Secondhand Time: The Last of the Soviets (37 page)

The front kept advancing, getting closer and closer. You could hear shooting at night. One night, the guests returned. “Who is it?” “Partisans.” My suitor comes in, and there’s another one with him. He brandishes his gun, “This is what I used to kill your husband.” “It’s not true! It can’t be true!” “You don’t have a husband anymore.” I thought that I would kill him…that I would claw his eyes out…[
She is silent.
] In the morning, they brought me my Ivan…lying on a sled. On top of an overcoat…His eyes were shut, his face was like a little child’s. He’d never killed anyone…I believed him! And I still do! I rolled around on the floor, wailing. My mother was scared that I’d go crazy and that my child would be stillborn or sick. She ran to get the wise woman, Baba Stasa. “I know your trouble,” she told my mother, “but I am powerless here. Have your daughter pray to God.” And she told us what to do…When Ivan was taken to the cemetery, I would have to walk in front of the coffin, instead of behind it with everyone else. Up to the very cemetery gates. Through the entire village…By the end of the war, many men had disappeared into the forest. Gone partisaning. There’d been a death in every family. [
She cries.
] And so I walked…in front of the Polizei’s coffin…I walked in front of it, and my mother walked behind it. All of the people came out of their houses, leaned on their gates and watched us pass, but no one said a single unkind word. They just looked at me and wept.

The Soviets returned to power…and that suitor of mine found me again. He showed up on horseback: “They’re interested in you.” “Who?” “What do you mean, who? The authorities.” “I don’t care where I die. Let them send me to Siberia.” “What kind of mother are you? You have a child.” “You know whose it is…” “I’ll marry you anyway.” And so I married him. The man who murdered my husband. I had his child, my daughter…[
She cries.
] He loved both of our children the same, my son and his daughter. I won’t speak ill of him on that account. As for me…I…was always covered in bruises, I went around with bloody contusions. At night, he’d beat me, and in the morning, he’d get on his knees and beg my forgiveness. He was burned up by some violent passion…jealous of my dead husband. In the morning, while everyone else was still asleep, I would already be up. I needed to be up as early as possible, before he could wake up, so that he wouldn’t embrace me. At night, every single window would be dark, but I’d still be up working in the kitchen. All of my pots sparkled. I waited for him to fall asleep. We lived together like that for fifteen years, and then he got very ill. He died in the course of a single autumn. [
She weeps.
] It’s not my fault…I never wished for him to die. The moment came…the final moment…He’d been lying with his face to the wall, and then he turned to me, “Did you ever love me?” I didn’t say anything. He started laughing like he’d laughed the night he’d showed me his gun…“You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved. I loved you so much I wanted to kill you when I found out I was going to die. I asked Yashka (that’s our neighbor who prepares animal hides) for poison. I couldn’t stand the thought that I’d be dead and you’d find somebody else. You’re too beautiful.”

He lay there in his coffin…and it felt like he was laughing. I was afraid to go up to him. But I was supposed to kiss him.

[
The chorus starts up.
]

Rise up, you mighty nation,

To fight the fatal fight…

Let righteous rage boil like a swelling wave.

Rise up, there is a war on

A holy war to fight…

—We’re going out with aching hearts…

—I told my daughters: When I die, just let the music play. Don’t let anyone say anything.

—After the war, the German prisoners lugged stones. Rebuilt our town. Starving. They begged for bread. But I couldn’t bear to give them even a tiny piece. Sometimes, this is what I remember…that detail…It’s strange the kind of things that stay with you…

—

There are flowers on the table and a big portrait of Timeryan Zinatov. This whole time, it seemed like I could hear his voice among the chorus, like he was right there with us.

FROM ZINATOV’S WIFE’S STORY

—There isn’t much I remember…Our home, our family, he was never very interested in us. Always going on and on about the fortress. He couldn’t forget the war…He taught our kids that Lenin was a good man, that we were building communism. One day, he came home from work clutching a newspaper: “Let’s go to the great construction site. Our Motherland is calling us.” Our children were still very little. Let’s go and that’s that. Our Motherland commands us to…and that’s how we ended up working on the Baikal-Amur Mainline…Building communism…We really did build it, too! We believed that everything was ahead of us! Ardent believers in the Soviet regime, we were. From the bottom of our hearts. But then we got old. Glasnost, perestroika…We sit here and listen to the radio. Communism doesn’t exist anymore…where did communism go? No more communists, either…It’s impossible to understand who’s in charge up there. Gaidar picked everyone clean. The people have been left homeless…Some steal from their factories or collective farms…others swindle…That’s how people get by these days. But my guy…he lived up in the clouds, he was always up there somewhere. Our daughter works at a pharmacy. One day, she brought home some medications to sell on the side so she could make a little bit of extra money. How did he find out? Did he pick up the scent? “Shame on you! Terrible shame!” he yelled. He kicked her out. I couldn’t get him to calm down. Other veterans take advantage of their benefits…They’re entitled to them, after all…“Go down there,” I implored him. “Maybe they’ll give you something.” He started screaming at me, “I fought for the Motherland, not benefits.” He’d lie awake at night with his eyes open, completely silent. I’d call his name, but he wouldn’t answer me. Eventually, he stopped speaking to us altogether. He was beside himself. But he wasn’t upset for us, his family—he was upset on behalf of everyone. The entire nation. That’s the kind of man he was. I saw my share of grief with him…I’ll tell you the truth, speaking to you as a woman, not as a writer…I couldn’t understand him…

One day, he dug up the potatoes, put on his best clothes, and went off to his fortress. He didn’t even leave us a note. He addressed his final statement to the state, to strangers. To us, he said nothing. Not a single word…

*1
Viktor Vekselberg (1958–) is a Ukrainian-born Russian billionaire who owns the Renova Group conglomerate. Herman Gref (1964–), minister of economics and trade for Russia from 2000 to 2007, is now CEO of the largest Russian bank, Sberbank.

*2
Followers of General Andrey Vlasov (1901–1946), who, on being imprisoned by the Germans in 1942, defected and founded the Russian Liberation Army, a group of predominantly Russian forces who fought under German command.

*3
A common forest dwelling dug into the earth; it is at least partially underground and has a thatched roof.

No, no, it’s impossible…I can’t go through with it. I thought that one day, I’d tell someone the story…But right now, I can’t…Now is not that time. It’s all under lock and key, walled up and plastered over. Done…secreted away in a sarcophagus…I put it all in a sarcophagus…It’s not on fire anymore, but there’s still some kind of chemical reaction going on. Crystals forming. I’m afraid of disturbing it. I’m scared…

My first love…can I really call it that? My first husband…it’s a beautiful story. He pursued me for two years. I really wanted us to get married because I needed all of him, I didn’t want him to go anywhere. All mine! I can’t even fathom why I wanted him so much. Just to spend every minute together, never be apart, fight and fuck and fuck and never stop fucking. He was the first man I’d ever been with. The first time it was just this…interesting, hmmm…like, what’s going on here? Same thing the second time…And in general, it’s kind of mechanical…You know, the body…the body, the body…That’s all it really is! It went on like that for six months. It didn’t seem like it was particularly important to him that I was me, he could have found himself something else. And then, for some reason, there we were, getting married…I was twenty-two. We went to conservatory together, we did everything together. And then it happened…Something opened up inside me, except I missed the exact moment…when I fell in love with the male body. And now I had one all to myself…It was a beautiful story, it could have either gone on forever or ended in half an hour. So…I left him. Left him of my own accord. He begged me to stay. But for some reason, I was set on leaving. I was sick of him…Dear Lord, I was so sick of him! I was already pregnant, with a big belly…What did I need him for? We fucked, we fought, and then I’d cry. I didn’t have any patience back then. I didn’t know how to forgive.

I stepped out of the house, closed the door behind me, and felt a rush of real joy that I was leaving. Leaving him forever. I went to my mother’s, he ran after me, it was the middle of the night, he was in total shock: I was pregnant, unhappy all the time for no apparent reason, what did I want from him? Huh? What else did I want? I turned over a new leaf…I was happy when I got him and happy when I got rid of him. My life has always been like a change jar. It’s full, then it’s empty, then it’s full again, then it’s empty again.

Anya’s birth was beautiful…I liked it so much. First, my water broke…I was on one of my long, many-kilometer walks, when, in the middle of the forest, my water broke. I didn’t really know what to do—was I supposed to go to the hospital right that minute? I waited until evening. It was winter—it’s hard to imagine now—forty degrees below zero. The bark on the trees had cracked from the cold. Finally, I decided to go. The doctor took a look and said, “You’re going to be in labor for two days.” I called home: “Mama, bring me some chocolate. It’s going to take a while.” Before her morning rounds, a nurse popped in: “The head’s already sticking out! I’m calling the doctor.” So there I was in the stirrups…They told me, “Any minute now. Hang in there.” I don’t remember how much time went by. But it was fast, very fast…and then they were holding up this strange little clump to show me: “It’s a girl.” They put her on the scale, she was four kilograms. “You don’t have a single tear. She took pity on her Mama.” Oh, when they brought her to me the next day, her eyes were just giant pupils, black and swimming all around. After that, I couldn’t see anything else…

My new, totally different life began. I liked how I started looking after I gave birth. Overall, I instantly became more beautiful…Anya took her place immediately, I adored her, but for some reason, it felt like she had nothing to do with men. With the fact that she had a father. It was like she’d fallen from the sky! From heaven. She learned to talk, and people would ask her, “Anya, do you have a daddy?” “I have Granny for a daddy.” “Do you have a doggy?” “I have a hamster for a doggy.” That’s how the both of us are…My whole life, I’ve been afraid of suddenly not being me. Even at the dentist, I tell them, “Don’t give me a shot. I don’t want to be numbed.” My feelings are my feelings, whether they feel good or hurt, I don’t want to be unplugged from myself. Anya and I liked each other. And then the two of us met him…Gleb…

If it hadn’t been him, I would have never married again. I had everything: a child, a job, freedom. Suddenly, he came along…Awkward, practically blind. Chronically short of breath…Letting a person with that much baggage into my life—he’d done twelve years in Stalin’s camps…They’d taken him when he was still just a kid, sixteen years old. His father, a high-ranking Party official, had been executed, and his mother had frozen to death in a barrel full of water. Somewhere far away, off in the snows. Before him, I’d never thought about those things…I was a Young Pioneer, in the Komsomol…Life was beautiful! Exhilarating! What made me go for him? What was it about him? Time passes, and pain develops into knowledge. It’s pain and it’s knowledge, as well. It’s been five years since he passed away…five…and I’m sad that he never knew me as the person I am today. I understand him a lot better now, I’m finally mature enough for him, and he’s gone. For a long time, I couldn’t bear living alone. I had absolutely no will to live. It’s not that I’m afraid of solitude, I just don’t know how to live without love. I need the pain…the pity…Without that, I’m lost, the way I get scared when I’ve swum out too far into the sea. Out there, I’m alone…It’s dark in those depths…I don’t know what’s down there…