Secret Kingdom (29 page)

*

*

It was very hot in the crowded cinema. She was wearing a thin cotton dress but the material clung to her and the fabric of the seats irritated her bare legs. Was it simply physical discomfort? Or was she reacting to her own role in the events she had witnessed on the screen?

The newsreel closed with absurdly uplifting martial music over the open, innocent face of a young man of iron from Novosibirsk or somewhere like that (who cared, anyway?) surrounded by his
smiling fellow workers, another Hero of the Soviet Union who had felled more trees or dug more coal or loaded more barrels of oil or bales of wheat to help his soviet fulfil its quota for the month, the year, the decade. Did anyone believe this nonsense any more than they believed the nonsense about the poor Englishman they’d seen stammering out his staged confession?

She had shuddered when the film had cut to a display of documents and letters, all in English, carefully laid out on a table. She could easily read the words ‘Top Secret’ and make out signatures at the end of the letters as the camera played lovingly over the proof of the West’s duplicity.

‘… Authenticated signatures on documents captured from this counter-revolutionary force’, the voice-over commentary had said, ‘prove beyond doubt the complicity of the British and American governments …’

As the house lights came up, Dora leaned towards her mother and whispered: ‘Is he guilty of all those crimes, Mama? Is all that true?’

How do you answer? Do you lie to your own daughter? Do you break the strict instruction of silence that made you an accomplice in a crime against an innocent Englishman? Can you forget the warning touch of that elderly man’s hand upon your shoulder?) Will you break your daughter’s heart if you tell her the truth?

‘Did he look guilty?’ she asked.

‘Before he began to speak, I thought he was dead,’ Dora replied.

She looked around the auditorium. The same question was being asked everywhere. No words were spoken, no answers given. The thoughts in the heads of those who had watched with her were no different to her own. How could they be? They were all Hungarians in this audience.

For a moment she had an almost unstoppable urge to stand up and scream. Why can’t we admit it to ourselves, openly and honestly? This man is innocent. The film we have seen is lies. How do I know? I’ll tell you. These documents that are being used to convict him of crimes he has not committed are forgeries. They were written in Hungarian. I translated them into English. I am an accomplice in this crime against this poor man. Why aid I do it? For the same reasons we all do it, each in our own way, every day of our lives I want to keep my job, feed my daughter, stay alive. I was afraid of
what they might do if I refused their request. My hands are dirty. I am guilty. But so are we all, guilty of connivance in a conspiracy against decency and dignity and the right to our own freedoms. Our lives are built on lies; we see them on the cinema screen, we read them in the newspaper, we hear them on the wireless. Never-ending lies. They surround us until we hear nothing else, see nothing else, know nothing else. We accept them as truth. We are too frightened of the monstrous authority that controls our lives to reject them. What will make us find the courage to say ‘No more’? When will we stand up and say ‘Enough of these crimes against us’? When will we prove to ourselves that we are no longer a slave race, and demand justice and truth?

‘What do you think, Mama? Is it true or not?’ Again, Dora whispers.

Take control of yourself. Answer your daughter. Tell her the truth even if you conceal your own involvement. At least find the courage for that.

‘None of it is true,’ she said loud enough for Dora to hear. ‘What we all saw on the screen just now is an invented confession. That poor Englishman was forced to say what he did. He is one more victim of the lies and deceptions of this intolerable Soviet occupation. None of what you have seen is true. Not one scrap of it.’

In her mind Leman and Martineau became one, both victims of the same regime. She felt tears beginning to push against her eyelids. Mercifully the lights dimmed, the screen flickered, the soundtrack crackled into life and at last the feature began. Under cover of darkness Dora took her hand and squeezed it.

*

‘Anna, Anna, Anna.’

He lay on the bed, his head cradled in his hands, his body shaking in distress. He wanted to weep but no tears came. That was the mark of his shame. He could not cry because there was nothing to weep for. He had betrayed himself and those he loved. He was a man whose soul was trapped in a no man’s land of guilt and horror, whose punishment it was to live for ever in a twilight world between life and death. He was nothing. He had ceased to exist.

‘Anna, please.’

They had even denied him any news of the girl’s reprieve. He
had listened for shots in the courtyard below his window but heard nothing. He had not been taken down from his cell to watch her execution. He had asked his guards what had happened to the girl but they had been instructed to say nothing. He was kept in solitary confinement, only allowed to wash when the other prisoners had gone. He had asked to see the Russian general again but his request had been refused.

They were denying him the consolation of knowing that he had saved a life, leaving him to live with the thought that perhaps he had sacrificed his own for nothing.

Should he kill himself? Was that the answer? His life was over. He would never leave this place. He would never see Anna again. But how? He had no rope to put around his neck, no knife to stick in his heart, no drugs to swallow. There was no escape from his own punishment.

‘Forgive me, Anna,’ he said out loud. ‘Forgive me, please.’

Osanova had edged in front though not by much. Head and shoulders. That was all right. She hadn’t got a finish, everyone knew that. Eva had gone by her in the past; she could do it again now. A few more strokes and she’d put an end to the Soviet girl’s dreams.

Keep your rhythm. Don’t tighten up.

She shouldn’t have let her get away. That was stupid. She’d lost concentration on the last turn and made a mess of a routine she could usually perform in her sleep. There’d be hell from Matyas when the race was over.

Now go for it. Accelerate. Fly past her. Show her who’s best.

For an instant she imagined she was accelerating, clawing back the distance stroke by stroke. Victory would be hers again. Then she knew that she had left it too late. The familiar surge of power on which she had relied so often in the past, her physical strength coupled with an iron desire to win, had vanished and there was nothing she could do about it. Osanova was increasing her lead and there weren’t enough strokes left to catch her.

On any other day she would have experienced fury at her carelessness on the turn, horror at the loss of her strength, despair at being beaten by Osanova. But a sense of calm settled on her. Weren’t there more important things than winning? Who cared if that cow Osanova beat her for once? What did it matter?

‘What the hell happened out there? Why didn’t you accelerate?’ Matyas was yelling even before she had got out of the water. ‘You didn’t lose that race, you gave it away. You hear me? You gave it to her.’ He turned away in disgust.

She touched Osanova’s shoulder as she climbed out of the pool,
acknowledging her victory. ‘Good race,’ she murmured. ‘Well done.’

‘Better get used to losing, bitch.’ Osanova hissed. ‘That’s the way it’s going to be from now on. You’ll never win again.’

‘You all right?’ Julia draped a towel around her shoulders. Eva smiled but said nothing.

‘What came over you?’ Matyas was unable to stifle his anger. ‘You swim like that, I don’t know why I bother. What have I been telling you all these months? Do you listen to nothing I say?’

Behind her a roar of approval went up from the audience as the extent of Osanova’s win was clear from the board that was being raised. The Hungarian champion had been beaten. The predominantly Soviet crowd was delighted.

‘You’re shivering,’ Julia said, concern in her voice. ‘Are you sure you’re all right? You don’t seem yourself.’

Suddenly she couldn’t bear it any longer, Matyas shouting, Julia fussing, Osanova accepting the applause of the Russians, arms raised high in victory. She ran up the stairs to the changing room.

‘You don’t get away that easily,’ Matyas shouted after her. ‘You and I, we’re going to have this out, you hear me? When you’re ready, I’ll be down here waiting for you. We’ve got some talking to do.’

It was only then that she realized Alexei had not been there to see her race.

*

She sat on the bench in the changing room shrouded in towels. Only her eyes were visible. She stared blankly at the wet floor. It wasn’t cold but her body shook uncontrollably. She felt ill, exhausted, bitterly unhappy.

Matyas had lost his temper, the first time that had happened since he had taken over her coaching. His words echoed remorselessly in her mind.

‘You let the Russian girl take half a length off you in ten strokes and then you make no effort to fight back. What the hell’s come over you? You gone soft or something? You let her win the race, damn you. What’s the matter? Don’t you care any more?’

The other girls in the changing room had heard every word. Some – those she hated – were laughing openly at her humbling; others
had turned away in embarrassment, too shaken to say anything. They’d left her on her own to cry, humiliated by Matyas’s criticisms and Osanova’s triumph. Osanova herself had come in later. She had stood in front of Eva and stared down at her. Eva had refused to look up at her.

‘One victory does not make up for the pain of other defeats,’ she said. ‘I will never forget what you have done to me. Never. You understand?’

Eva had said nothing in reply.

However Matyas might try to revive the spirit that had so mysteriously disappeared from her performance, she knew she wasn’t going to beat Osanova again. It was over. Perhaps not for ever; certainly for now. To that extent the Russian girl was right, though for reasons she couldn’t know. Maybe sometime it would all come back, but not this year. She knew why her strength had vanished and why she no longer cared about losing. What she didn’t know was how to break the news to Matyas. Or Alexei. They both had to be told.

*

The doctor had said little when she’d gone for her tests. A week later he’d told her she was pregnant and that was that. An everyday occurrence. She had kept the secret to herself. Part of her believed that if she told no one, it would all go away. Of course it hadn’t. Ten weeks gone and her body no longer felt her own. She was lethargic, invaded, her mind on this other mysterious new life growing inside her. No wonder her reserves of energy had not been there when she wanted them. Her life had a new claim on it now, her strength faced new demands.

*

How long had she sat there? She was no longer shivering but she still felt cold. Her watch had stopped but she knew it was late. Time to get dressed. She’d been dreaming for too long. She was alone in the changing room. For all she knew, she was alone in the swimming pool. She unwrapped herself and stood, naked and damp, looking for a dry towel.

The three conscripts appeared at the door of the changing room. She had not heard them approach. They had taken off their boots and socks and rolled up the bottoms of their trousers. They were
not wearing jackets, only shirts, loosened at the collar. She turned and saw them watching her.

‘Get out of here.’ She grabbed a towel to hide herself from their sight.

‘We came to see you, love.’

‘Get out.’ She backed away from them, holding the towel around herself.

‘We liked you better the way you were before.’

They were coming towards her, grinning; three boys, not more than seventeen or eighteen, she imagined. She retreated before them, her heart beating frantically, searching for something to throw at them, some weapon to hold them off. She could find nothing.

‘We’ll get you in the end,’ the leader said, laughing. ‘So why not give up now? Save us all a lot of trouble.’

They were coming closer. She could read the tattoos on their arms and the intentions in their eyes. A few more paces and she would be up against the back wall of the changing room. She kicked some wet clothes towards them, momentarily breaking their attention. They reached for her as she ran past them, but she was too quick. She raced out of the changing room, her feet thundering on the wooden floor, down the stairs and into the pool area. She had no idea why she’d gone this way except the pool was her territory, where she always felt safest. She screamed for help but no answers came, no voice to her rescue. Only the echo of her cries, the pounding feet of the soldiers on the wooden floor, their coarse shouts, threatening laughter. Too late she saw that they had spread out, blocking all her escape routes. She was cornered. They were coming towards her.

‘Let’s get on with it.’

The one closest to her was loosening the belt of his trousers. As she went backwards she slipped on the wet floor and fell, hitting her head on the edge of the pool. She felt the stickiness of blood in her hair. That was when they caught her.

One grabbed her feet and held her legs apart, shouting encouragement to his companions while another held her down by her arms, pinning her shoulders to the floor. The third removed his trousers and advanced on her, striking her face with the flat of his hand. Had she blacked out then, or had her conscious mind refused to accept the horror of what each of them did to her in turn? She knew she’d
screamed (was it Alexei or her mother she’d called for?) and they’d gone on hitting her hard enough to make her mouth and nose bleed. She had twisted and turned her body until they’d hit her again; she’d fought with what remained of her strength to keep them from entering her, and they’d beaten her all the harder until she was only semi-conscious and unable to resist. Each had her in turn while the others watched, shouting obscene encouragement with each lunge.

‘Fuck her brains out. Fuck her till her eyes bleed. Fuck her till she’s dead.’

*

She looks down and sees the blood spiral slowly upwards from between her legs, twisting like a rope before spreading out, discolouring the water. Her battered body hurts so much she can hardly move. She can’t cry. Her eyes and lips are too swollen from the beating they have given her. Her mind is numbed, her identity has been forced out of her and cut adrift. It is floating away, slowly sinking below the surface of the water, to drown in the depths of the pool. All she knows is the pain of the present, her physical injuries and, as her consciousness slowly unfreezes to reveal the enormity of what has happened to her, an awareness that she has lost a part of herself for ever.

She watches the flow of blood for signs of a miscarriage.

She cups her right hand and dips it into the water, using the trickle that slips between her fingers to try to wash away the feeling of defilement. It is an impossible task. Even immersing herself wholly in the water she knows will achieve nothing. It is too late for that. She is no longer who she was less than half an hour before. In those few terrible moments, which will live with her for ever, she has been violated, obliterated; she has become a shell emptied of being, a life deprived of meaning or purpose. How do you live if you are nothing? What use are words? What is the point of anything?

‘Julia.’ Her voice is a hoarse, choking whisper.

Where is she? Why doesn’t she come? She has never let her down before.

She waits, hardly daring to breathe, but no one comes. She remains alone, half floating, half dying, unable to cry, fearing to think, lost in her pain.

‘Eva?’

A voice she knows so well.

‘Eva?’

She tries to answer but this time no sound comes. All her strength is concentrated on staying afloat in a cloud of bloodied water. Someone is running towards her. Then voices. More footsteps. She hears her name screamed again and again. She turns to see blurred images looking down at her. Is that Koli? She cannot make out who is there. A hand reaches out towards her but it is too far away to touch.

Then Julia is in the water, holding her, talking to her, guiding her slowly towards the side of the pool. The last thing she remembers is that there is no sign of Alexei anywhere.