6

Nadia saw Iain, bearded and smiling, and then this grey old man behind.

Afraid to say too much, facing each other, they stood there a long moment, unsure whether to embrace. But then Nadia held her hands out wide, almost as a petition. Her father’s face, so corrugated and rucked with lines, so white-haired, crumpled even more now as their bodies met. They gathered each other; his worn hand on her cheek, her hands pressing against the middle of his back. Stroking and stroking. Stroking the sadness out. He was all bones. Behind her, she sensed Mamuchka’s arm on her shoulder, rubbing, consoling, kneading, as if her hand did not know where to put itself. There was so much emotion in the room, it felt like a physical obstacle. Each of them wanted to speak, but the words simply would not form in their mouths. Instead, they cried. They held onto each other and wept sharp, monumental tears that spilled down their cheeks. ‘‘I never stopped believing,’’ he said, quietly. Nadia had never felt such happiness; she had never felt such sadness. The years of loss would take years more to heal.

 

In the days to come, Mamuchka filled the rooms with hustle and bustle, keeping the windows wide open so that everyone could witness her happiness. She hosted tea-parties and soirees, charity lunches and lucky draws. It was as though, after all those years, she was alive again. She placed a notice in the local newspaper, saying that her husband had returned, she told the butcher, the baker, the char siu supplier, the seamstress she hadn’t spoken to for ten years, as well as the rat-catcher and ear-cleaner. In the throes of her exhilaration, she even donated a statuette of the Virgin Mary to the church. While outside, in the square now with New Year bunting and strung flags, she stood on the steps of the square smiling, laughing louder than everybody else.

Papashka, meanwhile, stayed out of harm’s way and rested in his room, laying on his blankets.

It wasn’t easy for Mamuchka however. Though Ilya’s arrival, for all its emotional drama, had given her a renewed sense of self, it also brought its difficulties. Having got used to her routine over the years, her husband’s return meant that she now had to care for an invalid. She had to shop for him, cook his meals, bathe and shave him, dress him, put clean linen on his bed; she even had to help tie his shoe laces. And despite Nadia’s tireless efforts to help, occasionally the responsibility overwhelmed Mamuchka.

Only late at night, over a pot of hot cocoa shared with Nadia and Izabel, would she suddenly confess to being confused by this man in her house who shuffled about rearranging her things and forever saying, ‘Please help me with my shoes, Olga,’ or ‘Can you please bring me a pillow, Olga,’ and ‘Fetch this, fetch that.’

‘‘He’s been through a lot,’’ said Izabel.

‘‘All he does is rest, rest, rest,’’ said Mamuchka. ‘‘And when he’s awake all he does is think and think some more about Russia. You’d think he’d left his family behind.’’

‘‘In a way he has. Do you think he’s awake right now?’’ asked Nadia. ‘‘I want to speak to him.’’

‘‘He was staring at the ceiling a few minutes ago when I left him,’’ her mother replied, picking up her cluster of knitting only to put it back down again.

Nadia climbed the creaky stairs to the second floor and stood in the darkness for several moments. ‘‘Olga, is that you?’’ her father cried from behind the guest room door.

‘‘It’s me, Papashka.’’ She pushed her head into the room and saw her father in bed, the thin covers drawn across his chest. Tired lamplight illuminated his face and hands.

‘‘Nadia, come in, please, come in and sit.’’

She settled down alongside him. ‘‘Mamuchka says your doing a lot of thinking.’’ He looked at her then looked away. ‘‘Is this true?’’ He nodded. ‘‘Only people that are unhappy think all the time. And sleep all the time. You shouldn’t be unhappy. Are you unhappy?’’

He turned to her again and lifted his hand to softly touch her cheek. ‘‘Nadia, my Nadia. No, I am not unhappy.’’ His eyes were warm, smiling now. ‘‘What I am is worried …’’ He paused. ‘‘I am worried.’’

‘‘Worried about whom?’’

‘‘I am worried for the people I left behind in Harbin, Nadia. The Riedles were my family for so many years. I owe them my life. They are like a brother and sister to me. I need to know where they are. I need to know if they are safe.’’

He hadn’t said much to her about the Riedles, but she knew instinctively how important they were to him. ‘‘Iain said the Lutheran Mission in Harbin was taking care of them,’’ she said.

‘‘But it is my responsibility to ensure they find safe passage to America, to California.’’ He climbed out of bed and started buttoning his shirtsleeves. ‘‘And to ensure that once they get there, they are given what was promised.’’

‘‘What are you doing?’’ asked Nadia. ‘‘You need to rest.’’

‘‘Rest, zhest! I have been resting too long. I am going to talk with your Iain. I need assurances that my friends are safe.’’

‘‘What, now? But it’s almost eleven o’clock?’’

‘‘So? These things cannot wait. I need to talk with Iain.’’

‘‘You can use the telephone in the shop.’’

‘‘Telephone? I have never used a telephone in my life. Pass me my sticks and help me with my trousers, will you? And then go outside and hail a rickshaw.’’

‘‘Where are you going?’’

‘‘We are going to see Iain.’’

‘‘But Papashka, you can’t go out into the night. You’re far too frail.’’

‘‘Nonsense. I haven’t survived twenty-odd years as an invalid by being frail. Now, fetch me my shoes. It’s time you saw where you got your strength of character from.’’

 

Two hours later, having read through Iain’s correspondence and numerous Western Union telegraphs from the Mennonite Brethren in Fresno, California, Ilya concluded that the Riedles were indeed in safe hands. According to the paperwork, Peter and Nina Riedle were currently on a ship sailing to San Francisco Bay. The thought made Ilya smile. Perhaps Nina was tasting American ice-cream for the first time, he mused. He rested his palms on Iain’s kitchen table and got to his feet. ‘‘You may take us home now,’’ he said.

When they reached the Tabacaria, Ilya said a hasty goodnight. He refused any help as he struggled up the staircase. No sooner had he reached the landing when a finger-wagging Mamuchka confronted him at the top of the steps. ‘‘What time do you call this?’’ she yelled. ‘‘Just who do you think you are, out gallivanting til the early hours like an old tomcat! To bed with you!’’

Downstairs, in the cavernous ground floor, Iain smiled at Nadia. She threw him a strange look. They made their way along the corridor and into the cigar shop. Nadia switched on the lights. They stood amongst the white jars of Zubelda and Mild Virginia, looking at one another.

‘‘We haven’t talked much since I got back,’’ said Iain.

‘‘No.’’

‘‘You haven’t kissed me either.’’

‘‘Iain,’’ she said firmly. ‘‘We need to talk.’’

‘‘Talk about what?’’

‘‘Things … you … the way you just go off and do things without asking me first. It annoys me. What you’ve done annoys me.’’

‘‘What do you mean?’’

‘‘The trip north … it was unfair what you did, toying with our emotions like that.’’

‘‘I don’t understand. I never toyed with you.’’

‘‘You’re playing God with our lives, Iain. Who gave you permission to go and rescue my father? Who said you could send the Riedles half way across the world.’’

‘‘Permission? What are you talking about? I don’t need permission.’’

‘‘He’s my father.’’

‘‘I got him here in one piece, didn’t I?’’

‘‘But what if you hadn’t?’’

‘‘I don’t think you have any idea what we had to go through.’’

‘‘Actually, I do Iain. My father told me about the blizzard, about the Red Guards, how you never once let go of him. But did you think about the risks? Did you even once stop and think that the journey might have killed him … or you?’’

‘‘Of course I did. Why are you acting as if I’m the villain of the piece?’’

‘‘Look, Iain, if we’re going to be friends, I can’t have you making these sorts of decisions without consulting with me.’’

‘‘Friends? Is that what we are? Friends?’’

She looked at him as her words sunk in. ‘‘Yes, friends. Have you forgotten what happened before you went north? I called you a liar and an imposter. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten all about Lazar.’’

‘‘No, I haven’t forgotten about Lazar.’’

Reaching into her coat pocket she went over to the Tabacaria’s entrance and, following a clicking of locks, pushed the front door ajar.

‘‘You want me to go?’’ he said, raising his eyebrows.

She held the door wide open.

Iain stepped out into the cool night.

He walked briskly across the Largo da Sien. A stray dog lifted his leg across the road. He listened for the cries of ‘hey mista, you wan ride?’, but there weren’t any rickshaws in sight. Iain stood in the darkness for several moments and stared at the ground.

Three minutes later he banged on the cigar shop door.

‘‘You also called me a shit,’’ he said.

‘‘A bloody shit if I remember correctly.’’

‘‘I’ve thought long and hard about you, Nadia Shash„kova,’’ he said. ‘‘Long and hard.’’

‘‘And?’’ She folded her arms across her chest.

‘‘There used to be a hot stone in here.’’ He pointed to his heart. ‘‘It was something alien, something anxious and impatient filling a void. But it’s gone now. You made it go away. ’’ She unfolded her arms. ‘‘They want to send me to Hong Kong. Maybe not right away, perhaps in a couple of years time. There’s even talk of returning to Scotland.’’

‘‘Then you should go.’’

‘‘I want you to come with me.’’

‘‘That’s not going to do your career any good is it? Bringing back a White Russian.’’

‘‘It’s a gamble I’m prepared to take.’’

‘‘Well if it’s gambling you’re after then perhaps you should try your luck at the fan tan tables.’’ She looked at her watch. ‘‘Club Camoens will still be open.’’

‘‘I’d choose you over my career any day. I’d choose you over anything.’’

‘‘Are you saying you want to marry me?’’

He tried to kiss her mouth, but she pulled away.

He stopped and looked at her. ‘‘I don’t know, am I?’’

‘‘My mother always said you were a flatterer and a deceiver.’’

‘‘You’re mother’s no fool.’’

After which a smile spread across her face. ‘‘Do you know,’’ she said. ‘‘When you were away I used to ask myself that if only one of you could return to me, would I rather have you or Papashka?’’

‘‘And? Which one of us did you choose?’’

Nadia laughed, tickling his ribs with her fingers. Then she looked him in the eyes. ‘‘I’m grateful for what you’ve done, Iain, I really am. Don’t get me wrong. But don’t you ever take a risk like that again. And don’t you ever play God with my life. Never again, do you promise me?’’ Her words were spoken through softened eyes.

‘‘I promise.’’

‘‘Goodnight then.’’

‘‘Goodnight.’’ He turned and walked once more into the night and like a rush of warm water, a sparkle of contentment fell over her. She pressed her nose to the glass and watched him disappear into the blackness.

 

For the next few weeks Nadia’s life was serene and contented. But like a marsh snake in a flooded paddy-field, trouble eventually found its way to the surface.

It was during one of Mamuchka’s cocoa-nights that Izabel burst into the kitchen and started tossing pots and pans onto the floor.

‘‘Izabel!’’ cried Nadia. ‘‘What are you doing? Stop it!’’

After staring at her friend for several moments, Izabel let out a scream and the colour left her face.

‘‘What’s happened?’’ asked Nadia. ‘‘Has something happened to the boys? Is it Carlos?’’

‘‘The police have sent me a summons.’’ Izabel choked a little as she said this.

‘‘What are you talking about?’’

Izabel sat, gripping her thin elbows with her hands. ‘‘They are charging me for being a public nuisance, for disturbing the peace. They say that my marching bordered on harassment.’’

‘‘Harassment? That’s ridiculous. All you did was walk up and down the Praya. You weren’t chanting insults or banging drums. You didn’t accost anyone or abuse anyone.’’

‘‘I called Queiroz a worm.’’

‘‘So have hundreds of others, I’m sure.’’

‘‘Do you think I’ll go to jail?’’

‘‘Of course not, Izabel, you’ve done nothing wrong.’’

She shook her head. ‘‘What am I to do?’’

Mamuchka interrupted. ‘‘Can anyone help us? What about Iain? Can he do anything? Do we know anybody who works for the law?’’

‘‘They might send me back to Portugal,’’ said Izabel. ‘‘What’s going to happen to Carlos? What if he loses his job over this, or his club membership? The shame is not worth thinking about.’’

‘‘Maybe someone in the Government can help us,’’ Mamuchka said.

‘‘I know nobody in the Government.’’

‘‘Or someone in the judiciary …’’ Mamuchka tailed off.

In the semi-darkness of the kitchen, a thick silence settled over them.

Suddenly, the whites of Nadia’s eyes grew large. ‘‘Senhor Pinto,’’ she said. ‘‘Bawzhemoy! Why didn’t I think of it before? He’s a magistrate. I’ll go and talk to Senhor Pinto.’’

 

The following morning Nadia paid Senhor Pinto a visit at his Rua da Colina offices. The brass plaque on the building read ‘Supremo Tribunal de Justica’

Nadia knocked lightly and pushed the doors open, and as she entered, the judge came forward and welcomed her with a boyish grin.

‘‘Sit,’’ he said, pulling his chair close. She handed him a parcel, wrapped in silver paper.

‘‘What’s this?’’ he said.

‘‘Oh, nothing really,’’ she said. ‘‘Just a little something.’’ Nadia cast a quick glance at the room as Senhor Pinto unraveled the paper. His law chambers were furnished sumptuously – Regency furniture, heavy velvet curtains, leather tomes in opulent carved bookshelves – and cooled by twirling ceiling fans.

‘‘You’ve brought me some embroidered handkerchiefs,’’ he said, delighted.

‘‘Yes, beautiful little chrysanthemums, all satin-stitched,’’ she said.

‘‘But I thought you told me that lencos bring tears.’’

‘‘These will only bring you tears of joy.’’

He thanked her and tugged at the end of his nose. ‘‘Well,’’ he said. ‘‘What exactly can I do for you?’’

Pinto was in his judicial robes, made of pearl buttons and black shiny cloth. Wearing his court medallion low against his chest, he studied Nadia closely as she related Izabel’s story. His eyes travelled up and down her face as she spoke. She felt like a bug in a jar. ‘‘So you come to me for a favour, hmm?’’ he said, leaning back in his chair.

‘‘Yes.’’

There was a long moment when neither spoke. He drummed the desktop with his fingers. His eyes were aglint. ‘‘And if I grant you this favour, what will you do for me?’’

Nadia looked at the floor. Her face reddened. After several moments she raised her head to find Senhor Pinto shaping his mouth into a grin.

‘‘I am toying with you,’’ he conceded. He held out his left hand to her which she took and kissed. ‘‘Come back at noon tomorrow. I will see what I can do.’’

 

Nadia met Izabel in a cafe near Big Step Street; it was the same chau lau they’d gone to months before when they’d first met. Both women ordered iced mint tea with limes and sat staring at each other.

‘‘What did Pinto say?’’

‘‘Not much,’’ said Nadia.

Izabel, dressed in a pale slimline linen dress and silk scarf, removed the scarf from her throat and brought it up to her eyes. ‘‘What am I going to do?’’

‘‘Can you show me the summons?’’

She reached into her handbag. ‘‘Here.’’

Nadia read the arraignment. It stated that Izabel was required to appear in corte 21 days after the issuance of the summons and if she failed to show up the court would order a judgment in favour of the prosecution.

‘‘Carlos is livid, of course.’’

‘‘I’m not surprised.’’

‘‘He says we should have been more respectful to Queiroz.’’

‘‘We were doing something we believed in. It’s something we still believe in.’’

‘‘You’re right.’’

‘‘However, I think we may have to find you a solicitor.’’

‘‘Merda! A solicitor will cost money. Carlos won’t like the sound of that.’’

‘‘Can Carlos not talk to Queiroz himself? Don’t they belong to the same sports club?’’

‘‘He already has. Queiroz called him a fool and told him to coma a merda e morra.’’

‘‘Bawzhemoy!’’

‘‘And there’s more.’’

‘‘What?’’

‘‘Queiroz mentioned something about you.’’

‘‘What?’’

‘‘He said he was going after you too, Nadia. He said he’s going send you packing back to Russia.’’

 

At noon the next day, Nadia entered Senhor Pinto’s law chambers once more.

‘‘Please sit down,’’ he said, gesturing unsmilingly.

Nadia looked at him with eyes wide with hope. ‘‘A-any thoughts?’’ she eventually asked. ‘‘Any thoughts on my friend’s problem?’’

Pinto shook his head. ‘‘I can not help you,’’ he said.

Nadia’s heart sank.

Pinto stared at the floor. But then his face cracked into a grin. ‘‘Haaaahaaaa!’’ he yowled. ‘‘I fooled you, eh? Of course, I will help you.’’ He smiled, face crinkling. ‘‘It just so happens that I share your friend’s opinion. What’s happening to these babies is a disgrace. The problem must be addressed either by the Legislative Council or the Health Ministry.’’

‘‘But what about Queiroz? He has a point to prove … his honour has been challenged.’’

‘‘Nonsense! Queiroz is being sent back to Lisbon in two months. His three-year posting is drawing to an end. His opinion holds no weight around here.’’

‘‘But what about the summons?’’

He got up from his chair and took Nadia’s arm, guiding her to the door. ‘‘You leave this to me, Nadia. And tell your friend, Senhora Perera, to tear up that summons. I have spoken to the Governor about this matter. From this moment on it has become void.’’

‘‘Really?’’

‘‘Sim, really.’’

‘‘Tell her Juiz Pinto, circuit judge of Macao’s court of appeal, has taken the matter into his own hands.’’

‘‘I don’t know how to thank you – ’’

‘‘Also I wish to help with this orphanage.’’

‘‘You wish to help?’’

He lifted a finger aloft to underline his words. ‘‘We will have a new orphanage set up here in no time. Mark my words.’’

‘‘I can hardly believe what I’m hearing.’’

‘‘Ah, believe, believe, my dear. Old Pinto still has some pull around here, no?’’ He flexed the bicep muscles in his arms.

Ecstatic, Nadia wrapped her arms round the old man and kissed him hard on the cheek. Senhor Pinto blushed and looked to his right and left. ‘‘Please, Nadia, I have a reputation.’’ He pulled out a comb from his hip pocket and ran it through his hair several times.

‘‘Thank you, Senhor Pinto! Thank you!’’ She raced out of the office and down the stairs, taking two steps at a time.

Outside, Iain was waiting patiently, swinging a folded umbrella about. He pretended it was a golf club. When Nadia saw him, she rushed into his arms. ‘‘How did it go?’’ he asked. Nadia’s lip parted in a broad smile. Feeling proud, she said it went well. They turned from the gates of the chancery and walked towards the Praya, eyes looking off into the distance, sunshine spilling on their shoulder, their future bright, full of new hope. She paused midway down the street and looked back. Standing at the second-floor window, she saw Senhor Pinto. She gave him a wave as she took Iain’s hand. Pinto smiled and flourished a satin-stitched lenco. She removed her own handkerchief from a skirt pocket and held it high to the sky, watched it flutter freely in the breeze.

She had never felt so alive.