Sashenka

Inside the canteen, a little apart from the line for tea and hot water beside the steaming samovar and farther from the trays of greasy dumplings, pirozhki and pelmeni, a dignified older woman with a heart-shaped face and grey curls around her ears sat stiffly. Wearing an old-fashioned lady’s cloche hat and a suit, Lala was sipping a cup of tea, scanning the crowds eagerly. When she saw the bedraggled nanny and the two children, she stood up and beckoned them over.

“Hello, I’ve come to meet you.” She smiled at them all and offered a hand to Carolina, who seemed beyond such courtesies. The two women eyed each other for a moment, then hugged like old friends.

“I’m sorry it’s taken so long. The train was delayed and I’m not practiced at all this. Come, let’s sit down at this table,” she said, speaking slowly, looking hard at the children, her darling Sashenka’s children. “I have a room in the Revolution Hotel in Rostov where we can go and wash and get some sleep. We can eat there too. I have papers stamped for the children and I was given some money.”

Carolina tottered and then sat and buried her face in her hands—and Lala knew what this moment must be costing the nanny. Carlo ran to Carolina and kissed her hair. “You’re my best friend in the whole wide world!” he said, stroking her cheek.

Lala placed her hand on Carolina’s shoulder. “We’re living in bad times and you’ve done so well to get here. Please, Carolina, stop crying! I never asked for this job. Like you, I’m risking a lot to do it. I too am out of my depth.”

“But you have a plan? You know what to do?”

“Yes, I have instructions. Carolina, I’ll do anything to carry them through.” She looked once more at the children and they stared at her.

“Who is she?” asked Snowy.

“Be polite, Snowy!” Lala saw Carolina return to her brisk self. “This lady is going to help you.”

“Where’s Mama?” asked Carlo, his face collapsing again.

“You must be Carlo,” said Lala. “I have something for you.” She reached into a canvas bag and pulled out a cookie tin illustrated with a picture of the Kremlin.

Carlo could not take his eyes off the tin. Lala opened it and Carlo gasped at the yellow magic of the cookies with their delicious cream and jam fillings but did not move.

“I heard you liked these,” she said, feeling Carolina smile at her.

“Look, Carlo,” said Snowy, “she knows they’re your favorite.” Snowy took one and gave it to Carlo, who ate it. He took hold of his sister’s hand.

“Hello, Snowy. Is that your friend Cushion?” asked Lala.

“You’ve heard of Cushion?”

“Of course, Cushion is famous. Hello, Miss Cushion! You’re much blonder than your mummy, Snowy, and your eyes are blue but you have her mouth—and you, Carlo, look just like your father.”

“You know Mama?” asked Snowy.

“You know Papa?” said Carlo.

“Oh yes,” said Lala, remembering the day she’d first met Sashenka and had loved her instantly like her own. She recalled the nights she spent with Sashenka in her bed at the mansion on Greater Maritime Street, the sleigh rides sweeping through the boulevards of St. Petersburg, the hilarity of ice skating, the exhilaration of riding ponies on the family estate. She had been Sashenka’s real mother and, although she had not seen her for almost ten years in the crazy, man-eating world that Sashenka had embraced, she had thought of her every day and talked to that portrait of the Smolny schoolgirl in her pinafore, as if they were still together. She knew too that she was here, in this station, not just for herself or Sashenka—but for Samuil Zeitlin as well, whether he was alive or dead.

Now Sashenka had been swallowed up by the Party she’d served so assiduously—and the only way Lala could express her deep love was by undertaking this troubling mission for the Zeitlin family. “I know your mummy better than anyone alive,” she told Carlo and Snowy. “But we mustn’t think about Mummy now. We must make plans for the future, for your next adventure. Oh, and you must call me Lala.”

“So you’re Lala?” said Snowy. “Mama told me you gave her a bath every day. I like you. You’re very cushiony.”

The two nannies smiled at each other, sharing their admiration of Snowy—then looked away, abruptly. It was too painful.

Turning their backs on the station, they walked into Rostov-on-Don, each holding the hand of one of the children.

“Swing me!” piped Carlo, kicking up his legs, happy for the first time in days.

As Carolina took one arm and Lala the other, Lala could not help thinking that one stage of Snowy and Carlo’s lives was ending—and another was about to begin.

45

Sashenka crawled to her cell door. “Take me to Kobylov!”