Sashenka

Snowy kicked her legs high, waving the cushion and skipping like a colt. “Look, Papochka, do you like my new cushion dance?” She performed her crazy jig that always ended with “Giddy-gush, giddy-gush, giddy, giddy-up, giddy-gush!” Sashenka clapped. Vanya laughed. She could do no wrong in his eyes.

“Look!” Snowy pointed to a scarlet butterfly and pretended to fly after it, waving her hands as wings.

“You’ll be in the Bolshoi yet!” said Vanya. “An Artist of the People!”

Snowy ran back to her father, jumping up and down with much-treasured exuberance, and he picked her up again. He was so tall that her feet were far from the ground. “What have you been doing today, Snowy?”

“I’m not Snowy. Show us the presents, Papochka!”

“Volya then.”

Volya was her real name—it meant “Freedom” but also “Will,” a tribute to the People’s Will, an early revolutionary group—another good revolutionary name, reflected Sashenka, watching them indulgently.

She knew she was fortunate that Vanya was such a gentle father in this steely time of struggle when tenderness was not fashionable among the leaders, though Satinov had whispered to her that even Comrade Stalin did homework every night with his daughter Svetlana. Sashenka and Vanya were a real Soviet team, sharing the load when possible because both worked very hard, and they were both unusually affectionate parents. But then, as Comrade Kaganovich, Stalin’s trusted ally, had told her delegation of the Committee of Wives of Commanders, “Bringing up Soviet children is as important as liquidating spies or fighting Fascists, and a Soviet wife should care for her husband and children!”

An angular, beaky woman in sensible shoes and with her grey hair in a bun bustled after the little girl.

“You must put a hat on, Snowy,” scolded Carolina, the nanny, a Volga German who also cooked for the family, “or you’ll get sunburned like Carlo!”

Vanya put Snowy back on the ground. “Right, time to open the presents,” he said. “But first, this big one is for your lovely mother.” He and Razum heaved the bulky package onto the veranda. “There! Open it!”

“Can I open it?” said Snowy, jumping up and down.

“Can I open it?” cried Carlo, struggling out of his mother’s arms.

“Ask Mama!” said Vanya, smiling at Sashenka. “It’s her May Day present!”

“Of course you can,” said Sashenka.

“Come on then, Comrades Cushion and Bunny-Rabbit!” said their father. They tore at the paper until there in the blazing sun stood a voluptuous, cream-colored refrigerator with stainless steel trimmings and the words General Electric in chrome across its front. “Pleased, darling?”

Sashenka was delighted. An American fridge would make such a difference to their lives at the dacha, especially in this heat. She hugged Vanya, who tried to kiss her on the lips but she swerved slightly and he got her cheek instead. “Thank you, Vanya. But where on earth did you get it?”

“Well, it’s from the Narkom—the People’s Commissar—for our good work but he said that Comrade Stalin himself had approved the list.” Behind them the service staff—Razum the driver, Golavaty the Cossack groom with bow legs and a waxed mustache, Carolina the nanny and Artyom the old gardener—admired the American fridge.

But Snowy and Carlo were already tearing at the other parcels, to reveal a metal frame, wheels, handlebars…

“A bicycle!” cried Snowy.

“Oh, Snowy, just what you were hoping for on May Day!” said Sashenka, catching Vanya’s eye. “You really are a lovely daddy, thank you for all of this!” She took Snowy’s hand. “Snowy, say thank you to your wonderful papochka!”

“Not Snowy. My name is CUSHION! Thank you, Papochka!” Snowy scampered up to her father and leaned into his arms.

“You’ve got to thank the Party too and Comrade Stalin!” said Sashenka. But the children were already trying to balance on the bikes.

“Thank you, Comrade St…” Snowy lost interest and chased another butterfly while Carlo tried to cycle and fell off, which led to tears, cuddles and consoling ice cream indoors.

By midafternoon it was too hot to be outside and an oriole was singing. The silver pine forest that surrounded them buzzed with spring, voices murmured nearby, glasses tinkled, horses neighed.