quietly.
‘Good Lord, can that really be you, Nikita?’ came a familiar voice. ‘Get down here at once, you dog, open the door to us.’
Pasha and Sonya Kobelev had returned to Moscow.
‘Friends! My dear friends!’ shouted Nikita, galloping downstairs and flinging open the door. I hurried behind.
‘My goodness, Miss Gerty! You look beautiful! Have you been waiting for me?’ Pasha stepped indoors. ‘Don’t touch me, Nikita, for goodness’ sake; we must fumigate these clothes, there are infections everywhere. Just get us some water to wash with, there’s a good girl, Gerty—’
‘Oh – yes, of course.’ I brought a basin and as they washed they told how they had travelled south – their week-long journey, unable to leave their seats for fear of not being able to force their way back into the train, poor Mrs Kobelev delirious with fever, begging for laudanum. Outside Yalta they had found a small villa to rent and had installed themselves safely. The area was now under White control, from whom the Kobelevs had little to fear, even if they disagreed with their politics. ‘My father plans to stay the winter there, at any rate, and then decide what’s best.’ Pasha said quietly. He looked tanned, if thin and tired. ‘They’re quite happy – the children swim and sunbathe all day long. Even my mother seems rather better. But Sonya and I couldn’t allow ourselves to swan around like that for ever. Once they were settled in we decided to come back. To do our bit for the Revolution and all that. You can’t imagine what all those Whites are like – they really are clankingly awful. Their politics are one thing, but do you know they talk about nothing but duck shooting? And their moustaches . . .’
I smiled. ‘Well, if they have substandard moustaches, of course. What did your parents say when you told them?’
‘My mother wasn’t happy,’ Pasha shrugged. ‘My father understood. He was anxious about us, of course, but I think he was proud.’ He blinked. ‘And of course he plans to come back.’
‘Once things have settled down,’ I said – Mr Kobelev’s mantra. ‘By spring, once things are a bit calmer—’
Slavkin, who had been pacing about the room during this conversation, suddenly interrupted.
‘Yes, yes, but Gerty, perhaps you’d empty the water for us, would you?’ He pushed the basin into my hands, slopping it over my dress. ‘My word, I have been missing you both!’ he burst out before I’d left the room. ‘I’ve an idea, a plan. I had no one to discuss it with . . .’
I couldn’t help stopping and looking at him in astonishment.
‘Of course Gerty and I have talked it all over,’ he stammered, embarrassed. ‘She’s been a wonder, but—’
‘Gerty is a wonder,’ said Pasha. ‘We all know that.’
‘But I need other progressive minds to discuss my plans with, you understand.’
My face was burning. I emptied the basin in the laundry and sat there for a long while, until I calmed down.
The following day, Nikita drew me aside and said, without looking me in the eye, ‘We’ve always been friends, comrade. I hope you will do me the honour of remaining my friend even if certain aspects – which were always quite separate from our friendship – are no longer appropriate to our relationship.’
Part of me had guessed immediately what he was about to say, but nonetheless I was silenced for a moment. I stared at him and stammered, ‘What aspects?’ And when he took a deep breath and was about to tell me, I interrupted, ‘No, no – but why are they no longer app—’ the word he had used failed me, ‘no longer app— app—’
Slavkin looked at me. He seemed puzzled. ‘Are you all right, Gerty? Perhaps you should sit down?’
I sat on the stairs.
‘The fact is, that now Pasha and Sonya are here, and all our members are about to move in, the time has come to devote ourselves to the commune, do you see? We must all make sacrifices and our – our
‘Good Lord, can that really be you, Nikita?’ came a familiar voice. ‘Get down here at once, you dog, open the door to us.’
Pasha and Sonya Kobelev had returned to Moscow.
‘Friends! My dear friends!’ shouted Nikita, galloping downstairs and flinging open the door. I hurried behind.
‘My goodness, Miss Gerty! You look beautiful! Have you been waiting for me?’ Pasha stepped indoors. ‘Don’t touch me, Nikita, for goodness’ sake; we must fumigate these clothes, there are infections everywhere. Just get us some water to wash with, there’s a good girl, Gerty—’
‘Oh – yes, of course.’ I brought a basin and as they washed they told how they had travelled south – their week-long journey, unable to leave their seats for fear of not being able to force their way back into the train, poor Mrs Kobelev delirious with fever, begging for laudanum. Outside Yalta they had found a small villa to rent and had installed themselves safely. The area was now under White control, from whom the Kobelevs had little to fear, even if they disagreed with their politics. ‘My father plans to stay the winter there, at any rate, and then decide what’s best.’ Pasha said quietly. He looked tanned, if thin and tired. ‘They’re quite happy – the children swim and sunbathe all day long. Even my mother seems rather better. But Sonya and I couldn’t allow ourselves to swan around like that for ever. Once they were settled in we decided to come back. To do our bit for the Revolution and all that. You can’t imagine what all those Whites are like – they really are clankingly awful. Their politics are one thing, but do you know they talk about nothing but duck shooting? And their moustaches . . .’
I smiled. ‘Well, if they have substandard moustaches, of course. What did your parents say when you told them?’
‘My mother wasn’t happy,’ Pasha shrugged. ‘My father understood. He was anxious about us, of course, but I think he was proud.’ He blinked. ‘And of course he plans to come back.’
‘Once things have settled down,’ I said – Mr Kobelev’s mantra. ‘By spring, once things are a bit calmer—’
Slavkin, who had been pacing about the room during this conversation, suddenly interrupted.
‘Yes, yes, but Gerty, perhaps you’d empty the water for us, would you?’ He pushed the basin into my hands, slopping it over my dress. ‘My word, I have been missing you both!’ he burst out before I’d left the room. ‘I’ve an idea, a plan. I had no one to discuss it with . . .’
I couldn’t help stopping and looking at him in astonishment.
‘Of course Gerty and I have talked it all over,’ he stammered, embarrassed. ‘She’s been a wonder, but—’
‘Gerty is a wonder,’ said Pasha. ‘We all know that.’
‘But I need other progressive minds to discuss my plans with, you understand.’
My face was burning. I emptied the basin in the laundry and sat there for a long while, until I calmed down.
The following day, Nikita drew me aside and said, without looking me in the eye, ‘We’ve always been friends, comrade. I hope you will do me the honour of remaining my friend even if certain aspects – which were always quite separate from our friendship – are no longer appropriate to our relationship.’
Part of me had guessed immediately what he was about to say, but nonetheless I was silenced for a moment. I stared at him and stammered, ‘What aspects?’ And when he took a deep breath and was about to tell me, I interrupted, ‘No, no – but why are they no longer app—’ the word he had used failed me, ‘no longer app— app—’
Slavkin looked at me. He seemed puzzled. ‘Are you all right, Gerty? Perhaps you should sit down?’
I sat on the stairs.
‘The fact is, that now Pasha and Sonya are here, and all our members are about to move in, the time has come to devote ourselves to the commune, do you see? We must all make sacrifices and our – our
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