The House by the Dvina (22 page)

Mariya Egorovna, the widow of Pavel Mikhailovich, threw her arms round Babushka. Now quite old, she lived with her married son and his family in the same house where she had spent her married life. Her three lively grandchildren, the youngest a boy named Sasha and a classmate of YuraТs, demanded that we should go with them into their garden. Behind the house was a steep ice chute built on a solid wooden foundation, with strong steps leading up to the platform. On either side of the chute and the long runway to the house were planted small pines all lit up by colourful lanterns. Lanterns were tied too to the stark branches of the birches, lighting up the trees and throwing splashes of crimson, gold and green on the snow.

We spent a very happy time gliding down on sledges and rugs. I set off with Yura and Sasha on a rug, but lost the two of them on the way down and careered on my own in giddy circles to the end of the runway, where we all collided and shrieked with excitement. This wenton until the servant girl came running to tell us that the barynya wanted us all back to the house as supper was now ready and the samovar was on the table. Another mound of pancakes awaited us. After supper, Babushka decided that it was time to go. There was a long road in front of us and it had started to snow again.

Having said our goodbyes, we climbed into the sledge and drove on to the river. When we reached Solombala, Mikhailo took the road diagonally across the river to our own street. This was the quickest road. Already visibility was poor and getting worse. At first the snowflakes drifted slowly but gradually came thicker and faster. The moon vanished in a milky whiteness; sledges and horses appeared as dark formless shadows moving through a snowy haze. As we made our way home, the sledge moved slowly, swaying gently from side to side and the muffled tinkling of the bells was like the repetitive singing of a sweet lullaby.

Lent followed the Shrove festival. The faithful religiously obeyed all the austere laws, but the average family, such as ours, observed only some of them. Sunflower oil was used for cooking instead of butter and animal fat.

Eggs were avoided. Fish dishes, of which there was a great variety in this land of seafarers, replaced meat and fowl. To break the monotony of the forty-nine daysТ diet, the law was occasionally discarded and a joint of venison or a roasted capercailzie accompanied by cranberry sauce appeared on the table.

A new member of the household arrived from St Petersburg as housekeeper.

Kapitalina Semyonovna, always referred to as Kapochka, was at one time brought up, along with her sister, by BabushkaТs family in Maimaksa. When the girls grew up they went to St Petersburg, where they eventually married. KapochkaТs husband, however, became ill and died and she was forced to look for work. KapochkaТs life had been rich and colourful. For some time she moved in the world of the stage, and, although in a lowly position, knew many famous people such as the great singer Feodor Shaliyapin and the immortal ballerina Anna Pavlova. Later she worked in the household of the well-known singer of Russian folksongs, Plevitzkaya.

Kapochka was something very special. She helped Babushka, dealt out the required amount of ingredients in the preparation of food, mended linen, repaired clothing and did many unseen tasks that helped to keep the house in running order. She was beloved by everyone with whom she came into contact, for she possessed an elusive quality which is rare and difficult to describe. I only know that no matter where she went or whom she met she radiated warmth and affection.

I can see her standing in the old nursery dressed in a dove-grey, loose-fitting dress girdled by a silk cord. I can even recognise the soft texture of the dress, the little lace collar, the large pockets which I know are filled with small oddments Ч keys, reels, thimble, glasses and so on. Her hair, gold and grey, is rolled in a little bun on top of her head.

I cannot tell how old she might be for Kapochka is ageless. Her skin is flawless and the eyes are like brown velvet.

One evening, after dinner, as I was sitting over my books with Sashenka, Mikhailo came rushing into the house in deep distress, Masha was now seriously ill and, after a severe fit of coughing, had taken a sudden haemorrhage. Dedushka followed by Babushka ran to the lodge. Dedushka did all that he could and for the time being saved her. Babushka sponged her and brought clean sheets from the house.

However, gradually MashaТs health became worse. Dedushka, after a thorough examination, told Mikhailo that Masha had tuberculosis. Masha was doomed, for in those days there was no known cure for this terrible scourge that took such a toll from all classes of society in Russia. Mikhailo, driven by despair, began to drink. There were times when Dedushka, called out in the evening to some patient, would find Mikhailo incapable of either harnessing or driving the horse. Vassily would harness the single sledge and Dedushka would hurry off, driving himself.

A few days before the holy week of Easter, Masha died. She had died in the early hours of the morning and in the evening the first Requiem took place in the lodge. The whole family attended and stood crowded round the coffin placed on the table. In the soft glow of candlelight MashaТs young face was peaceful. Across the forehead was a white band on which was printed in gold letters a tract from the New Testament. In her folded hands lay her white and gold marriage candle with the crushed orange blossoms still attached to it. On her breast was a small ikon. Two peasant women, standing beside Mikhailo, wept bitterly, constantly crossing themselves, bending low and going down on their knees, their foreheads touching the floor.

At the end of the service everyone moved to kiss the ikon. Mikhailo, tears streaming down his face, kept stroking and kissing his wifeТs hands. I was pushed over to kiss the ikon and, as I did so, my cheek came in contact with MashaТs ice-cold hands. Involuntarily I shrank back. This was my first acquaintance with death.

The following morning I went up to the lodge again and removing my skis, entered the room where MashaТs coffin lay. An old monk, sitting at a table in the corner of the room, was reading in a quiet voice the prayers for the dead. He didnТt even turn round. I stood for a moment gazing at Masha.

Her features looked sharper and there was a bluish line between her lips.

On all the walls of the room were posters, depicting the evils of drink.

One showed hungry children sitting around an empty table and a weeping mother with her head buried in her arms. Another, children begging on the streets, and still another, a man prostrate on the snow and beside him an empty bottle of vodka. They had been pinned up by Masha in a vain hope to shame and cure her husband.

A few days before Palm Sunday, Yura and Seryozha put on their skis and set off across the river to the willow woods. They came back laden with bundles of pussy willows which were then divided into sprays, tied with ribbons and decorated with BabushkaТs lifelike artificial lilies.

On Sunday there was a steady procession of people winding their way to the church carrying the sprays of the silvery catkins. In Russia, Palm Sunday is known as the Sunday of the Pussy Willows, there being no palms about.

The service was followed by the holy week of Easter when the monumental preparations commenced for the great day of the Resurrection. Even as far back as the early summer the preparations had begun. A little pig was bought and put in a stable where it was fed on special food and treated with great care until the late autumn when a little stout German gentleman arrived in his cart equipped with some unpleasant-looking instruments. He came every year and I used to think that his rosy, plump countenance and ginger hair bore a certain resemblance to the poor victim he and Vassily slaughtered.

A long deal table was placed outside the kitchen and Dunya, the cook, along with her assistant, Grusha, were kept busy carrying out buckets of boiling water. The German expert and Vassily worked the whole day and in the end the cart was loaded with the biggest part of the pig. Some time later he brought back strings of delicious smoked sausages, bacon, hams and other parts of the pig. Everything was eaten and enjoyed except the two hams which were hung in the garret beside the strings of dried mushrooms and herbs.

The hams were now brought down to be prepared for the Easter table. They were baked in the great oven inside a crust made from rye flour and water.

Then there were the sweet Easter cheeses known better as “pashka”. Some ten and more pyramid-shaped forms had to be filled. A large tub was brought into the kitchen. Into it went the curds, first drained of every drop of whey, pressed and put through a fine sieve. Beaten butter, whipped cream, sugar and vanilla were added and then the hard work of mixing began. A long pole which widened at the foot was used. Everyone in the family took a turn at mixing. This went on until it reached the texture which pleased Babushka. It was then poured into the muslin-lined forms and taken to the larder. I have since tasted many cheese cakes and, having the form, attempted to produce one myself Ч but nothing ever had the elusive flavour of those prepared during my childhood. The colouring of the eggs and the baking of several “kulich” and “rumbabas” were left to the end of the week. The “kulich” is a raised round cake prepared from flour, raisins, peel, numerous eggs and flavoured with vanilla and cardamom.

Later it is iced and decorated with the first letters of the words “Christ has risen”. Rumbaba is also a cake raised with yeast. It has to stand about ten inches high and is baked in a special form. The word “baba” in Russian means a peasant woman. The cake with the rum icing poured over it does have a certain resemblance to the figure of a woman dressed in a full sarafan.

Meanwhile, the various rituals followed one after the other. During the week every member of the family and all the servants set off to the church for their confession. They went at different times and prior to leaving went round begging everyone to forgive any sins that they may have committed. I, not having yet attained the wisdom of a ten-year-old, was not included in this ritual, but graciously forgave all those who had sinned against me Ч including Sashenka.

On Thursday of Holy Week it was usual for the whole family to attend the evening service in the church. The Passions of Our Lord were being read according to the Gospel, in twelve parts. We stood listening, with lighted candles, to the words. In between the reading of each apostle, the candles were put out, and prayers and the beautiful poignant singing of the choir took over. With the exception of the glorious midnight service of the Resurrection, this particular service has always remained my favourite.

Yet, much as I loved to listen to it, standing there in the heat of all the lighted candles and dressed in my heavy shuba and felt boots, I invariably, halfway through the service, would begin to feel an intolerable pain across my shoulders which would spread across my back, gradually getting worse, until in the end I was forced to go to the back of the church and find a corner on a bench especially placed there for all the old babushkas and dedushkas who were also unable to bear the strain of standing throughout the whole service. And there, to my shame, I would sit beside them all.

The following afternoon we went back to the church. ChristТs Body was now brought down from the cross. A lifesize ikon lay in front of the sacred gates leading into the Holy of Holies which no woman was ever allowed to enter. Worshippers coming and going brought artificial flowers and reverently laid them beside the ikon. Babushka, who grew hyacinths in pots, made up a spray from these blooms and laid it on the ikon at ChristТs feet. Real flowers were a rarity in our parts at that time of the year. On Saturday morning, I was awakened by the noise of intensive activity. Mikhailo and Yashka were bringing down from the garret small tables and placing them against the walls of the dining-room. The main table was extended. Kapochka and Irisha, standing at opposite ends, were spreading the snow-white damask tablecloth. Everybody was bustling around.

Even Marga, not given to straining herself, was carrying in on a tray the dishes and wine glasses and arranging them on the serving table.

Downstairs in the kitchen, where BabushkaТs expertise was required, hams were being decorated, joints of veal glazed, baby sturgeon arranged in aspic jelly, salmon laid out on ashets and dressed with great artistry, and caviar, pickled mushrooms, salted herring and all the other zakuskis placed in their dishes. Helped by Dunya and Grusha, Babushka worked fast, with intense concentration, her experienced hands moving from one dish to another.

As the Easter feast was to last for several days everything had to be prepared in duplicate and passed on to Irisha who carried it upstairs to the “buffetnaya” Ч a long, narrow room adjoining the dining-room. In this room was a trapdoor below which were steps leading down to a cold larder lined with stone shelves. The dishes not required immediately were placed there. In the late evening the preparations rose to the final crescendo when each dish had to be arranged on the table in the correct place. In the centre stood the great pyramid of coloured eggs Ч blue, crimson, gold and green, dominating the table. Around them were the various ashets and dishes. The delicate pink of the ham, the creamy tenderness of veal, the black and orange caviar, the rich paskhas, kulichies and rumbabas, and finally the glowing colours of the liqueurs and various vodkas. As an extra touch there were bowls of blue hyacinths.

To this day the scent of hyacinths invariably conjures up the richness of the Easter table. There would only be a few more of these Easter tables.

They grew poorer with each year and in the end vanished for ever.

As the last hours of Lent drew nearer all began to get ready for the midnight service of the Resurrection. Only Babushka was to remain behind to receive the guests who would arrive straight from the church. I, anxious to join the others, in the end was promised that if I went to bed early I would be awakened in time to go to the service. With this promise secure, I went off to my bed and soon fell sound asleep.