XVII

Friends!” a man called. He was short and slight with a mop of orange hair and eyes that darted from one of them to the other as if he were an animal looking for weakness. Miri stood taller and saw Sasha was careful to keep his hands, his stained wet cuffs, in his pockets. “Avram’s friends? Of course, of course. I’m Erik.” He wore a red and blue conductor’s uniform with a whistle around his neck. For a second, Miri thought he was pulling his pants up but then she saw, in fact, he was reaching for a revolver. Miri gasped. “Noskov gave me instructions,” Erik said. “The man named Petrov, he’s with the police?” And then: “I’ll find out if you’re lying.”

“Of course,” Sasha said.

“Good. Then go.” Erik shoved Vanya toward the train. Miri and Sasha followed. The platform was even more crowded now than when they’d arrived. It seemed it was no secret this was the last civilian train. Men elbowed and women bared their nails to press forward. Erik waved Miri, Sasha, and Vanya to the back. He pointed to a ladder welded to the steel and shoved Vanya toward it. Told him to climb. Miri wasn’t sure he’d make it, but he did and they all followed.

Unlike the train that Miri and Sasha had taken with Zubov, the carpets here weren’t torn, and all the seats were still bolted to the floor. Erik corralled them inside a private compartment meant for four. A light shivered above on a thin cord. The leather seats smelled like opulence, an awful juxtaposition to Podil, to war. “Stay quiet, I have to take tickets,” Erik said before closing the door to their berth. The latch clicked. He turned the lock.

“No,” Miri said. “He can’t keep us in here like prisoners.”

“Until he’s checked with Noskov, he will. He’s gone to make sure I turned myself in.”

“You could be wrong. The train will leave any minute.”

Sasha shook his head, took Miri’s hand and kissed it. “Your brother knows?”

“That I’m pregnant?”

“Of course I know,” Vanya said.

Voices and footsteps trudged along the corridor on the other side of the door “Marry me, Miriam?” Sasha asked. “Please, marry me?”

“You’re coming, then? To America?” The train lurched.

“Is that a yes?” He kissed her hand again. “Say yes.”

“Yes. Of course.” He kissed her, but only quickly. “Wait for me,” he said.

“Wait for you? Why?”

“They’re here.”

A whistle blared. The first time Miri mistook it for the train but it sounded again, and now it was clear it wasn’t what she thought. A soldier ran toward their compartment. He was outside, with the whistle in his mouth. More whistles followed. Not two or three, but dozens of soldiers with whistles were in his wake. They were ordering the engineers to stop the train. “Polyakov!” one yelled, the tallest and thinnest.

“We have to run,” Miri said. She knew she was screaming because her ears started to ring and her throat hurt. She tried to open the door. She pulled and pulled. “No. No,” she said. It didn’t budge. “The window.” She pounded the glass, searched the compartment for something, anything, to break the glass. “Why are you sitting there? Both of you? Why are you sitting there? We need to run.” Both Vanya’s and Sasha’s faces were pale, drawn. More soldiers ran alongside the train.

“Get up and help,” Miri screamed. She tried to pull Sasha to his feet but he wouldn’t move. His stillness was terrifying.

“I told you, Avram is a smart man. He knew I’d never turn myself in.”

“And you won’t. Sasha, we need to get off this train. We still have a chance.”

“It’s too late.”

Miri kicked the door. She dented the metal. She kicked, harder. “Let us out!” she yelled. Only later would she realize she’d broken a toe.

“Sister, it’s no use.” Vanya’s voice was as still as Sasha’s. “I’m Aleksandr. I told you, Mirele. I am Aleksandr Polyakov.”

“No. I said no.”

“We never had a chance,” Sasha said at the same time.

“Stop this. Both of you. Help me get us out of here.” Miri pounded the door harder. The bottom was kicked out by now, almost far enough for her to fit her arm through.

“If we run, they will shoot us all before we make it onto the tracks,” Sasha said. “I’ll turn myself in. Vanya, take your sister to America. I’ll meet you there.”

“Let them take me instead,” Vanya objected.

“You wouldn’t last ten minutes in interrogation.”

“They’ll hang you in a day. At least with me, it’ll be fast.”

Someone in the hallway was fumbling with keys. “Both of you, stop talking. When the door opens, we run,” Miri said.

The key ground in the lock and the tumblers clicked. The moment the door slid open, Miri jumped to barrel through, but Sasha caught her. “Miriam, let me go,” he said.

“No.”

“I am Aleksandr Grigorevich Polyakov.” Vanya stood. “You’ve come for me.” Sasha had his hand over Miri’s mouth. She thrashed and kicked, tried to yell.

“I’ve never seen that pathetic man in my life,” Noskov said. He stood in the hall outside their compartment. He poked his finger over the threshold and pointed to Sasha. “Take the other man. The one holding the woman. That is the Polyakov boy.”

“Miriam, please. For me. For our child,” Sasha whispered. She jerked to the side and he held her even tighter. The scar across his cheek was red again, as red as it had ever been. “Let me do this. They will kill us all if I don’t.”

A soldier bullied his way into the compartment. His hands appeared like claws. He grabbed Miri and tried to toss her to the side. Sasha jumped to fight, but the soldier brought the butt of his pistol down on his head. Blood streamed over Sasha’s face. Miri screamed.

The soldier shoved Sasha out of the compartment. Voices shouted. Miri thought she heard Sasha say, “I’ll find you,” but then there was nothing but feet dragging. She tried to run after him but Vanya had her. How was he suddenly so strong?

 “If you leave this compartment, they won’t hesitate. They’ll shoot,” Vanya said.

“They’ll kill him.”

“And if you run to him now, you’ll both be dead. And the child with you.” He was right, but there had to be choices. There were always choices.

“I won’t leave Kiev without Sasha.” The train’s wheels were already rolling. When had they started to pick up speed? There was a shout outside. Sasha kneeled in the train yard, on the gravel. A group of soldiers stood around him. One was smoking. Another was moving his mouth, saying something. An officer in a long greatcoat approached.

“No.” She banged the glass. “No. No.” The train was picking up speed. The officer pulled his revolver out from his belt, but instead of aiming it, he used it to backhand Sasha across the face. She watched him crumple to the ground. Miri must have screamed. The train banked around a curve and Sasha was gone.