The House by the Dvina (46 page)

At home everyone was gathered in the nursery. The samovar was lit. While it was heating, I ran out into the garden for my last goodbye to the trees, places I knew so well where I had played throughout my childhood.

The scented poplar, a reminder of past springs and crimson catkins, now stood sadly drooping its naked branches. The fairy summer house was shabby and forlorn. I climbed up to the turret from where once long ago the gold and scarlet of the Lion Rampant fluttered its welcome to a Scottish bride.

Before me lay the whole vista of our town. Houses, gardens with their stark denuded trees, wide cobbled roads, the golden domes of churches lit up by autumn sunlight, the Dvina, like a silver ribbon winding round her shores. I had to hurry. The samovar was already singing on the table when I sat down beside the others.

As we sat in silence, dreading the moment when we would have to say goodbyes, my fatherТs friend Aleksandr Aleksandrovich rushed in, out of breath. He had planned to be with Father but called first at the ship to discover we werenТt there and that the ship should have left an hour earlier. The infuriated captain was already preparing to throw our luggage on to the pier. Only our friendТs pleading moved him to wait a little longer.

This startling announcement in some ways alleviated the pain of last farewells. I remember nothing beyond the poignant sight of my father clinging to Ghermosha. We rushed out of the house. Outside the gates, waiting to see us off, was the “Olonetskaya Companiya”. A quick decision was made that Mother and Aunt Shura should hurry to the main road in the hope of catching a tramcar, while we would go to the river front. Whoever reached the ship first would beg the captain to wait for the other party.

A race began. I have never known myself to run faster before or since. Far ahead, having overtaken us all, was lightfooted Petya Skroznikov, with Tolya and the rest of us stretched out behind him. He had now reached the ship and then I too rushed up the gangway. There was no sign of Mother.

Infuriated by this, the captain immediately ordered the crew to unload our luggage.

At this point, in utter despair, I burst into tears, threw myself down on my knees and begged the captain to wait, assuring him that Mother was on her way. This touching scene appeared to move the hearts of other passengers, who collected around us. A loud chorus of supplication to the captain broke out, with the demented man calling back, СTheyТll put me up against the wall, you fools Ч thatТs what theyТll do to me for disobeying orders.”

In the midst of this uproar Mother appeared, accompanied by my aunt, sauntering calmly and unhurriedly down the incline to the pier. There was not the slightest trace in her demeanour of anxiety or sense of urgency but only that of sweet complacency. It was too much. I bounded down the gangway to meet her with a volley of abuse such as she had never heard from me before and which I have since regretted. Now, with everyone safely aboard, the ship began her journey down the river. Mother and Aleksandra Andreyevna went down below to our cabin. I stayed on deck with Ghermosha.

For a little while the “Olonetskaya Companiya” ran along the river front trying to keep up with the ship, but soon they were left behind. I stood leaning against the railing watching the familiar places slipping away one by one. The Naval College, the boulevard, the church, bringing back memories of Easter, midnight service, lighted candles Ч and now here was the house. Marina was waving from the balcony, but then the island came between us. And in that point of time I wished intensely with all my being that I could see it once again, if only for a moment. Did someone hear me?

For in that split second, the ship rose on the breast of a wave above the island and I saw the house as I see it yet, all lit up by the crimson glow of the setting sun. Then it vanished for ever. I look back with horror on that journey to Murmansk.

The Sever in happier days carried passengers, most of whom were pilgrims to such famous places as the Solovetsky Monastery and other beautiful little islands scattered on the White Sea. Then the ships were comfortable. Spotless cabins and plain good food were provided. All that was changed. Our cabins were indescribably filthy and alive with vermin.

Throughout the whole of the journey, which lasted two or three weeks, we were devoured by day and night, helpless against the terrible onslaught of bugs crawling over walls and ceiling, and clinging like beads on to the seams of the bedding. The ship carried two cargoes. One of the grain being delivered to the outlying islands. The other, in the depths of the hold, consisted of political prisoners. Ghermosha and I used to look down on their pale upturned faces and smile to them. This appeared to give them pleasure for they in turn would wave back, ask us our names and try to talk to us. They were all pitifully thin and unkempt. As we approached the end of the journey, one day we noticed that the hold was empty. When and where the prisoners disembarked we never discovered. The food brought aboard was finished within a few days. All hopes were centred on the islands, but when we went ashore to barter our belongings, the islanders, being fishermen and having nothing themselves, could only offer salmon.

Big beautiful fish.

We went ashore on one of the small islands. With waterfalls, bridges, birches and pines surrounding a few cottages the village had the charm of a forgotten world. We knocked at the door of one of the isbas. A young blonde dressed in a sarafan asked us in and invited us to sit down on a form which, like the floor, was scrubbed white with silver sand. In the corner of the room was an ikon draped with a fine embroidered towel and close to it a large picture of the Royal family. DidnТt she know that the unfortunate family were murdered two years earlier? One might have thought the war and revolutions had never touched this place. She offered us some milk, which we gratefully supped from brown earthenware bowls while her three flaxen-haired children, with serious faces, sat watching us. Her husband, she explained, was fishing but was due back soon. We saw him later rowing ashore. The boat he beached was filled with salmon. All they could offer in exchange for clothing was still more salmon.

From island to island, for skirts and blouses, frilled knickers and petticoats there was more and more salmon. Large, silver-backed, thick, pink-fleshed handsome fish. Allowed the use of the galley, we ate it hot, and we ate it cold, we ate it boiled and we ate it baked. We ate it without bread, without potatoes, without salt.

Sometimes people take peculiar ideas and fancies into their heads, and perhaps the Russians are more prone to this than others. We donТt know what possessed Madame Ankirova to come to the strange decision that the biggest and heaviest salmon was to be kept and taken to her darling daughter living in the south of France. Her Mariya would love nothing better than a salmon from her own distant north. The fact that there was nothing with which to preserve it was a mere detail. The salmon was sewn inside a pillow-slip, a rope was fixed to its tail, and my poor brother was condemned to carry this horrible bundle wherever he went.

Meanwhile our journey continued through the White Sea, and on to the Kola Peninsula skirting the bleak shores of the Barents Sea. The weather was surprisingly kind, but gradually it grew colder, with sudden gusts of fine snow peppering the decks. At long last, the forbidding snow-clad coast of the Murmansk region came into view.

We were back in the barren wastes of Murmansk where ten months before the Canada had called with us on board on her way to Archangel. Our captain, a kind man at heart, allowed us to remain aboard the ship until he received further orders. We were provided with tickets which allowed one meal a day in a communal kitchen. The meals consisted of a mysterious brew in which the heads of herrings figured prominently, a chunk of bread and a small bowl of boiled grain. After a concentrated diet of salmon it was a pleasant change.

Every day, from the time of our arrival, Mother with Madame Ankirova set off in search of a ship for Norway and every evening returned disappointed. Ghermosha and I used to spend the day playing cards in the deserted saloon or wandering around the dismal shores searching under the thin layer of snow for the crimson berry “klukva”, a native of the arctic regions and a cousin of the cranberry, but bigger and extremely sour. We ate them greedily whenever we could find them. At the end of the week and just as we were beginning to think that we might have to return to Archangel, Mother and Madame Ankirova brought the glad news that we were being allowed to travel on a trawler leaving for the island of Vardo the following day. The trawler was commissioned to take two important Bolsheviks, with a female secretary, on a secret mission to Norway, the purpose of which we were never to discover. It was only by chance, through the captain being a friend of Madame AnkirovaТs family, that the proposed journey to Norway came to light. With his assistance we obtained permission to travel on the ship, which in itself was nothing short of a miracle.

In the evening with eager anticipation we began preparing for the next stage of our journey.

The trawlerТs captain warned us that before we could board the ship an extensive search of all our luggage had to take place in the customs shed.

At the same time he volunteered to take items for us, which he would return on arrival in Norway. We did not wish to take too much advantage of his generous offer, but we handed over a few articles. In MotherТs case it was her precious bundle of roubles, one or two gold coins, and a few pounds left over from our last visit to Scotland. Madame Ankirova had a great deal of valuable jewellery, but there again, not wishing to overburden the captain, she only gave him a few pieces. We were now confronted with the problem of concealing on our persons what, if found, would not only be confiscated but get us into trouble.

Mother, who was wearing a black pleated dress, sewed inside it her rings and brooches. Madame Ankirova cunningly stitched a string of rare pearls and diamonds between the lining of the cuffs of her blouse, and another string inside her collar. A precious bundle of Norwegian currency was hidden in the soles of her stockings. This was an extremely dangerous thing to do as those attempting to smuggle foreign currency were severely punished. She also had a pair of aquamarine earrings which proved to be a problem. Large, ball-shaped, encircled by diamonds, they were beautiful but impossible to hide. It was then that I came out with the bright idea that Ghermosha and I could each hold one inside our mouths. Mother could not agree to such a stupid and dangerous suggestion, but in the end was overruled.

The following morning our boxes were piled on to a sledge and with the help of the crew dragged to the customs shed where the search was to take place. There we were at once surrounded by armed soldiers and officials who began to turn out the boxes, closely examine our belongings and lay aside the articles they intended to confiscate. At this point we produced the paper listing the items we were permitted to take with us. Knowing that the paper was signed by an important commissar in Petrograd and that timidity does not always pay, I argued heatedly, at times with angry tears, pointing to the form when they attempted to confiscate what was listed Ч especially a bracelet that was once given to me by Father.

Mother, by now emotionally exhausted, was prepared to allow them to take anything they wished so I argued with her as well. Throughout all arguments and tears the precious earring remained nestling securely against my cheek. As the main purpose of the whole search was to find letters, jewellery and above all foreign currency, in which they were unsuccessful, they threw back most of the articles, content to justify the search by keeping some underwear and MotherТs precious picture hat with the osprey feathers.

In the midst of the search we were suddenly made aware that my young brother had been taken away. There was a door opening into a narrow corridor from which a second door led into a small room. Both doors were guarded by armed soldiers. We heard Ghermosha crying and for one terrifying moment I thought the earring had been detected. Mother rushed to the door but was stopped by a soldier who explained that no harm was being done to my brother. He was only being searched. Ghermosha returned shortly afterwards, tear-stained and unhappy. He had been stripped naked.

His silver watch, his most precious possession, given to him by his Scottish grandfather, a few pennies, and a silver shilling were taken from him. I was called next and stepped into a small closed room where, sitting at a table, was a young woman. Her expression was cold and distant. “Take off your clothes,” she commanded curtly. I obeyed silently and while I stood naked, cold and shivering, she examined them and from my pockets removed a few shillings. These precious coins, sad reminders of our last visit to Scotland, she placed on the table. She then came over and ruffled my hair. Somehow it never occurred to her to ask me to open my mouth. I was ordered to dress and allowed to leave. It was now MotherТs turn. She likewise had to remove her clothing and to take down her hair. The pleated dress, lying over a chair was shaken and thrown back. After Mother dressed and stood pinning up her hair, the woman came up close to her and drew the flat of her hand down the front and back of MotherТs dress. The pieces of jewellery inside the pleats were not detected.

The last person to be searched was Madame Ankirova. She and Mother met in the corridor. “Did they take off your stockings?” she whispered to Mother.

“Yes,” Mother replied. Madame Ankirova crossed herself. “I am finished,”

she said and entered the room. After undoing her hair and undressing she sat down on the small chair and began to roll down her stockings. It is difficult to say if at this moment a spark of compassion moved the young woman or perhaps the face of the naked old woman with the resigned expression reminded her of someone close to herself, but she suddenly stopped her: “Never mind, Matushka,” she said. “Just leave your stockings on.” Madame Ankirova was saved.

The search over, the boxes once again on the sledge, the two ladies and I pulling, Ghermosha trailing behind with the salmon dangling over his shoulder, and the armed soldiers marching on either side, we proceeded on our way to the trawler. Our luggage was dragged aboard by members of the crew. Soon the two commissars and their secretary, a fat, pasty-faced woman, arrived and were allotted the small cabin belonging to the captain.