October, 1941
Moscow
“That’s it?” Lily looked at him in disbelief.
“Yes,” Stephen said.
“There has to be a better way,” she insisted.
“There isn’t. I’m lucky I’m not rotting in a cell right now.”
“Or worse,” Rachel said.
Stephen nodded. He thought back to the day just two weeks ago that he had bartered for his papers. After hiding his real papers in the basement, he had gone to the practice field, arriving just as the practice ended, and reported that all of his possessions had been stolen including his uniforms. The coaches, who had obviously been told by Alexsey that Stephen had abandoned the program, looked at him as if he had escaped from a lunatic asylum. But they could only accept his explanation at face value. A few hours later, his possessions were “found” in another room and the whole episode was written off as a prank. He hadn’t set eyes on Alexsey since the day of the exchange.
He had resumed his old ways, coming to visit Rachel and Lily at night and returning to the campus around two in the morning. Tonight should have been a happy one for all of them, for Mitya had finally given the travel passes to Rachel. But Stephen had ruined the celebration by insisting that he had to return to the campus. To stay, he insisted, would be to invite almost certain arrest by the N.K.V.D.
“Alexsey’s just waiting for me to fail to show up. The N.K.V.D. will be here looking for me within an hour. I can’t be caught off-campus as Stephen Hirschfeld.”
He had no plan, no solution to his dilemma except to wait until the right moment to escape.
“But when will that be?” Lily asked. “And how will you find us?”
His answer had been that as a last resort he would take the pass and meet them in Tashkent. “I can’t tell you when,” he added.
* * *
A few days later, the Germans provided part of the answer. Stephen was awakened by what sounded like thunder and plumes of smoke visible on the horizon revealed just how close the enemy was to the gates of the city. Yet it wasn’t until late in the afternoon that practice was interrupted and they were told to return to their dorm, pack one duffel bag with their belongings, and be prepared to leave the campus sometime after midnight. They were given no explanation, and no information as to where they would be taken.
In the chaos that ensued, Stephen went first to the basement for his papers. Once in hand, he stood in the damp gloom, grappling with the same dilemma he had faced before—should he rejoin the team and then take off once they were off-campus or should he leave right now. Either way, he faced the risk of being arrested—the question was which course presented the greatest risk.
Just a few steps away was the service door—he could be outside and on his way before anyone noticed his absence. But on his way where? He had to assume the campus gate would be guarded until everyone was evacuated. Why take the risk of being stopped when he could get past the gate with the team, no questions asked. Once past the gate, though, he would have to wait for the opportunity to break away, and that might not come for days and God only knew where they would end up by then.
Stay with the team, he thought. You’ll get your chance, sooner or later. They have to go east, away from the German guns.
There was no real counter-argument.
He hid his papers inside his shirt, went back up to his room, and packed his duffel. He decided to wear boots and pack his athletic shoes; when he made his getaway, he’d need his boots. He joined the others outside at the meeting place, a parking lot near the main athletic building.
The buses arrived at around eleven, filling up the parking lot. They boarded by team, a coach checking off their names as they got on. No announcement was made as to their destination.
Stephen took a seat in the rear and hunched down, shutting his eyes. He thought he would pretend to sleep, but just after they rolled, caravan style, through the main gate, he fell into a deep dream-filled slumber. He didn’t awaken until the first light pierced the bus’s windows. The sunrise confirmed they were traveling east; but they were barely moving, caught in a traffic jam unlike anything he could have imagined possible. The line of people on foot, cars, trucks and buses stretched to infinity.
They’ve evacuated the whole city, Stephen observed, wondering if Rachel and Lily were on their way east as well.
He relaxed and shut his eyes. At least I’m going in the right direction. He let himself slip back into his dreams.
* * *
When Stephen failed to arrive that night, Rachel shrugged it off, saying that everything was alright. Yet when she saw Lily’s eyes shining with love and anticipation she burst into tears.
“No!” Lily cried. “Please God, no!”
They didn’t have to wait for Mitya to try and ferret out information about Stephen’s situation; the next day Pravda was full of the grandiose threats and bravado that foretold a counterattack by Stalin.
“He’ll meet us,” Lily insisted. “I know he will.”
“We’ll wait until the last possible moment.” Rachel kept her voice positive, though she was despondent over the latest turn of events.
Her misgivings were confirmed by the stories in Pravda that followed. The fate of the capital, the paper disclosed, rested with one man: General Ivan Boldin. Troops under his command had engaged the enemy in a life and death struggle at Vyazma. The outcome would determine the future course of the entire war. The sober tone of the articles, coming on the heels of the earlier bragging, signaled all too clearly how desperate things had become for Stalin.
She and Lily could do nothing except wait.
* * *
On the morning of October 13, Mitya announced to the poster unit that they were to be evacuated the following night. As the artists rushed to pack their belongings, Vodogolin motioned for Rachel to come into his office.
“I’ve written down information about the boat you will be taking. Memorize it and destroy my notes.”
For days, Lily had not left their boarding house alone. She claimed to be terrified of being attacked as a foreigner, and Rachel knew there was some justification for her fears. As they moved closer to the brink of occupation, law and order had broken down with the quiet, yet unmistakable dissolution of the government. But there was more to Lily’s passivity than simple fear; since Stephen’s disappearance she had undergone a startling transformation and had become almost completely dependent on Rachel to make decisions for both of them. Rachel even had to go with her to the Swedish Embassy to cable her father for more money because she wouldn’t go alone. The lines had been jammed and it had been impossible to get through; yet Lily had refused to remain in the embassy to keep trying.
“They’re saying the city will be taken before the week is out,” Mitya said. “Won’t you reconsider?”
“I can’t do that to Lily.”
“She’s a Swedish citizen. The Germans won’t harm her.”
“She’s a Jew, Mitya.”
Mitya became contrite. “Please don’t be offended. You know I have your interests at heart.”
“I know.” Like her father, he put talent above all else, even loyalty to the friend who had saved her life.
She studied the notes, memorizing them. When she was done, she tore them up. As she turned to leave, Mitya grabbed her arm.
“I’m scared, don’t you see? If the Nazis capture you I’ll never forgive myself.”
She understood that his concern was heartfelt, but the last few days had stripped away the last of her patience. “You assume too much, Mitya. As far as I’m concerned, you have no business forgiving anything.”
She stalked out of the studio and walked rapidly back to their room. How dare he! she seethed. Who did he think he was to try and take charge of her as if she were his pet? One Father in a lifetime was more than enough.
“I’ve got the information about the boat,” she told Lily upon her arrival.
“Now what?”
“We wait.”
* * *
Stephen thought he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around. The figure that stood before him looked like a grisly caricature of a monster from a horror movie. Its body consisted of layers of dried blood with a fresh bright red sprinkling on the surface. The face was a plaster cast that had been dipped in blood and mud. Its boots were tattered and steeped in raw sewage. Its voice said, “You’re still alive.”
It was his own voice and he was looking into the shattered window of a piece of twisted wreckage that had landed in the mud nearby.
They had been on the bus all day, moving little before night came. To escape his hunger, he’d dropped off to sleep. He had been lost in a dream full of color and light and then—he had found himself in the middle of a field. He still had no idea what had taken place, whether they had been hit by artillery or bombs. Large and small fires burned everywhere, filling the night air with the odor of burning rubber. Strewn about were the shapes of bodies and body parts. Low moans rose and fell.
He checked his pocket for his papers—he had no pockets, his papers were gone along with his travel pass.
You’ve got to get out of here. Now’s the time. They’ll think you’re dead.
He staggered through the mud in the direction of what was left of the road. Dizziness made it seem as though he were walking in circles. He tripped over a body and fell down.
Get his papers. They might be useful someday.
He reached into the singed pockets of the corpse pulling out a useless wad of blackened documents. Tossing them aside, he got to his feet and again moved toward the road, glancing at each body. He found several that lay one on top of the other. He rolled the top ones off and searched the bottom one. He felt papers; they were intact. He stripped away his own tattered clothes and took the shirt and pants from the corpse. Without bothering to look at the papers, he stuffed them into his pocket.
Should I go east or west?
He couldn’t keep his thoughts intact. He moved one direction and then turned back, then reversed course again. To the west, he was amazed to see the outline of the city, silhouetted against the horizon, lit up by explosions. After all those hours traveling they had only made it ten or fifteen miles from the city. There was a chance he could find Rachel and Lily. They could get him another pass from Mitya, or find some other way to get him out. The alternative was the vast emptiness of Russia that lay to the east.
He turned and began walking back to Moscow.
* * *
Lily and Rachel awakened to the spectacle of mass panic. Apartment buildings had disgorged all their tenants into the streets, which quickly clogged up as frantic residents sought a way out. Every vehicle on wheels was commandeered, even children’s wagons, overloaded with goods, and driven, pedaled, or pulled in the mass exodus from the capital.
Their things already packed in one valise, Lily and Rachel arrived at the station by eight and fought their way through the crowd to get their passes stamped. All around them they heard people say that Stalin had fled the Kremlin with the rest of the Party’s ruling echelon. The last train to Gorki was to leave at 10 p.m., and for the rest of the day and evening they took turns going outside to watch for Stephen. The struggle to maintain their positions inside and outside was exhausting and by nightfall they were both spent.
Rachel worried that when the time came Lily would resist getting on board; but at the last call she merely said, “Let’s go” and they crowded into the packed car.
“I feel like this whole war is one long train ride,” Lily observed. This sounded so much like the old Lily that Rachel laughed more than was called for. Lily waited for her to stop and added, “I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting. I didn’t think anything could hurt me so badly, but you never know until it happens.”
“Lily—”
“It’s true. I gave up and let you bear the brunt of everything. That wasn’t right.” She smiled awkwardly. “I’ll do my share from now on.”
“You can’t blame yourself. After all, you didn’t have to stay.”
“But I did stay. I’m not going to use that as a crutch.”
The trip to Gorki followed the now familiar pattern: interminable delays followed by short spates of movement. They arrived on the 20th and, after a short walk to the waterfront, they had no trouble locating the Avatar, the boat that Mitya had told them to look for.
Single-masted, with great nets hanging from a high crosspiece, the boat was notable for its near perfect condition. In contrast to the other weatherbeaten crafts, the Avatar had been freshly painted a light blue and its name redone in bright red letters. Its brass fittings shone in the morning sun.
As Rachel stood beside Lily on the dock, absorbed in the slap of the tide against the hulls and the smell of fish and brine, a short man with a ferret-like face limped into view from behind the Avatar’s pilothouse. He was humming and muttering aloud as he coiled a rope over his thick forearms. Had it not been for his extraordinary eyes, large, deep brown, and glowing with humor, he would have been one of the ugliest men Rachel had ever seen. He became aware that they were staring and he hobbled to the stern.
“You ladies looking for anyone?” He had a pleasant sing-song voice.
“Yes. Mr. Maslow.”
“Well that’s a good person to be looking for since this is his boat.”
“So we were told by Mitya Vodogolin.”
The man’s face lit up. “Mitya! My friend. Wait here and I’ll go fetch the captain.”
He scuttled back to the pilothouse and disappeared through a dark hatch. Soon after, a tall, large-framed man with a thick black beard emerged from the same portal and scrutinized them. He came closer and they saw that he was very tall indeed. He weighed at least two hundred and fifty pounds, all of it solid. Rachel wondered how Mitya had come to know such a man.
“I’m Maslow.” His voice boomed out over the dock. “You say Mitya sent you.”
“Yes,” Rachel replied, glancing about, fearful that someone might overhear.
“That’s enough to get you aboard. For the time being.” Maslow glanced back at the pilothouse. “PUG! Get out here on deck and help these ladies come aboard.”
The ferret-faced man hurried back to the stern and threw a plank across the gap between the boat and the dock. He reached up with big calloused hands and guided each of them across.
“Thank you, Pug,” Rachel said, intrigued by this strange figure.
He bowed to her and nodded at Lily before going back to his chores.
Maslow led them below decks to a cramped, but neatly kept, cabin that contained a wooden table and four chairs. “Sit down.” They took seats across from him. Even sitting down his head nearly reached the ceiling.
Rachel explained how she had come to meet Vodogolin and described her work for the poster unit.
“What about you?” Maslow asked Lily. He had a handsome, but humorless face, with features that mirrored his massive bulk. Rachel wanted to ask him how he knew Mitya, but she thought better of it. If he wanted them to know, he would tell them.
“I never met him.”
“So you want to go downriver to Astrakhan?”
“Yes.”
“We can pay you,” Lily said.
“I don’t want your money.”
“But—”
“You’ll be working your way there, alright. Your money is no good to me but your muscles will be.” He stood up, stooping to avoid banging his head. “Back to work. We sail with the tide at sunset.”