The Relic (2 page)

As they embraced, he slipped his revolver out of its holster and shot Rakovsky dead.

The train to Kharkov was at Moscow station by the time Natalia Rakovsky and her children were hurried through the barrier. But there was no sign of Rakovsky as she leaned out of the window, searching for him on the platform. When the train started moving, she turned back to her husband's driver. He was called Ivan. That's all she knew about him. A big, raw peasant with few words to say for himself.

‘My husband,' she shouted at him. ‘You said he'd be on the train.'

‘Comrade Commissar Lepkin will come to you in Kharkov,' he replied.

Lepkin. The old family friend who was a high officer in the NKVD. It was Lepkin who had put them on the train.

She saw the countryside rush by through a veil of unshed tears. The journey from Moscow to Kharkov would take two days and nights. Viktor, the younger twin, was nestled into her side. He fell asleep. Stefan, always boisterous and active, clambered over the seats. Ivan was showing him how to make paper men out of an old newspaper, folding and tearing with surprising delicacy.

‘What's happened to my husband?' she asked in a low voice, when both her sons were sleeping.

‘I don't know,' he said. ‘Please, it will be better if you sleep.'

She drew the twins closer to her for comfort, and gave way to the rhythm of the train. She knew she would never see Alexei again.

The body of Alexei Rakovsky had been removed from Lepkin's office, the blood stains scrubbed off the floor. His staff had rushed in when they heard the shot. He had dismissed them with calm authority; Rakovsky had been shot resisting arrest. They had heard that explanation before. He'd had time to send Rakovsky's driver on his secret journey. Time to hide the cross. Before the summons came.

He made his way up in the old-fashioned lift to the little room at the top of the building, with its sweeping views over Moscow. He paused by the door and knocked. His hand trembled.

Nikolai Yetzov was a small man; his hair receded and his skin was sallow. He sat like a bird of prey in his eyrie on the top floor. Next to Stalin, he was the most feared man in Russia. He called out, ‘Come in,' and watched Lepkin walk towards him. He didn't speak, then looked down at his papers as if there was no one there. He made a note or two, then paused, looking over what he'd written.

The bile of terror rose in Lepkin's throat. He didn't dare cough to clear it.

At last Yetzov said, still looking at his papers, ‘I am waiting for your report on the incident this morning, comrade.' He raised his head and stared at Lepkin.

‘Why did you shoot the traitor, Rakovsky?'

Lepkin was word perfect. He had rehearsed his story again and again. He said, ‘Because he tried to bribe me, comrade. I told him I didn't deal with traitors. Then he abused comrade Stalin. He called him a murderer, a traitor to Lenin.'

‘Ah,' the dry voice said. ‘Did he … What else?'

Lepkin hesitated, as the dark, cruel eyes bored holes into him. He had to be convincing because his life was forfeit if Yetzov didn't believe him. Perhaps even if he did. ‘He said he'd be revenged on me because I wouldn't help him. He said he'd name me when he was arrested. “I'll take you to the cellars with me, Lepkin—I'll denounce you”.'

‘And then what did you do, comrade?'

‘I drew my revolver to arrest him,' Lepkin answered. ‘He resisted so I shot him.'

There was a long silence. Yetzov played with a pen, twiddling it between his fingers. There was anger in his eyes. He loved to inflict pain and humiliation on his victims. He had been looking forward to bringing Alexei Rakovsky to his knees. Lepkin had cheated him of that pleasure. At last he smiled. It terrified Lepkin to see that smile.

‘You did what any loyal Party member would do,' he said slowly. ‘You punished him for abusing Comrade Stalin, and you saved your own skin by shutting his mouth. Very sensible. We live in dangerous times.'

‘Yes,' Lepkin agreed. ‘We do.'

‘You have an appointment in Kharkov,' Yetzov's tone changed. It became harsh. ‘You'll have an opportunity to prove how loyal you really are, Lepkin. I want that area cleaned of filth. I want every oppositionist, every troublemaker, every enemy of the Party and the State hounded down and brought to me for justice. You mustn't fail, Lepkin. If even one escapes me, you will answer for it. You do understand, don't you?'

Lepkin answered boldly, ‘Perfectly, comrade Yetzov. I won't fail.'

‘You'd better not,' The voice sank to a whisper. ‘You can go now.'

Lepkin went out and closed the door. Very carefully, so as not to make a noise. He had robbed Yetzov of his victim. But he was under a suspended sentence, and he knew it. He went back down to his office, and poured himself a glass of vodka. His hand shook, as his friend's had done that same day. He locked his desk drawers and called in his secretary.

She looked concerned and said, ‘Is there anything else you want, Comrade Commissar?' She thought he looked white and shocked. This surprised her. There had been many sudden deaths in the Lubianka.

‘Nothing,' he said. ‘Thank you. I'm going home now. I have a lot of work to do tomorrow.'

‘Of course.' She held the door open for him.

He thought suddenly. ‘
I need reliable staff. I can take her with me to Kharkov and my clerk Ivanov …
'

He had a one-roomed apartment on Ouspenska Prospekt, and he lived there alone. When he needed a woman, he went to a brothel reserved for senior officers in the state security. The women were medically checked every month. He shut and locked the tiny cupboard that served him as a kitchen. The bathroom was communal like the lavatory.

Under the naked bulb hanging from the ceiling he unwrapped the parcel. He whispered the old incantation from the coronation ceremonies of the Tsars. ‘
Who holds St Vladimir's Cross has Holy Russia in his hand.
' A thousand years of mystic symbolism over the people of Russia.

The concept was like a madman's dream. But without madmen and dreams, there would be no Russia. He lit the stove and burned the cloth. He made a neat package of newspaper and tied it with new string.

He felt cold and sick to his stomach. He sat by the stove and tried to get warm, drinking pepper vodka. It burned his tongue and lit a fire in his chilled body. He drank to his friend, Alexei, and talked aloud to him as he became very drunk.

‘I saved you from the cellars. I saved you from the drugs and the stinking hole in the ground where they freeze men to death. A bullet is clean. You used to say that to me when we talked about the war, remember? I'll take care of Natalia and the boys. I'll keep my promise, don't worry. I loved you, Alexei.'

Tears trickled down his cheeks. He struggled up from his chair. It overturned. The bottle rolled across the floor. It was empty. He fell on his bed and slept till the morning. His transfer to Kharkov was granted. By that evening he was on the train. The package was strapped to his body under his shirt.

Lepkin's mother took them in. The apartment was in a converted house; an old babushka came hurrying from the tiny kitchen with cries of excitement at having the children to look after.

Marie Lepkin said, seeing the exhaustion on the young woman's face, ‘You leave the little ones to us. We'll feed them and put them to bed. You lie down and sleep.' Knowing the story, she was filled with pity for them.

Natalia lay under the quilt on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Tears filled up and overflowed on to the pillow. ‘
Alexei, what are they doing to you
?'

She was asleep and didn't hear the outcry from the kitchen. Stefan had kicked the babushka; he wanted to go to his mother. Viktor burst into weary tears. The babushka rubbed her shin and grumbled. Children were devils these days. They had no discipline, no respect. But then the devils were in charge. When the Tsar ruled, Russia was a godly place.

She was waiting for Lepkin when he arrived.

‘Tell me the truth,' she said. ‘He's been arrested, hasn't he?' They were alone. His mother had taken the boys to play in the kitchen. Lepkin was shocked by how thin and white she looked. He didn't lie.

He said, ‘He's dead, Natalia. I'm sorry.'

She turned away from him, her hands covering her face. After a while she asked him, ‘How? How did he die? Did he suffer?'

‘No,' Lepkin said gently. ‘He was shot. He felt nothing. It was over in a few seconds. I couldn't save him; he came to ask me to look after you and the twins. I could only promise him that.'

She sat down, carefully smoothing her skirt. She was in control now, but as colourless as a dead woman. ‘I'm glad,' she said at last. ‘He said to me in the last weeks: “I'm not scared of dying. It's what they'll do to make me confess.” And you know how brave he was. Tell me how it happened.'

‘No,' Lepkin refused. ‘You've suffered enough. The details don't matter.'

She looked up at him. She had pale grey eyes the colour of water under a clear summer sky. ‘You shot him, didn't you?'

He said simply, ‘Yes. It was all I could do for him.'

She stood up. He waited for her condemnation. For tears and reproaches.

‘Thank you, Gregor. I can bear it now.'

‘What's going to become of them?' Lepkin's mother asked. ‘They can't stay here, there isn't room for all of us. I'm so sorry for them, Gregor. The poor girl's been so brave. I'm not being hardhearted, but the little boys need somewhere to play—the babushka finds them too much to manage. Especially Stefan.'

‘I know,' Lepkin said. ‘You've been so good to them. So be patient,
matiushka
. Don't worry, I've found a place where they can live. It's in the country. They'll be safe there. I'll leave Ivan with them. You'll visit them, won't you? See they're all right? I'm going to be working so hard and I've got to be careful myself.'

‘Don't worry,' his mother said. ‘I'll keep my eye on them. You've risked enough to help them. I do know they're grateful. Natalia calls you their saviour.'

He drove the family out to their new home. He helped Natalia out of the car and lifted the twins on to the ground. ‘It's the best I could find,' he said. ‘It's isolated, but you'll have Ivan to look after you, and it's safe.'

It was an old farmhouse close to a wood. It had stood empty since Stalin decreed that every small holder in the Ukraine was to be driven off the land. The peasant with a few acres was labelled a
Kulak
, a rich enemy of the Proletariat. The farms were collectivized. The cattle and crops were confiscated and the rebellious Ukrainians left to starve. Millions had died of hunger and disease in the bread basket of Russia. The corpses lay in the gutters of the towns and by the roadsides where they had wandered in their desperate search for food. Those who escaped that fate were herded into the terrible labour camps and worked to death. Stalin's Five-Year Plan for centralizing Russian agriculture was imposed on the Ukraine with merciless severity. The owners of the farmhouse were among the five million who perished.

Lepkin and Natalia walked up the path choked with weeds, and in to the house. It was a single-storey wooden building. It needed paint inside and out; the window shutters were broken, hanging drunkenly on rusty hinges. The patch of garden was a wilderness of brambles.

Lepkin watched her anxiously. She had been living in luxury as the wife of a high Party official. A three-roomed apartment close to the Kremlin. He expected her spirits to sink as she looked round at the stained walls, and the bare earth floors. Instead, he saw a rare smile as she turned to him and called the boys to come to her.

‘We can make a home here,' she said. ‘I was born in the country, Gregor. We'll be happy here.'

He lifted the boys one after the other. ‘You be good,' he admonished. ‘Take care of your mother and do what she tells you. Else I'll beat you with a big stick when I come back.'

They giggled at the threat. He set them down and immediately they ran off shouting with excitement to explore outside.

‘You've been so good to us,' Natalia said. ‘Alexei loved you like a brother. He was right. How can we ever thank you?'

He led her back into the house. ‘You can take care of this,' he said. There was a black tin box on the table. ‘It's locked, Natalia. One day we'll open it together. But not now. I know I can trust you to keep it safe for me. Nobody is to touch it.'

She took it from him. It wasn't very heavy. Money perhaps. Rouble notes. Documents. She wasn't curious. Curiosity was a luxury for the idle. She was a woman of her word. ‘I'll hide it,' she said.

‘And forget about it?' he asked her.

She opened a big box full of clothes and buried the box at the bottom. ‘I've already forgotten,' she said. ‘When will you come back again?'

‘I don't know. I have a lot of work to do. Maybe it won't be too long. My mother will come to see you.'

She watched him leave from the doorway. The car drove off along the path through the pine woods. She heard her sons calling to each other round the back of the house. She went back inside and looked around her. They had shelter, a man to chop wood for the stove, enough to eat.

That night, with her sons curled up beside her, Natalia slept long and peacefully.

It was two months before Lepkin came again. He found Natalia sewing. The sunshine streamed in from the window and her hair shone like a golden halo. She looked up as his step made the floorboard creak. The sewing fell to the ground and she hurried to meet him. There was a high blush in her cheeks.

He embraced her like a brother, kissed her forehead like a brother, and knew that he was in love for the first time in his life.

Natalia had changed from the city girl he'd known. The sun and the clean air had brightened her skin and burnished her fair hair. A little weight had rounded out her thin body. The rooms had been washed down and painted; the stove was blackened and shining clean. There was a bright rug on the floor. Ivan had found it, Natalia said.