I stared at him for a moment. An image sprang into my mind of Pasha, blindfolded, arms tied. Adrenalin gushed through my veins. Sonya was right…
Running through the streets, sweat trickling down my sides, gasping for breath. Where now was my principled belief in equal treatment for all? Involuntarily I let out a groan.
‘All right, comrade?’ said the guard on the door of the Hotel National, alarmed at the sight of me. ‘Oh, it’s you. Go in.’
I staggered past him and stopped to catch my breath in the entrance hall. To my horror I realised I was about to be sick and rushed outside again.
‘Ugh,’ said the guard, making a face like a little boy.
‘I’m sorry,’ I managed to blurt out.
‘You go in and get warm,’ he said nicely. ‘I’ll cover it up, don’t worry.’
I took the stairs slowly, one at a time, and hung onto the banister. There – Pelyagin’s door. His assistant opened it just as I got there.
‘Comrade Freely!’ she gasped. ‘What’s become of you? Here, sit down.’
‘Oh,’ said Pelyagin, fussing, ‘a glass of tea, please, Rosa – warm yourself.’
‘No, comrade, please, we mustn’t waste time. I’ve come to beg for your help. Two of our commune members have been arrested by mistake.’ Breathlessly I told as much as I knew: their names, the date and place of their arrest.
‘Wait here,’ he commanded. ‘I will make enquiries.’
For a moment I was speechless. How strange, how comforting, to feel myself among friends here. In the next room Pelyagin was making telephone calls – I was too exhausted even to listen. He would tell me in a moment, I thought. With a vast sense of relief I relinquished myself to doing nothing – sipping the carrot tea that Rosa brought me and looking around me idly. Goodness, the realisation flashed into my mind, it’s Rosa Gershtein – the daughter of an acquaintance of Mr Kobelev’s. I had a sudden, vivid picture of her dressed as the Universe in Its Entirety for a New Year’s Eve party at Gagarinsky Lane during the war. How had I not recognised her before? She had been a large, stout girl and was now thin, like everyone, but her hooded eyes were the same.
‘Rosa Gershtein?’ I whispered. ‘Do you remember me – the Kobelevs’ governess?’
Her eyes snapped on mine. ‘Shhh. Of course.’
‘Forgive me, I couldn’t place you.’
‘I’m Rosa Andreeva now,’ she murmured, glancing nervously at the door. ‘Best not to mention it…’
Pelyagin reappeared. ‘I think we’ve found them,’ he said shortly. ‘They brought them up to Moscow and put them in a holding cell. There’s a little confusion over their identities, however. I suggest you come with me, Comrade Freely, and identify them formally. They didn’t have their identity cards when they were arrested, apparently – foolish.’ He frowned. ‘We’re on a war footing, you understand, comrade. We have to take all precautions.’
As we left the building a car drew up in front of us and for a moment I gaped at Pelyagin, astonished. I had not been inside a car since the Kobelevs’ was requisitioned; in the circumstances it seemed a bizarre, almost disgusting luxury to purr so gently and warmly along the bitter streets.
‘A treat for you, eh?’ Pelyagin said suddenly, genially, misreading my silence. ‘Perhaps one of these days we’ll go for a drive together?’
It was an ordinary day for him – I must have looked incredulous.
He frowned. ‘You don’t care to? I see…’
‘Oh, no – yes, of course… I’m grateful to you, but I don’t…’ I stammered.
Pelyagin pursed his lips and looked out of the window. At the Lubyanka I followed him into the building. Pelyagin strode through the hall, past the duty sergeant, motioning me to follow him, and clattered down steps. ‘Through there,’ he said shortly, pointing out a door. He put a paper into my hand. ‘Show this to the officer on duty, he will tell you what to do. They have been alerted to your arrival. Now I must be getting back to work.’
‘Thank you, thank you so much,’ I stammered. ‘Comrade, I am so indebted to you – please…’ I don’t know quite what I was pleading with him for, but in any case he was not in the mood to grant it. He turned his back and was gone.
I looked at the paper. It was signed by Pelyagin himself, with his title: Deputy Administrator, Cheka, Krasnopresnensky District. Cheka? Hadn’t he said he was in distribution? I pushed open the door cautiously. It opened onto a gallery with a bench, where two soldiers were sitting with their backs to me. ‘Excuse me? I’ve been sent by Comrade Pelyagin…’
The soldiers looked at me dully. ‘What do you want?’
I passed them the paper. ‘I’ve been sent to identify two men that you are holding mistakenly.’
‘Sez who?’ one of them drawled. My hands were sweating; they were obviously illiterate.
‘Says Comrade Emil Pelyagin.’ I spoke in my most schoolmistressy tone. ‘Would you like me to summon him and tell him that you don’t believe me?’
The younger got up wearily. ‘All right, all right. Come and have a look.’
I stepped onto the gallery and for the first time saw down into the cellar below. It was hot and smelt rotten, but it was so quiet my footsteps echoed. I looked down and to my shock saw a large number of people below, unmoving, staring up at me.
‘Gentlemen.’ I cleared my throat. ‘Comrades, please – I’m looking for Pavel Aleksandrovich Kobelev and Vladimir Vladimirovich Yakov.’
Nothing. They seemed frozen.
‘Pasha, Volodya, are you there?’ It came out as a scream, like a madwoman.
Suddenly a faint voice, ‘We’re here, we’re here…’
Two old men were pushing through the crowd, thin, ill – my eyes ran over them without stopping, then flicked back onto their faces: it was Pasha, exhausted, but smiling; Volodya behind him, bent over, gaunt.
‘Get up here, lads,’ said the guard. They came awkwardly up the stairs and stood before us, handcuffed. ‘Can you identify these fellows, then, comrade?’
‘Yes – Pavel Aleksandrovich Kobelev, Vladimir Vladimirovich Yakov. Pelyagin has vouched for them. You’ve been holding them wrongly! It’s a disgrace!’
‘Quite a firebrand, isn’t she, lads?’ said the guard, raising his eyebrows at them, but to my amazement he was leading them out of the room and up the stairs to the duty sergeant. As we left the cellar a few voices called out. Pasha and Volodya turned but the other soldier was up on his feet, pointing his pistol over the balcony, shouting at them to be quiet.
There was paperwork, signing this and that in triplicate. The handcuffs were removed, and they were free.
Back at Gagarinsky Lane the boys stripped off their clothes in the hallway to be fumigated and washed. Kolenka ran to fetch Sonya and Nikita from the Ministry. At last we were sitting around the stove preparing the best meal we could run to: slices of sausage, kasha with some onions and beetroot, rusks with raspberry jam and tea.
‘We didn’t know you were so well connected, Gerty,’ said Sonya, rather stilted. ‘I owe you an apology.’
I didn’t meet her eye. ‘No, no. It’s me who should apologise to you. You were right.’
‘You appeared like an angel in that stinking room,’ said Pasha, grinning in the old way. ‘I thought to myself, I know that accent, just like the Empress – she murders Russian like Gerty.’
I laughed, and suddenly caught Sonya’s eye, and stopped. Then Vera, who had hardly said a word since they returned, burst into tears and ran out of the room.