the book to her nose to breathe in the scent of old paper. She also caught sweat, dust, and hospital disinfectant.
In the bedroom, Kostya hung up his uniform pieces and tucked the holstered Nagant and the amber beads beneath his pillow. As he pulled on clean shorts, he caught sight of the shirt Temerity placed on the closet shelf. He grabbed the shirt and pressed it to his nose to smell the perfume.
Temerity thought of the Lichtträger, the scent of kerosene.
Kostya stroked the shirt against his face, then folded it again and returned it to the shelf.
Temerity turned to the book’s title page and struggled to forget the stench of tinned blood. Arkady’s voice intruded: I want you to disappear.
The bed squeaked as Kostya lay down.
Temerity raised the book in the air, as if in a toast. To love and safety.
PROPISKA
Thursday 10 June
Uncertain what woke him, Kostya checked his watch: seventeen minutes after two in the morning.
Five bangs of a fist. —Comrade, open the door.
Shit!
He felt the floor beneath his feet before he understood he’d gotten out of bed. Efim in the room next door cried out in fright. In the front room, the chair scraped against the floor as Temerity stood up.
Kostya grabbed his keys and identification wallet from the side table and his robe from the closet. In the hallway, he discovered that he’d taken a gymnastyorka instead.
Nadia, I’m sorry.
Five more bangs. —Open the door, comrade!
— Yes, yes, I’m coming!
Kostya hauled the gymnastyorka over his head, blinding himself to the sight of Temerity standing behind the chair. He lurched to the door and pressed his ear to the hinge to listen. He thought he recognized the voice.
— Comrade Yaroslav! At once, please. We’ve no wish to wake your neighbours.
A second man spoke. —Katelnikov, listen to me. We’re on the wrong floor. That’s the wrong flat. They’re all numbered the same in this building.
— Oh, fuck.
— You’ll be fucked if we don’t make quota.
Kostya unlocked the door and stepped into the dirty light of the one hanging bulb. —Katelnikov?
Matvei whirled around, faced the man who called his name. —I…oh, no.
Nodding to Matvei and then to his partner, Kostya showed his ID. —Can I be of any help?
A third officer ascended the stairs, his voice stiff with embarrassment. —Nikto? Is that you?
Kostya recognized the third officer: an older sergeant, and one of his department colleagues, not that he could remember his name. So many new men. Dobrynin, right. —Good morning.
Dobrynin squinted at Kostya’s gymnastyorka and undershorts. —Light sleeper?
— When fellow officers beat on my door, yes.
Matvei gave a little cry. Then he cleared his throat. —The numbers on the doors are all the same. On each floor. We’re on the wrong floor. An accident, Comrade Sergeant Dobrynin, a simple oversight.
— A simple idiot. Who’s on your list?
— Yaroslav, Nikolai Eduardovich, fifth floor, flat number seven.
— Then go directly below to the fifth floor, flat number seven, and arrest Yaroslav.
— Yes, Comrade Sergeant.
Dobrynin turned on the second officer. —And you. Find the other one, what, Petrovna, Elena Tikhonovna. Comrade Senior Lieutenant Nikto, permit me to show you the list. Now, which flat is Petrovna’s?
Kostya felt dizzy. —This floor, flat number two. Down the hall. She’s very old. I’ve no idea how she manages the stairs.
— There, you see? Comrade Senior Lieutenant Nikto can read the list just fine, and we just woke him up out of a sound sleep, so the problem is not with the list.
As the second officer found Elena’s flat and beat on the door, Dobrynin offered Kostya a cigarette and matches.
Kostya lit the cigarette and took a deep drag. —Puppies.
Dobrynin nodded. —Once we’re back at Lubyanka, I’ll kick them up the arse.
— Telephone directories in flour sacks, yes? Leaves no marks, so the boys will look fit for duty.
They both chuckled and wished each other a good night.
As Kostya retreated into the flat and locked the door, the arresting officer called Elena’s name.
Efim and Temerity stood near the kitchen, at the end of the corridor to the door, Temerity in Kostya’s pyjamas and clutching Turgenev to her chest, Efim fully dressed and carrying a small suitcase.
Efim whispered. —Are they gone?
Kostya’s laugh, quick and rough, sounded more like the yelp of a dog. —Not yet.
Down the hall, Elena screeched her protest, her loyalty to the Party. —I can prove it, comrade! These shoes!
Temerity dropped the book; Kostya and Efim flinched but kept quiet.
Matvei ran back up the stairs. —Do you need help?
Dobrynin sounded amused. —Shoes, Grandmother?
— The witch who lost these shoes cringes here. I saw her.
— Senile old sow.
Matvei disagreed. —With respect, Comrade Sergeant, take a look at these shoes, this lettering inside them. I think that’s English.
Kostya stared at Temerity. He couldn’t speak. Efim saw this and shut his eyes.
Dobrynin’s voice approached the door. —Nikto knows languages. I’ll get him.
Cigarette gone to ash, Kostya waved Temerity and Efim away, pointing to the bedrooms. They kept still.
Matvei almost shouted. —No! No, please don’t disturb him again.
— You timid little rabbit. What, are you in love with him? Don’t want to upset his beauty sleep?
— No, wait—
Elena’s voice rang out. —Iosif Vissarionovich!
Temerity stepped close enough to Kostya to whisper. —She calls on Stalin?
Kostya nodded.
— Iosif Vissarionovich, help me! Help me! I am loyal to you! Iosif Vissarionovich, hear my prayer! Iosif—
A heavy thud.
Dobrynin laughed. —Pistol-whipping old ladies, Katelnikov? Nobody’s rabbit now. Get her in the car.
Men grunted; feet dragged. After some noisy difficulty on the stairs, Kostya guessing that they allowed the unconscious woman to roll, Dobrynin returned to the fifth floor to collect Yaroslav.
The NKVD car departed.
Efim felt much of the tension leave his body. Yet even this relief corroded him, scarring his thoughts and feelings as much as shrapnel had scarred his patient’s shoulder.
Not me, not me, not me.
Kostya ground out his cigarette in the ashtray with great care, then raised his right fist and struck a wall in the kitchen. —Fucking idiots!
Efim and Temerity flinched.
Kostya rustled in the cupboards. Glass rattled and clinked.
Efim winced at the racket, and his voice sounded higher than normal. —We don’t keep the vodka there.