September 26, 1941
Moscow
On September 26, the city of Kiev fell, with over half a million Russian troops taken prisoner. The dismal news made it impossible to concentrate and Rachel, like most of the others, left the studio earlier than usual. On her way to the boarding house she could see the shock of defeat in people’s eyes. Everyone walked rapidly, avoiding conversation. The city closed upon itself like a clam shell. There were no lines at the cinema and restaurants were empty.
When she entered their room Lily confronted her in a near state of panic. “Did you hear?” Rachel nodded. “I went to the train station the moment I heard, but it was too late. You have to have special passes to get on any train. I tried to bribe them and they laughed in my face!”
“I’m sure Stephen will come tonight.” Once he had found it possible to leave and return to the campus, her brother had become more daring, often showing up in the middle of the night to spend a few hours with them. He wouldn’t ignore the bleak news about Kiev.
“What can we do?” Lily asked. “I know we should leave. I feel it in my bones. But there’s no way to get out of this damned city!”
On that score, Rachel had to admit Lily was right. They might as well have been trapped in a medieval city—only then they could have ridden out on mules. Their only recourse now was to walk.
“The Nazis are on their way here as we speak,” Lily added.
“Mitya should be getting word any day now.” Vodogolin had told her that he expected the poster unit to be evacuated and that he was working on “arrangements” for Lily and Stephen.
“We’re going to be too late. I knew this would happen.” Lily paced back and forth. “To hell with the N.K.V.D.! We shouldn’t wait any longer.”
Rachel kicked off her shoes and took a towel and padded through the hall to the bathroom in her bare feet. Locking the door, she undressed and stood in the tub, showering herself with lukewarm water from the hand-held sprayer. She felt some of Lily’s anguish; here they were again. This was a country where the slightest personal action was blocked by indifference or threats. But she saw no reason to panic. If the capital was truly threatened with occupation the poster unit would be evacuated along with other important non-combat units. Mitya was their best hope of getting legal passage to a safe destination.
Wrapped in her towel, she was delighted to meet Stephen in the hall on his way to their room.
“Lily’s upset.” In a low voice she described what had happened.
“She’s afraid we’ll have a mass panic. So am I.”
“What should we do, walk?”
“That would be idiotic. We’d be arrested before we got five miles east. And I still haven’t received my papers from Alexsey. Did Mitya hear anything more?”
“He was hoping to find out today but when I left tonight he was still waiting.”
Rachel opened the door. Lily lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. She didn’t look at them. Stephen glanced at Rachel and she put on a jacket and left them alone.
Stephen sat beside Lily and stroked her hair. Seeing her like this was more painful than anything he had endured so far. Her brow was burning hot and tears poured down her cheeks.
“If I lose you this time I’ll die. I can’t bear going through it again.”
Stephen couldn’t think of anything he could say that wouldn’t be a lie. And he wouldn’t lie to her. He leaned down and touched his lips to hers. An inspiration came to him. He remembered a song his nanny used to sing to him as a child when he was hurt or frightened. The melody came easily to him and he hummed it. She listened and smiled, nestling against him until she was asleep.
* * *
Having no other place to go, Rachel returned to the studio. Mitya was there. Since his first after-hours visit he had returned almost every night to watch her work. Rachel had learned that the thirty-eight year old bachelor came from a factory worker’s family. After obtaining an engineering degree, he had joined the army where his science background assured him a quiet niche, safe from political complications. He had taken advantage of a favor owed by a commanding officer to get appointed head of the poster unit, though he hadn’t a single drop of creative blood in his body.
“It was the perfect place to spend the war until you came along,” he told her. “All my life I’ve dreamed of what it might be like to have a gift like yours.” His face grew flushed as he talked. “I can’t help myself. I don’t believe in Marx or God; but I do believe in God-given talent. You’ve been put on earth for a purpose and I must save you from Stalin.”
Had it not been for his paunch and his habitual slouch, she would have been embarrassed. Fortunately, he made his pronouncements in a tone of gentle self-mockery.
“I was hoping you would come back!” he exclaimed when she entered. “We’re going to be evacuated. Word came after you had left. Kiev has put fear into the heart of the Kremlin.”
“Where?”
“Tashkent.”
“Dear Father!” Rachel clapped her hands. “The irony of it all.”
“From there you can cross the border into Iran or Afghanistan in a matter of days.”
“What about my brother and Lily?”
A sly look of triumph came over him. “I guess I can trust you. I know of someone who operates a fishing boat on the Volga. They can travel down-river to Astrakhan on his boat. From there they can cross the Caspian Sea and travel by train to Tashkent.”
Rachel thought of Captain Panofsky. Mitya had never explained how he knew him. How would he know a boatman on the Volga? “You have a lot of friends, Mitya,” she observed.
“A man needs lots of friends to survive in Russia nowadays.”
“Somehow I get the idea there’s more to you than meets the eye.”
Mitya laughed. “You don’t think there’s enough of me as it is?”
“Out of nowhere you offer us a way out. Who are you, Mitya Vodogolin?”
He grabbed her arm, pulling her into an awkward embrace and kissing her. She didn’t resist; neither did she respond.
“I can’t leave them, Mitya.”
“But you’re more important than they are.”
“No. I’ll never allow myself to think that.”
Vodogolin held her close. “Someday I intend to convince you otherwise. Against my principles, I’ll get passes for the three of you.”
She saw that he was in love with her. But she couldn’t have relations with a man who was like an uncle to her just to bind him to her.
“Come home with me tonight.”
“I don’t . . . I can’t—”
Mitya released her and stepped away, crestfallen. “I understand. It’s just as well. I’m probably confusing admiration with passion.”
Relieved, Rachel hugged him. “I’ve got to go back and tell them!”
“By all means.”
She had to stop herself from running once she was out on the street. Bursting into the room, she woke them both up with her shouting. At first Lily couldn’t grasp what she was saying; then her spirits soared. “We can be out of Russia by the end of the year!” She took Rachel’s hands and danced with her about the room. But then she stopped. “If only I could find out for sure about Michael.”
“You may never know for sure,” Lily said. “It’s not like Stalin’s keeping records of the people he’s murdered.”
Rachel felt as though Lily punched her in the stomach. It was only a wish, Lily. Why do you have to be so harsh?
“When can he get us passes?” Stephen asked.
“He didn’t say. Before two weeks, anyhow.”
“Plenty of time for me to cable my father for more money,” Lily said. “If that fisherman won’t take us, I’ll buy his damn boat!”
“The only problem,” Rachel said, looking at Stephen, “is finding a way to tell you the moment I get my hands on the passes.”
“First I have to get my papers from Alexsey. Once I have them, I’ll start coming here every night.”
“What if she won’t give them to you?” Lily asked.
“She will.” Stephen hesitated. He always carried his mother’s earring with him. If necessary, he was going to trade it to Alexsey for his freedom. But Rachel didn’t need to know that, not yet. “Trust me.”
“It’s not perfect, but it’ll have to do.” Rachel looked at the time. “Four. I’ve got to get to bed. Goodnight.” Rachel collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep.
“There’s still time,” Lily suggested.
Stephen glanced at Rachel and smiled. The emotional firestorms of the night had left him ill at ease. He wanted completion, finality. He undressed and let Lily push him down into the armchair. She straddled him and he thrust into her. She rocked on him, the chair creaking in protest until they both laughed at the thought that it might break. She slowed and tightened herself around him, rolling back and forth. Lily relaxed, almost motionless now, the pleasure strung to an excruciating pitch. She came, then kept on, tightening again until Stephen gasped and she felt him come into her.
They were still. The soothing balm held them, surrounded them, shielded them from the world. With the first light, though, they had to acknowledge, reluctantly, the call of reality. Stephen dressed in silence. At the door she murmured “Soon, my darling . . . soon.” Fervently he kissed her before yielding to the force of time pulling him back to the campus.