Sashenka

Shcheglov gestured toward the elevator, in a hurry to get her out of his office, but she gripped his arms. “Hang on, there’s one thing missing. Stalin created a commission to investigate Sashenka’s execution. Where is its report?”

“There was a number for the file,” said Shcheglov, guiding her toward the elevator. “But the file’s not here. Sorry, but only God knows everything.” He pressed the button to call the elevator.

“Thank you for showing me this,” she said, kissing him as she left. “You’ve been very kind. I can’t tell you what this means to me.”

“And you care too much,” he said, squeezing her hands.

As she stepped into the elevator, she reviewed the combination of the extract from Satinov’s memoirs and Stalin’s enigmatic note, Bicho to curate, on the papers Maxy had shown her in the Party archive.

Bicho—boy in Georgian—was Stalin’s nickname for Satinov. “Curate” was Stalin’s word for what he wanted Satinov to do: supervise the destruction of a family he loved.

“Oh God,” she gasped, finally understanding it all. “Satinov saw her die. What did they do to her?”

23

Rushing out of the archive and onto Mayakovsky Square, Katinka waved down a Lada. It sped her down the hill toward the Granovsky. Fizzing with urgency, she rang five bells simultaneously, the door buzzed and she raced upstairs to the Satinov apartment. The door was again open but when she entered, Mariko was standing in the hall beneath the crystal chandelier.

“Mariko, I know what you think but please—I’ve got to tell him what I’ve discovered. He’s helped me every step of the way without me realizing. I know he’ll want to talk to me now.”

Katinka stopped and caught her breath. Mariko did not throw her out. She didn’t say anything at all and Katinka, who had never really looked at her before, noticed that Mariko did not seem angry. Her dark, pointed face was desperately tired.

“Come in,” she said quietly. “You can see him.” She walked down the hallway, passing the sitting room. Katinka followed, peering eagerly ahead. “Go on in.”

Satinov lay in bed, propped up on pillows with his eyes closed. His face, his hair, his lips seemed the color of ashes. A nurse was by the bed, adjusting the oxygen tank and the plastic mask, but when she saw them she nodded briskly and left the room.

Katinka, who had so much to ask, was suddenly uncertain what to do. Satinov’s breathing was ragged; sometimes his chest rose jerkily, at other times he did not breathe for some seconds. He was sweating with effort and fear. Katinka knew she should feel pity for this dying man but instead she felt only fury and frustration. How could he escape her like this? How could he be so cruel as to leave Roza without ever telling anyone what happened to her mother?

Katinka glanced at Mariko, who gestured at the low chair by the bed. “You can talk to him,” Mariko said. “For a minute or two. He asked where you were. He was thinking about you and your research. That’s why I let you in.”

“Can he hear me?”

“I think so. He speaks sometimes, his lips move. He’s talked about my mother a bit but it’s hard to understand. The doctors say…We’re not sure.” Mariko leaned back against the doorpost, stretched her back and rubbed her face.

Katinka stood up, leaned over the bed, then looked back at Mariko.

“Go ahead,” she said.

Katinka took Satinov’s hand in hers. “It’s Katinka. Your researcher. I say ‘your’ researcher because you’ve held all the cards all along and you’ve sent me this way and that…If you can hear me, let me know somehow. You can squeeze my hand or even just blink.” She waited but he took another desperate breath, his entire body shivered, and he settled down again. “I know you loved Sashenka and Vanya, I know you did a terrible thing and I know how you saved their children. But what happened to Sashenka? What did you see? Please tell me how she died.”

There was no reaction. Katinka realized that this old man was a study in ambiguities. He had helped and encouraged her but also tricked and obstructed her, just as he had doomed Sashenka and saved her children. She grieved for him yet at the same time she’d never felt more enraged.

He was quiet for a few minutes but then his breathing became more of a struggle, his hands clawing the bedspread as his body twisted to get oxygen. The nurse returned and gave him oxygen and an injection, and he grew calmer again.

“I’ll get my brothers in a minute,” said Mariko. “They’re sleeping down the corridor. We’ve been up all night.”

Katinka stood up and walked to the door.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Thank you for letting me in. I wish now I’d brought Roza to see him…I had so much to ask him.” She looked back at the bed, hoping for him to call her back. “I’ll let myself out.”

Just then they heard his voice. Katinka spun round and the two of them returned to the bedside. Satinov’s lips were moving a little.

“What’s he saying?” asked Katinka.

Mariko took his hands and kissed his forehead. “Papa, it’s Mariko, right here with you, darling Papa.”