I wish Klim had never come back, Nina thought. He had mistaken her for a housemaid, immediately recognizing her lower social status, and she had immediately recognized him as a “robber.” But in this instance, he was not so much a robber of personal possessions but her personal affections.
The fact that he asked her to go to Argentina with him meant nothing to her. How could she possibly leave her mill and her brother behind? It would be impossible to take Zhora with them—he would never go without Elena. And her parents would never let her go to a foreign country with god knows who.
If only Klim could be persuaded to stay in Nizhny Novgorod! But what could he do here? Nina thought in despair. Work as a reporter for his uncle’s newspaper? Or just be a rich playboy idler?
It didn’t make sense to even dream about it. There was no way Nina could sunder her ties with Fomin. He had told her straight that he would kill Klim if he “allowed himself to take any liberties.”
Nina left the church before the end of the service. The weather was nasty with drizzling rain and a biting wind.
A boy stood in the street with a pile of newspapers. “Read the latest!” he shouted. “Provisional Government deposed!”
Oh, no, Nina thought. That’s all we need.
People gathered around the newsboy. “What are they saying? Is it another war? Who are we fighting with now?”
“There’s been another revolution in Petrograd,” the newsboy said. “The Bolsheviks have taken power.”
Nina didn’t manage to get a newspaper. She looked around anxiously for another news vendor. People were crowding out of the church—rumors about the collapse of the government had spread like wildfire.
Nina noticed a soldier holding a paper. “Damn, I can’t understand a thing,” he grumbled. “Hey, lady!” he called Nina. “Do you know your letters? Could you read this for me, please? What are they saying?”
Nina took the dirty sheet, which smudged her hands black with printing ink.
“To the citizens of Russia,” she started to read loudly. People moved closer to her, listening intently and trying not to miss a single word. “The Provisional Government has been deposed. State power has passed into the hands of the Revolutionary Military Committee, which heads the Petrograd proletariat and the garrison. The cause for which the people have fought—namely, the immediate offer of democratic peace, the abolition of landed ownership, workers’ control over production, and the establishment of Soviet power—this cause has been secured. Long live the revolution of workers, soldiers, and peasants!”
Beneath this Bolshevik manifesto were a number of reports that made it clear there were disturbances in Petrograd and shootings in Moscow.
“The Bolsheviks have made no secret of their intentions,” said a gentleman in a felt bowler hat. “They wanted to seize power, and they have done so. Now, we’ll see a bloodbath.”
The crowd began to disperse.
Nina wondered what the phrases “the abolition of landed ownership” and “workers’ control over production” actually meant. What if the new authorities were about to take her mill away?
I need to see Fomin, she decided. He’s bound to know what’s going on.
She hurried down Pokrovskaya Street. The reflections of the streetlights flickered in the slush on the pavement, their bleary outlines glimmering in the dusty shop windows.
“Nina, wait!”
She turned her head and saw Klim dressed in an elegant gray overcoat, hat, and suede gloves.
“Have you heard about the coup?” she asked and told him what she’d read in the Bolsheviks’ manifesto. “Do you think it’s serious?”
Klim shrugged. “No idea. Are you in a hurry? I’d like to say goodbye before I catch the train tonight. My luggage is already at the station. Can you imagine, I’ve got a whole compartment to myself and will be traveling to Moscow like a state minister, no less.”
He fell silent, smiling sadly at his own thoughts. “Zhora told me you were in the Pokrovskaya Church. I wanted to see you before I leave—in order to perform an important act of gauchada.”
“What does ‘gauchada’ mean?” Nina asked.
“It’s the word that the Argentineans use to describe a deed worthy of a true gaucho. The gauchos are just regular cowboys, but the people believe they have noble souls and a special talent for selfless deeds. Well—here is mine.”
Klim took a white envelope out of his breast pocket and handed it to Nina.
She looked at him, puzzled. “What is it?”
“Your promissory note. I wanted to give you something in memory of our friendship.”
Nina was taken aback. “Are you giving me back my mill? Don’t you need the money anymore?”
“I have more than enough money to travel the world for the next ten years, and then I’ll come back for you. Hopefully, you might have changed your mind about me by that time.”
He looked at her, smiling. “No thanks needed. A true gaucho never asks for any reward for his noble deeds. You could just hang a commemorative plaque with my face on it at the entrance to your mill. But I’m afraid Mr. Fomin might object.”
Nina put the envelope into her muff. “Thank you.”
They reached Blagoveschenskaya Square in silence. Nina didn’t know what to say. In her experience, men usually tried to settle their scores with the women who rejected them. She never thought Klim would display such magnanimity.
Military trucks drove past and columns of soldiers marched by.
“Tripe for sale—fried, steamed, or buttered!” a street seller shouted at the top of her voice. The corners of her checkered headscarf billowed over her head in the wind.
It was dark and quiet in the Kremlin fortress. Only the windows of the Governor’s Palace shone with a bright electric light. Nina noticed a long red cloth hanging from the railings in front of the arsenal—“All power to the Congress of Soviets of Workers, Soldiers, and Peasants!”
Nina walked up the porch steps. “Well—goodbye,” she whispered, her voice faltering.
She felt keenly that her words didn’t do justice to either the gift she had just been given or the fact that she and Klim were about to say goodbye to each other forever.
Droplets of rain shimmered on the fibers of his overcoat. He was clean-shaven and smelled of cologne. He didn’t fit into this benighted country; he belonged on the other side of the world where it was spring now with the purple jacarandas in bloom.
Klim took off his hat and kissed Nina’s hand. “Farewell.”
There were no guards or visitors in the corridors of the Governor’s Palace, and Nina made her way slowly across the entry hall and opened the door that was smudged with muddy footprints. The smell of burning paper hung heavy in the air.
I don’t suppose I’ll ever see Klim again, she thought, and the very idea seemed outrageous to her.
How could she just let him disappear like that? It would be a mockery of everything that had been between them and even common sense itself.
Nina turned to run back after Klim and almost collided with Fomin.
“Follow me!” he ordered, his voice like a prison guard’s.
Grabbing her by the hand, he dragged her into his office. The floor inside was covered with ashes. The inkwell on his desk was overturned, and there were pens and pencils scattered everywhere.