The Relic (3 page)

Ivan slept on the floor by the door at night in case of intruders.

Natalia cooked for them that night. Gregor had bought vodka and wine, and she made a vegetable stew served with black bread and goats' cheese.

They sat long at the table; the wine was finished and Ivan and the children had gone to bed. At last Gregor was silent. They'd talked of the old days, of Alexei and their memories of evenings spent together talking, getting a little drunk.

‘In the last few years Alexei only laughed when he was with you,' she said.

And Gregor said, ‘You haven't forgotten him, Natalia?'

‘I'll never forget him,' she answered.

He poured some vodka and swallowed it. ‘I wish you'd think of me sometimes,' he said.

‘I do. I've missed you.'

‘That's because you're lonely. I want more than that. I want you to think about me as much as I think about you. You're beautiful, Natalia.'

She smiled at him. ‘And you're drunk,' she said.

‘Only a little. I love you, you know I love you?' He got up unsteadily. ‘I shouldn't say that. Don't worry. I'll sleep outside your door. Like Ivan.'

She hurried to support him, her voice gentle. ‘You'll sleep in my bed.'

He let her guide him to the bedroom. She put a finger to her lips.

‘Don't wake the children.' She undressed him and helped him in to the bed. She covered him with the quilt. Then she stripped off her blouse and skirt, peeled off her stockings and stood naked.

He groaned at the sight of the full breasts and the shadow between her thighs. ‘Natalia … I want you … I'm so drunk.'

She turned down the lamp and slipped in beside him. He smelt the sweetness of her breath. ‘You won't be in the morning.'

Lepkin and Natalia were married in the new wedding palace in the centre of Kharkov.

On their journey home Natalia leaned against Lepkin, warm and submissive to his hands and his mouth in the darkness. ‘I wish I were a virgin,' she whispered to him. ‘I want to do everything to please you.'

When they had become lovers Lepkin knew that all she felt was gratitude. But now she loved him with a fierce intensity. For a still, quiet woman she was capable of a passion and abandonment that astonished him. And before they fell asleep he asked her the question he had never dared to ask before.

‘Alexei … Was it like this with him?'

She raised her head and looked at him.

‘No,' she said. ‘It was different. I loved him, but I would die for you.' She bent and very slowly kissed him on the lips.

When he woke in the morning, she was already up, preparing food to start the day. He lay and listened to her singing. He felt he must be the happiest man in all of Russia.

They had been married for three months when he called her to him, sending the children out to play in the garden. Lepkin took her by the hand. He kissed her. ‘You remember the box I gave you—the day I brought you here?'

She liked to tease him, to flirt. ‘You told me to forget,' she reminded him.

‘I also told you we'd open it together one day,' he countered. ‘Husbands and wives shouldn't have secrets. Get it, my darling.'

She came with it in her hands. ‘You're so solemn,' she said. ‘Is anything wrong? Why do you want the box? I don't care what's inside.'

He didn't answer. He took the key from round his neck and opened it. She saw something wrapped in paper. He laid it on the bed and pulled the covering off. Natalia couldn't help herself. She gasped and stepped back.

‘It's a cross! What are you doing with a thing like that?' She hated religion, especially the old orthodox faith.

He had forgotten that. His wife was a true child of her fanatically atheist parents.

‘It belonged to Alexei,' he said quietly. ‘He gave it to me.'

‘Why would Alexei want it? He had no time for all that superstition. It looks old—is it valuable? Where could you sell it? The stones might be worth something.' She looked at it with distaste. She made no move to touch it.

‘It is old,' Lepkin said. ‘Over a thousand years. And nobody could sell it because it doesn't have a price. It's St Vladimir's Cross, Natalia. The holiest relic in all of Russia.'

Now she actually recoiled. ‘It can't be. It was destroyed.'

‘That's what the Party said when Alexei's father couldn't find it. The Patriarch in Kiev gave it to your mother-in-law. He was roasted over an open fire to make him tell where it was hidden. But he died first.'

She shuddered. ‘Don't. I didn't know. I knew they shot the priests.'

‘If we'd found this in 1919 half the White armies would have surrendered. Lenin knew what it meant and so did Stalin. To the people it means the God-given right to rule Russia. No Tsar was ever crowned without it in his hand. Even without God, it has centuries of power and mysticism enshrined in it. It's buried deep in the Russian subconscious.'

She said fiercely, ‘Not in mine. It's just ignorant superstition—only a peasant like my mother-in-law would believe in such a thing.'

‘Russia is made up of ignorant peasants,' he reminded her. ‘We've shut the churches and driven out the priests, but there are icons hidden all over Russia. And if some leader were to rise up and show this—there are millions who would follow him. That's why Alexei kept it hidden. He hoped to exchange it for his life if he fell out of favour. But there are no bargains made with Stalin. He knew that at the end.'

‘Why do you keep it?' she asked. ‘It didn't save Alexei.'

‘Alexei said, “Stalin won't last for ever. It could be your salvation.” After what's happened he could be right,' he said to her. ‘Everything is different now. The Fascist Germans are our allies! Our ideals have been pissed on by Stalin.'

She shushed him in fear, but he shrugged cynically. ‘I have a new boss. I work for Beria. Beria is a monster. I don't care. I do whatever is necessary to stay alive, because you and the children are the only things that matter to me.'

She came and put her arms around him. ‘We live on borrowed time,' she whispered. ‘We have each other, Gregor. I love you so much I couldn't live without you. If we were separated I'd die …'

They hadn't heard the door open. The child, Viktor, was standing there, watching them. ‘Mama,' his voice quivered, ‘why are you going to die?' His dark eyes were brimming with tears.

Natalia gathered him in her arms. ‘I'm not,' she insisted. ‘I was just telling Gregor how much I loved him. It's the way grown-ups talk, you silly boy!'

‘You're not sick, are you?' he asked.

He was the sensitive one, the child haunted by his imagination. Gregor picked him up and swung him on to his shoulder. ‘Your Mama's not sick,' he announced. ‘We were having a little love talk, that's all. And next time, you knock on the door, eh?'

‘I did,' Viktor protested. ‘You didn't hear. Stefan hit me and Ivan smacked him on the head. Stefan's very angry. But it wasn't a hard smack.'

‘Well,' Gregor set him down. ‘One day you won't have Ivan to stand up for you. Then you'll have to hit Stefan yourself, won't you?' He saw Natalia watching them. He patted Viktor kindly. ‘You'll be as big as him one day.'

Viktor wasn't listening. He pointed to the bed. ‘What's that red thing? That shining red thing?'

Natalia hurried, picked up the cross. Her children had never seen that symbol. It was forbidden. They knew nothing of Christianity or any other religion.

‘It's nothing,' she said hastily. ‘Just an ornament.'

‘Can I see?' he asked.

‘No!' She sounded angry. ‘Go on, go out and find Ivan and play. And don't let me hear you and Stefan fighting or I'll beat both of you!'

When he had run out she turned to Lepkin. ‘Put that away,' she said roughly. ‘Lock it up quickly. Did you see him staring at it? Supposing he talks about it at school?'

‘He won't,' Gregor assured her. ‘It meant nothing to him. He won't remember.' He wrapped the cross in its tattered paper and locked it in the tin box. ‘Natalia,' he said. ‘We won't talk about it again. We won't think about it. But if ever anything goes wrong, you know what it means and where it is.'

‘I know,' she said quietly. ‘I just wish it wasn't in this house.'

Religious festivals had been abolished. Instead Russia celebrated the anniversary of the October Revolution. There were parades and speeches in Kharkov and the factories were closed so that the workers could march through the streets. Everybody celebrated and got drunk. Red flags flew from every public building. Bands played, the radio blared rousing Revolutionary songs. It was a day off work. There were huge posters of Lenin and Stalin, head and shoulder side by side. The face of the tyrant watched the people of Kharkov, a slight smile on the lips, an air of avuncular wisdom in the painted eyes.

The next morning, some of the wall posters had been daubed with red paint. It looked like blood streaming over the genial image. The culprit wasn't found, so a token arrest was made of a suspect factory worker. He was given a thorough beating in the police station and sentenced to three months' hard labour.

Lepkin gave his wife the desk set as a present. They were all gathered together, his mother, the babushka, the children and Ivan. There were tears in his eyes as he looked at them all. Natalia was pregnant and her beauty glowed. He was quite drunk and very happy. He laid his treasure before her. The diamonds glittered like frost: the green enamel was as sheer as watered silk.

‘Listen,' he said and wound the clock forward. It struck the hour. Viktor stared at it, fascinated by the sweet sounds and the delicate colours.

Natalia said, ‘They must be valuable. I don't deserve them.'

‘You like them, don't you?' Lepkin insisted.

‘They're very pretty,' she said. ‘But where can we put them?'

The child Viktor knew she didn't like the lovely things his stepfather had given her. He wondered why.

Lepkin embraced her; they all applauded. He wanted to take her to bed; he squeezed her breast and whispered to her.

She whispered back, reminding him they weren't alone. ‘I'll put them away,' she said. ‘They might get damaged.' She put the desk set carefully in a drawer. She was embarrassed by the gift. They were pretty toys for some spoiled aristocrat to play with. They had no relevance to her.

It was a bitterly cold winter. A time when they hibernated, as the winds and the snow turned the landscape into a frozen wilderness.

Viktor loved the quiet evenings, gathered round the stove with his mother and Lepkin. Stefan preferred to help Ivan with woodwork; he was not a child who liked reading or solitude. Viktor was content; he drew in his book. It was full of pictures. He drew the rabbits he wouldn't see till the spring came and the yellow-eyed cat that had joined them as a kitten, curled up by his mother's feet. He drew the snow and the trees festooned with icicles. He drew the clock and the calendar. His mother had put them on a shelf. She had soon found an excuse to lock them away again. She didn't like them, just as she hated the cross with the red, glowing stones that he'd seen on her bed that day. He knew it was a cross because he'd seen the babushka wearing one round her neck. She'd told him not to say anything or he'd get her into trouble. He knew his mother hated it because he'd heard her say so to Lepkin.

‘I hate having it in the house … especially since Viktor saw it.'

He couldn't understand what she was afraid of. Ivan had told him once, people only hate other people because they're afraid of them. It must be the same with things. He went on drawing in his book. Ivan pulling a sled through the snow, Lepkin asleep in the chair, his mouth slightly open.

And he drew the cross with the red stones. He didn't show his book to anyone because he felt his mother would be very angry if she saw that drawing.

The baby was born as the weather turned warm. It was a little girl, and they called her Valeria. Ivan had made a wooden cot, and she lay gurgling happily as the spring turned into early summer. Life was peaceful in their isolated world. But to Lepkin that world was turning upside down. Their Nazi allies were amassing troops along the Polish frontier and Russian armies were on the march. Thousands of people were forcibly evacuated by Soviet forces in the first weeks of the German invasion. The Ukrainians were not to be trusted. Too many were fighting side by side with the advancing Germans. It was the time for revenge.

Captured political commissars or members of the NKVD were shot without trial. Soviet troops were throwing themselves upon the enemy. Soviet planes, slow and underarmed, were ramming the Heinkels and Stukas that commanded the skies. But the German armoured divisions raced ahead: the Luftwaffe bombed and strafed at will. Kharkov itself was being evacuated and was devastated by daylight air raids. Lepkin couldn't persuade Natalia to leave without him. He had already sent his mother on ahead to Moscow. But Natalia wouldn't move. She wouldn't leave so long as he remained at his post in the beleaguered city.

Then, in August, Lepkin came back home unexpectedly. He called Ivan to bring the boys and went to find Natalia. She was holding the baby when she saw him. She looked at his face and cried out, ‘No! No!'

He took her in his arms. The child was startled and began to cry. Natalia wept and protested, but Lepkin stayed calm. And firm.

‘I'm joining an active service unit,' he said. ‘And Ivan will take you and the children to Moscow on the train. Places are reserved for you and you leave tomorrow, as soon as I've gone. The reports coming in are very bad. They're getting closer and closer. I only wish you'd have left sooner.'

He held her closely and then turned, reaching out to his stepsons. They ran into his arms.

Stefan cried out fiercely, ‘We'll shoot them. Ivan and me'll kill them.'