Madness Treads Lightly

CHAPTER 37

His room in the Sovetskaya Hotel on the Leningrad highway wasn’t bad at all. Michael could have stayed there and worked for several days. He could have gone back to the Tretyakov, and the Pushkin Museum, and the Bolshoi Theater. But he didn’t feel like going anywhere. Or working. He couldn’t listen through the tapes of his Siberian conversations. All he heard was Lena’s voice as she interpreted the stories of scholars, art historians, Old Believers, and museum curators. And Michael would feel sad and frightened all over again. What if Lena didn’t make it? He was the one who’d talked her into going to Siberia.

For the second day in a row, Michael lay on his hotel bed with Oscar Wilde’s fairy tales. It was an old, well-worn edition that had belonged to his mother, and he’d carried it around with him wherever he went. When he felt sad, he would choose a tale at random and read it. But right now he couldn’t even read. He looked through the lines he’d known since he was a child and thought about what had happened in Siberia.

The nice Russian police officer with the funny name Sichkin had paid him a visit. And his name was Michael, too—Mikhail, that is, Misha for short. He didn’t speak a word of English so he had a very young interpreter with him. Their conversation was brief and confused.

“Dr. Barron, we would like you to stay around a few more days,” he said, and Michael noticed his embarrassment as he said that. “We don’t have the right to demand this of you. We’re just asking. For Lena’s sake.”

“Yes, of course, I have no intention of leaving until I see Mrs. Polyanskaya with my own eyes. I have to know she’s all right. I was the one who asked her to accompany me to Siberia. It’s my fault all this happened.”

“We suspect she was abducted,” the Russian police officer told him gloomily.

First they’d rummaged through his things and stolen his tin of talcum powder, then they abducted his friend. He wondered what that Chekist Sasha, the Gogol lover, was thinking. Did he appreciate the danger? He’d spirited Michael away but left Lena at the mercy of some unknown thugs. All these young men from the KGB inspired no trust in Michael at all. He liked the police officer Sichkin much more, but Michael placed his main hopes on Lena’s husband. He was a colonel, and that’s no joke. He must have serious resources, and most of all, he wasn’t searching for just anyone—he was searching for his wife.

When a tall, fair-haired man in a formal suit appeared in his hotel room and said in quite decent English, “Hello, Dr. Barron. My name is Colonel Krotov, I’m Elena Polyanskaya’s husband,” Michael breathed a sigh of relief.

Entering the room behind Sergei Krotov was the same young interpreter.

“You speak good English,” Michael quietly commented. “Why do you need an interpreter?”

“My vocabulary isn’t large enough. We have much to talk about, and I would hate to miss a single word of what you will say.” Sergei smiled.

The interpreter slipped into their conversation only rarely, only helping Sergei with the odd word.

“I don’t understand why the Federal Security Service, knowing the danger, didn’t avert it,” Michael said agitatedly. “I have the feeling they set Lena up, although I absolutely can’t imagine what good that would do anyone.”

“Michael, please, tell me in detail about everything that happened in Siberia,” Sergei asked him.

“I think we have to start with Moscow,” Michael said agitatedly. “Before I didn’t give it much thought, I didn’t see any connection. But now… someone tried to break into the apartment one night.”

Sergei noticed the professor’s detailed story of his time in Moscow made no mention of the entire day they were driven around the city and taken to a private club by a wealthy man in a Mercedes. He himself knew this from Misha, who had learned it from Major Ievlev.

The old man doesn’t want to tell on Lena. Sergei chuckled to himself. He thinks, what if this involves something other than friendly relations? So he’s keeping quiet about Volkov, just in case.

“She visited an old librarian, at the Veterans Home.” Sergei pensively repeated the professor’s last sentence. “Valentina Gradskaya.”

“Yes.” Michael nodded. “Sasha never should have left her there.”

From odd individual details, a more or less comprehensible picture finally took shape. Michael’s story added the last missing fragments. Only one thing was still unclear: where did Curly, the legendary boss of the taiga, come in?

Late that evening, they moved Lena to a different room. This must have been the guest room. It had a separate shower and a complete array of toiletries. Lena discovered not only shampoo but also conditioner, face moisturizer, and hand cream on the glass shelf, a terry robe, and a shower cap. In the drawers of the antique-style bureau was a pair of new stockings and underpants, a nightgown, two knit shirts, and a loose hand-knit sweater.

How touching. Lena grinned to herself. Have they put me up here permanently or something?

The main advantage of the new room was the big window. It was solidly shut with only a small vent that opened. Solid, snow-drifted taiga came right up to the window. The first night, Lena slept like a log. In the morning the deaf-mute came and brought breakfast—a piping hot omelet, strong coffee, and bread and butter. There was also a pack of cigarettes on the small serving cart.

“Thank you very much. You must have given me your things, am I right? Did you buy all this for yourself? It’s all new except for the sweater.”

Lena tried to articulate precisely to make it easier for the young woman to read her lips.

“How long are they going to keep me here?” Lena asked in a whisper, and she nodded to the bathroom in hopes that the deaf-mute would have a tile dialog with her again.

The young woman frowned and shook her head no.

“What’s your name?” Lena asked.

The deaf-mute got a pencil out and wrote right on the cart’s white plastic surface: Nina.

“Very nice to meet you, Nina. My name is Lena. Although, you probably know that already.”

Nina nodded and smiled.

“Nina, please sit with me. Let’s have coffee together. I won’t ask you any more hard questions.”

Nina looked at her watch, nodded, went out for a minute without even closing the door behind her. She returned a minute later with a second coffee cup and an ashtray.

“Thank you again,” Lena said.

But there wasn’t anything for them to talk about. All she had were hard questions, and Lena was afraid of scaring off her companion. They drank their coffee in silence and then both lit up.

“Do you live here all the time? Or do you just come for visits?” Lena finally brought herself to ask.

But Nina frowned again and shook her head.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I can ask you that you can answer. When you leave, I’ll be left alone. What am I supposed to do then? Are there any books here? Or newspapers, or magazines? I could at least read. I can’t do this—eat, sleep, look out the window at the snow, and wait.”

Nina nodded and took out her pencil again.

There are books, she wrote on the white plastic.

“What kind?” Lena asked.

I don’t know. I can bring them all.

She stubbed out the cigarette and left quickly, taking the serving cart with her. She reappeared half an hour later. On the same cart there was a stack of books. Nina neatly unloaded them onto the bureau, gave a friendly nod in response to Lena’s “thanks,” and left.

The usual black-market books from the late seventies, Lena determined, examining the spines. A gentleman’s assortment: Angélique, The Three Musketeers, Pikul’s Word and Deed, and a few novels by Maurice Druon. Books obtained in exchange for pulp fiction or else bought through connections. “Proper” homes were supposed to have them. Not that anyone actually read them. The colorful covers just adorned the shelves of imported bookcases, like mother-of-pearl china from East Germany and Czech crystal.

It was obvious no one had ever touched these books. They had never been opened, though they’d been on the shelf for nearly two decades. Lena didn’t feel like reading The Three Musketeers or Angélique. The only thing that drew her attention was the collection of Ivan Bunin’s works.

Lena lay down on the bed, on top of the blanket, in her jeans and a T-shirt. After the first two pages of “Antonov Apples” she forgot where she was. It was as if she could smell the apples.

That afternoon Nina stopped by to bring food—a small piece of baked sturgeon, a vegetable salad, two apples, and a bunch of bananas.

“They’re feeding me well,” Lena noted. “You don’t know whether they’re planning to let me out of here alive, do you?”

Nina turned away and headed for the door.

“I’m sorry. That was a stupid joke,” Lena said as she left.

Nina wasn’t looking at her, so Lena may as well have been speaking into the void.

Night fell imperceptibly. Lena shut Bunin’s selected works. She had read the fat volume from cover to cover, including the foreword and notes.

She walked over to the now-black window. She could try to open it or break the glass. She was only on the second floor, and the snow would cushion her landing if she jumped. But there was probably a guard out there, and beyond him, the taiga.

The wind was wailing softly, and the trees’ black silhouettes were bending and creaking. Somewhere close by, dogs were barking, and judging from their heavy, low voices, they were big, German shepherds or wolfhounds. In the distance, in the taiga’s deep, dense forest, wolves howled to the cold night wind.

Either they’ll kill me in an escape attempt, Lena reasoned calmly, or else I’ll get lost in the taiga. But more than likely they’ll shoot me before I can take even a single step. Curly has probably decided to use the information I gave him for his own benefit. He is going to blackmail Volkov and Gradskaya to become the sole owner of their business. I wonder how long this is going to take? For now, he needs me. I am his primary weapon against Volkov and Gradskaya. He’s decided to keep me in good condition so that he can present me to them at any time—not only alive but well, clean, fed, and capable of speaking coherently.

And after that? Then I’ll just vanish. Seryozha will look for me. At the last moment, special ops will fly in on a helicopter and take the building by storm. Yes, of course. Hope and wait! Lena grinned. Federal Security Sasha knows exactly who’s following us. Is it even possible that they don’t know about this building? But what if Curly paid them all off? Why spoil their relationship with him? A bad peace with a crime boss is better than a good quarrel. His own colleagues will make sure Seryozha doesn’t find me.

Before going to bed, she headed for the shower. She washed her hair slowly, stood under the hot shower for a long time, and then carefully combed out her wet hair in front of the mirror. Nina hadn’t missed a single detail and had equipped her with virtually everything a woman might need. I wonder for how long? This isn’t for life, after all! Though how much longer do I have to live? A week? A month? Probably not more. But in a month they’ll find me. Seryozha won’t rest until he does.

After stepping out of the shower and putting on the borrowed robe, leaving her wet hair loose, Lena lit a cigarette and pressed her back up against the black window. The smell of early spring came through the open vent. Soon the snow would melt in the taiga, and the Tobol and Yenisei would overflow their banks. It was probably warm in Moscow already. Liza had grown out of her snowsuit. Lena would have to buy her a new one for next winter. Or would a little coat be better? She wondered whether her new boots leaked.

The barking of the dogs grew loud and then turned into a howl. There were several of them, at least three, but they fell silent—one after the other. Then it got quiet, and in that silence she distinctly heard a soft thump, as if something big and heavy had fallen to the ground right in front of her window.

All of a sudden the lights went out. Throughout the building. The yellowish light that had just been cast from the neighboring windows disappeared. Lena froze and peered into the darkness. The light of her cigarette flared up in the glass. A minute later she heard steps and voices outside the door.

“You go check!” Lena heard the voice that belonged to Vadik shout. “Let me go outside and I’ll check the fuse.”

Someone replied, but Lena could no longer make out the words. The voices and steps moved away, and then it got quiet again. Lena’s heart started pounding. Without knowing why, she dressed quickly in the darkness, feeling for her jeans and knit shirts. She zipped up and used her lighter to find her boots.

And then she thought, What for?

The building was quiet. Her boots were under the bureau. She’d pulled on one boot when she heard voices again.

“Maybe something’s wrong with the wiring. I can’t see a fucking thing!”

“The boss’ll come and you’ll see everything plenty fast!”

“Hey! Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’ll show you who I am!”

“Okay, fellas, enough shouting.” a third voice interjected.

A key turned in the lock. Lena managed to quickly kick off her boot. The door opened. The flashlight’s powerful beam struck her in the eyes.

“Were you sleeping?” he asked her evenly.

“Nearly.” She nodded, squinting from the flashlight. “What happened?”

But the door had already slammed shut.

“Have you seen the dogs?” Lena heard.

“They’re asleep. Everyone’s asleep.” Vadik said, and then yawned loudly and groaned. “It’s the middle of the fucking night. We’ll figure out what’s up with the electricity in the morning.”

The steps and voices died down and a door slammed somewhere.

Lena couldn’t calm down. That means the bald man is gone. He’s not here. All that’s left are the guards. How many of them are there? One would be plenty for me. But they said they were going to bed now.

She put on her boots just in case, laced them up, and pulled on her sweater. The moon was shining brightly out her window. Lena lit another cigarette. She couldn’t understand why she was so nervous.

“Does this mean I want to escape? Do I really want to escape into the taiga? With no jacket and thin-soled boots? I could put the other sweater on top of this one, but it’s still colder than ten below at night in the taiga. I’ll just get lost and freeze or starve to death. The wolves will eat me. And how can I get out? If I break the window, they’ll hear.” She noticed she was speaking out loud, in a quick, nervous whisper.

At that moment she fell silent. She heard a rustle right outside her door and the lock click quietly. The handle turned slowly. Lena jumped back and pressed up against the wall. The door cracked open and shut immediately. A short male silhouette slipped quickly into the room. He moved lightly and silently, like a cat. His flashlight blazed up for a second, rested on Lena, and went out immediately.

She had nothing to lose. She flicked her lighter. In the trembling, unsteady light she made out powerful shoulders under a dark leather jacket, a blond crew cut, deep-set, almost-white eyes under bare eyebrows, deep, rough pitting on his cheeks, and the traces of a young man’s unhealed blackheads.

“Vasya Slepak,” she whispered, and she dashed to the window. “Vasya, have you come to kill me?”