Sashenka

“Well, it’s my job to believe her but, yes…I do believe her. The Liberharts discouraged her from probing into her past because they came to love her as their own. They didn’t want to lose Roza—and they were afraid to attract attention. The adoption was arranged under the aegis of a very high official and everything in those days was secret.”

“But after Stalin’s death, surely…”

“Yes,” said Katinka, “after Stalin’s death, Roza insisted that the Liberharts make an official inquiry. They told Roza that both her parents died during the Great Patriotic War, which fits because her adoption was around that time.”

Satinov opened his hands. “And she accepts this?”

“She accepted it for decades. She loved her adoptive parents. Enoch died in 1979 but Perla lived until recently. Before she died, Communism fell. Only then did Perla admit to Roza that she had lied to her. The Liberharts had not made an official inquiry because they never knew the name of her real parents.”

“Tell me, Katinka, were these Liberharts…good people, kind parents?” Satinov asked, leaning toward her.

Katinka sensed the sudden swirl of deeper, more treacherous waters. She thought nostalgically of her studies: of Catherine the Great at the State Archive, of nobler, more golden times. But she was a historian and what historian wouldn’t be fascinated to meet a relic like Satinov, a real breath of the recent past, a past that was itself shrouded in mystery?

“Roza says they were unworldly intellectuals unsuited to having children. Professor Liberhart couldn’t boil an egg or drive a car, and Roza said he once went to work with his shoes on the wrong feet. Perla was an overweight bluestocking who couldn’t cook, darn or make a bed and never even used makeup or had a hairdo (though she could have done with both!). She devoted her life to translating Shakespeare’s sonnets into Russian. So Roza grew up like a mini-adult caring for eccentric parents. She remembers the terrible things that happened in that war. There was the siege of Odessa; the slaughter of the Odessan Jews by the Nazis and Romanians; the Holocaust. But through everything, Enoch and Perla loved her with the love of parents who have been blessed with a child they never expected.”

Satinov stirred some plum jam into his tea and licked the spoon. Then, checking no one was at the door, he pulled out a pack of Lux cigarettes and lit one with a silver lighter, holding it over the top like a young man. “I’m not allowed to smoke, but the Devil, get thee behind…” He inhaled deeply, eyes closed. “So why have you come to see me?”

“When Roza needed an operation in her teens and her parents were worried about her health, they called someone in Moscow who arranged everything.”

“Perhaps it was an uncle?”

“Once there was a big Party conference in Odessa. Roza thinks it was in the fifties. Many bosses came to town. One afternoon, she saw a black ZiL limousine outside her school with a man in uniform inside, a big boss. She had the feeling, no, more than a feeling, she was certain that he was waiting for her. All week, he was there watching her every morning. I don’t know who that man was, Marshal Satinov.” Katinka looked directly at Satinov, who shifted slightly in his chair. “Roza forgave the Liberharts for their lie but she begged her mother for a name. Before she died, Perla told Roza that the Muscovite they called was you. You helped her get this treatment. Maybe you were the man in the limousine?”

Satinov took another toke of his cigarette. Katinka could tell he was listening carefully. “Stories, just stories,” he said.

Katinka felt a sharp surge of impatience. She leaned forward on her uncomfortable chair. “Roza and I want to know why you helped her, Marshal. She is convinced that you know who her parents were.”

Satinov frowned and shook his head. “Do you realize, girl, how many so-called historians ring me up to ask impertinent questions? Because I’m old, they expect me to undermine the greatest achievements of the twentieth century—the creation of Socialism, the victory in the Great Patriotic War, my life’s work.” He stood up. “Thank you for visiting me, Katinka. Before you go, I want to present you with my autobiography.”

He handed her a book with his picture on the cover in full uniform. It was entitled In the Service of the Glorious October Revolution, the Great Patriotic War and Building a Socialist Motherland: Recollections, Notes and Speeches by Marshal Hercules Satinov.

Sexy title, thought Katinka, I’ll bet the speeches are a laugh a minute. She realized she was being dismissed and was certain that he was concealing something. “Will you sign it?” she asked a little breathlessly, determined to stand her ground.

“With pleasure.”

She moved toward his chair. She could tell that he liked looking at her, so she leaned closer to him, shaking her hair back as she did so.