Just then, as ill luck would have it, Lena and I were in the midst of a heated theological debate—on the subject of robbers and prayers. The priest had told us that before beginning any task, we should always say a prayer. I was immediately struck by a difficult problem: when a robber is about to kill someone, shouldn’t he say a prayer first? After all, killing is his task. But Lena argued that a robber didn’t need to say a prayer first, since he’d be forgiven for all his sins in one go.
There was no one we could ask, and we weren’t allowed to fight. What could we do?
At last, Liza arrived.
Liza had a thin, taut face. Her big, pale, bulging eyes always bore a look of startled inspiration. She saw everything two or three times larger than life, and told lies as if she lied for a living.
She was a year older than me. She had already been twice to confession. Lena and I looked on her with respect.
We knew every detail about Liza’s home life, all of which was quite fascinating.
Liza had an uncle, a seminary student, Pyotr Yakovlevich, who had once drunk the milk of four cows. He had arrived to find no one at home and all the milk from that evening’s milking standing in the porch, and he had drunk the lot.
Also, Liza’s family had four golden grand pianos at home, but they were hidden in the hayloft, so that nobody could see them.
Also, nobody ever ate dinner at Liza’s house. Instead, there was a big cupboard in the hall that was always full of roast chickens. If anyone was hungry, all he had to do was to poke his head into the cupboard, eat a chicken and go on his way.
Also, Liza had fourteen velvet dresses, but she only wore them at night so that nobody would see them. In the daytime she hid them in the kitchen under the big pot they used for making pastry.
Also, Liza spoke very good French, but not the kind of French we spoke with our governess. Liza spoke a different kind of French, which nobody understood.
All in all, Liza’s life was quite fascinating.
So there we were, sitting quietly and talking. Liza was telling us her news. First, we had to cross our hearts and swear not to tell a soul.
We crossed our hearts and swore. To make it still more binding, we spat over our left shoulders.
“You promise not to tell a soul?”
“Not a soul, for ever and ever, Amen.”
Liza shot a glance at the door, her eyes pale and terrible, and whispered, “The wife of Trifon the gardener gave birth to two puppies and told everyone they were children, but when people started to ask questions, she roasted them and gave them to Trifon to eat.”
“But you can’t eat puppies,” said Lena in fright. “It’s a sin.”
“But she never told anyone they were puppies. She told everyone they were children.”
I felt my hands grow cold. And Liza was frightened too; she had tears in her eyes and her nose was all swollen: “It was the Devil got into her. Everyone knows it’s easy for the Devil to creep up on people when they’re asleep.”
“Have you ever seen the Devil, Liza?”
“Yes. Evening’s the time to look out for him. If the cross round your neck suddenly shines very bright, that means the Devil will definitely come.”
“So you’ve seen him?”
“Yes, I’ve seen him. If I wake up in the night and I poke my head out of the bedclothes, I always see a devil over Papa’s head, and a devil over Mama’s head. Papa and Mama both have a devil standing over them all night long.”
“And black cats, too,” I said. “Black cats are full of it too.”
“Full of what?”
“Full of the Devil. If a black cat crosses your path, something bad will definitely happen to you.”
“Even a black hare can be dangerous,” added Lena.
I was genuinely surprised. How did my little sister know this without me telling her?
“Yes, very dangerous,” agreed Liza. “When our Lida was dying I went with my Aunt Katya to Lichevka to buy some muslin. On our way back, a black cat ran across the road. And then, all of a sudden, a hare! And then a wolf! And then a bear! And then a tiger! And a mole! And when we got back, Lidochka was already dead.”
I was so excited that for some time now I had been kneeling on my chair with my elbows on the table.
“Oh, that’s so awful, Liza,” I said. “Though, you know, I’m not afraid of anything—not really. I’m only afraid of wolves. And ghosts. And dark rooms. And dead people. I’m awfully afraid of dead people. And sleeping in a room all by myself. And I’d never go out in the forest alone. But apart from that, I’m not afraid of anything. If someone gave me a gun for Easter, I’d shoot the lot of them straightaway, right in the head. Just like that! I’m not afraid of anything.”
“So, what are you getting for Easter?” asked Liza.
“I don’t know. A croquet set, maybe. What about you?”
“I’m getting—a croquet set too, and a… grand piano.”
“But I thought you already had some grand pianos!”
“Yes, but we need more. And then, I’m getting a carriage. And a gold-plated tin of sardines. And gold-embroidered slippers. And a golden comb. And a golden spoon.”
Lucky Liza. Everything she has is made of gold.
“Liza, why is it you always smell of onion? And smoke?”
“Oh, that’s the eau de cologne we use.”
Lena gawped at Liza. But I knew that there were different kinds of eau de cologne, made with different flowers and herbs. Clearly, Liza’s family used eau de cologne made with onion.
“Are you going to the Easter Vigil?” Liza asked suddenly.
Oh. That was the question I had been dreading. All through Good Friday we had been talking about the Vigil and what dresses we’d be given to wear. We were so hoping it would be our light blue ones.
I pretended I hadn’t heard. But then, to my amazement, I heard Lena answering calmly, “We don’t know yet. It depends on the weather.”
Clever Lena! I’d never have come up with that myself.
“Aunt Sonia said that last year she was in Arkhangelsk at Easter, and it snowed,” I said, doing my bit to salvage our dignity.
“My mama told me,” remarked Liza with an astonishing lack of tact, “that your parents aren’t taking you to church this year.”
Nanny came in with a pile of freshly ironed pinafores over one arm. With her free hand, she slapped her hip indignantly.
“Look at this one, kneeling again! She’s worn all the legs of her stockings to holes. How on earth am I meant to keep up with the darning?”
“This one”, of course, was me.
To obey immediately and get down from the chair would be demeaning. I slowly lowered one leg, as if of my own accord.
“Well, are you getting down from the chair or not?” exclaimed Nanny impatiently. “Whatever I say it’s like water off a duck’s back! Liza, put your coat on, your auntie’s come for you.”
Liza got up. Now it was safe to get down from the chair.
Liza tied a woollen shawl around her head. With a sideways glance at Nanny, she whispered, “Your nanny doesn’t have feathers in her eiderdown, she has three million roubles hidden in there, in gold coins. And it’s no secret—the robbers all know.”
In her dark shawl Liza’s face looked thin and pale. What she had just said made me feel afraid for Nanny. Lena’s bottom lip began to twist and wobble from side to side. She was about to cry.
Liza glanced quickly again at Nanny, out of the corner of her eye, as if to warn us to keep our mouths shut.
She left. Lena and I were now on our own. Neither of us said anything.
After Liza’s visits, everything felt somehow special, mysterious and unsettling.
The thin branches of the cherry tree, already green with buds, stirred restlessly outside the window, peering into the room.