‘Zenia, wait a minute.’
The gypsy girl was emerging from a tent. Each tent contained a different machine or process on display to indicate the modernisation of industry, but the most popular by far was the one full of the latest shiny sewing machines. Every woman in the field coveted one. Sofia caught the gypsy girl’s arm and drew her aside behind a heavy Gaz truck that had transported the benches and chairs. It smelled of oil and warm paintwork.
‘What is it, Sofia? You look… unhappy.’
‘I saw you with your friend Vanya earlier. He isn’t in OGPU uniform today.’
‘No, he’s off duty.’ Zenia couldn’t stop herself smiling as she talked of him.
‘But he’d hear what’s going on, wouldn’t he? He’d know if there’s any trouble today.’
‘What kind of trouble?’
‘A search for someone.’
Zenia’s features became still and she studied Sofia hard. ‘Wait here and stay behind the truck. I’ll be back as quickly as I can. Don’t move.’ She hurried away.
Sofia didn’t move.
She remained behind the truck and knew this was the end. The end of everything. The choice was already made.
The hot breeze that blew through the silver birches bordering the meadow sounded as sad as the wind that sighed over the empty flats of the taiga, and all around her the air was delicate and clear as glass. She could taste its sparkle on her tongue in a way she never had before because now she was losing it.
It was a straight choice.
And at that moment she hated Anna with a hatred that took her breath away.
‘Bistro! ’ Zenia was back. ‘We must swap clothes.’
She was already untying the red scarf from her neck and yanking off her skirt to reveal thin, childish legs. Sofia didn’t ask why. It was obvious they were searching for her and had her description.
‘Spasibo, Zenia,’ she said as she stepped into Zenia’s black skirt. It had felt flowers in bright colours round the hem. She buttoned up the white gypsy blouse. But the words thank you were nowhere near enough.
‘I asked Vanya. You are to be arrested as an escaped fugitive the moment they find you.’
Sofia tied Zenia’s triangular scarf over her head to disguise her blonde hair and knotted it at the back, while Zenia pulled on the cornflower dress. Then Sofia drew from the small pouch she wore at her waist three objects. They lay on her outstretched palm, their perfection at odds with her scarred fingers.
‘Zenia, I’m leaving but I would like you to have one of these. Take whichever you wish.’
One was the round white pebble Rafik had given her. The second was a wolf ’s long curved tooth from her time in the forest. It hung on a rawhide cord. The third was a diamond ring, so big and so bright it looked like it had swallowed the sun. The gypsy girl took a long time deciding, her black eyelashes darting shadows on her cheeks. Her hand hovered over Sofia’s. She eventually lifted up the amulet of the wolf ’s canine tooth, which she tied round her neck by the cord. Neither commented on the gift or the choice.
‘There is a packet for you in my skirt pocket,’ Zenia said. ‘From Rafik.’
Sofia rummaged in the black skirt’s patch pocket and found a small twist of brown paper that contained a handful of strong-smelling herbs.
‘What is it?’
‘A painkiller,’ Zenia said and looked away.
A painkiller? What did Rafik know that she didn’t?
‘Thank you, Zenia.’
‘Take care.’
Sofia’s hand closed tightly over the pebble and the ring. She would need much more than care.
‘Zenia told me you were here,’ Mikhail said as he stepped round the rear flap of the Gaz truck and gathered her into his arms. He caressed the nape of her neck and she wanted to stay on that spot with him for the rest of her life. She laid her forehead against his chest and listened to the rapid beat of his heart.
‘I thought you weren’t coming back,’ she whispered.
He took her face in his hands and tipped it up to look into his eyes.
‘I’ll always come back, my love,’ he promised. ‘Always.’
He kissed her mouth. Soft and tender. She clung to him, imprinting the feel of him into her muscles, then she stepped out of his arms and kept her voice steady.
‘Did you find Yuri? Or Pyotr?’
‘No. Pyotr seems to have vanished, but I learned that Yuri is up in the plane.’
‘What?’
The Krokodil had been carrying a lucky few up into the air for short flights all afternoon but it had seats for only nine passengers at a time. Most were for the Party hierarchy but some were reserved for workers nominated for special dedication and achievement.
‘Yuri is up in the plane,’ Mikhail repeated flatly.
‘It’s Stirkhov’s reward to him,’ Sofia moaned. ‘For information. ’
Mikhail nodded, silent and severe. ‘I’m so sorry, Sofia.’
The aircraft was coming in for its final landing of the day, its engines drowning out the chorus of cheers hailing its return.
‘They’re hunting for you, my love. The perimeters are well guarded, identity papers are being checked. Our best chance of hiding you safely is in the middle of the crowd where you can keep on the move, until you-’
‘Mikhail, Pyotr idealises the Party. Don’t blame him.’
‘I do, Sofia. I blame him, and I blame myself.’ He looked at her, noticed her change of clothes, and the anger in his eyes softened. Gently he cupped her cheek in his palm and she tipped her head sideways into it.
‘Well, what have we here?’ An officer in khaki uniform was standing beside the front wing of the truck, staring at them. He looked just as surprised as they were.
‘Comrade,’ Sofia smiled and slid an arm around Mikhail’s waist, ‘you wouldn’t deny us five minutes away from the sharp eyes of my friend’s wife, would you?’
The soldier laughed. His trousers were already half unbuttoned and it was obvious he’d come to relieve himself behind the truck. His face was broad and good-natured but his nose ran in a crooked line, as though it had been involved in one fight too many.
‘Don’t mind me, comrades,’ he said easily. But just as easily the Tokarev pistol flew from the holster on his hip into his hand, its business end pointed straight at Sofia. ‘Just show me your papers first.’ He said it with a grin to emphasise that he intended no harm, just being cautious.
‘Of course, comrade.’
Sofia made a show of rummaging in her pocket for her papers but instead her hand touched the cool surface of the stone and instantly she cleared her mind, stilled her breath. She moved forward towards the soldat, her eyes locked tight on his, and she saw him frown and glance down at the gun in his hand with sudden confusion
That was when Mikhail struck. Two strides and the edge of his hand to the man’s throat, followed by a sharp blow to his jaw that sent the soldier’s head snapping back against the side of the truck with a loud metallic thud. The body crumpled on to the grass. They took no chances. In seconds Sofia had the soldier’s belt off and Mikhail had used it to truss his hands and feet together behind his back, then they stuffed his handkerchief in his mouth and pocketed his gun.
‘Now,’ Mikhail said. ‘Time to leave.’
As soon as the Krokodil touched down, everything happened fast. The two crewmen and their two assistants bundled projection equipment and cardboard boxes back on to the plane, while final but mercifully brief speeches were made and the band struck up the Internationale for the last time. White clouds began to drift across the sun like curtains drawing a performance to a close. The mood in the field was one of exhilaration, as noisy huddles of men started to gather round bottles of kvass and vodka.