Sashenka

Her father had lost his mind after Ariadna’s suicide and his fortune after the October Revolution. He had stayed behind in St. Petersburg, put his financial knowledge at the service of the Bolsheviks, and during the twenties he had served as a “non-Party specialist” in the People’s Commissariats of Finance and Foreign Trade, then the State Bank, before he was purged in 1930 as a “wrecker with Trotskyite tendencies.” Yet they let him retire to Georgia. Beria had arrested him there in 1937—and he had vanished. Of course, they were right to “check” this class enemy, thought Sashenka. On paper, Zeitlin was among the worst of the bloodsucking oppressors. But he had “disarmed” and had served Soviet power sincerely, without a mask. Surely Stalin would see he was no longer a threat?

Stalin smiled indulgently at Sashenka. He looked, she thought, like a friendly old tiger, creases forming on either side of his mouth—and she hesitated for a second. The honey in his eyes sharpened to yellow and a shadow of embarrassment crossed his face. She suddenly grasped that Stalin must recognize her expression. He, who could divine everything, could tell she was about to ask about the arrest or execution of a relative and there was nothing he hated so much as that request.

“Comrade Stalin, may I ask a…” The words were forming again on Sashenka’s lips and she could not stop them. She had excised her father from her memory in 1937 but now, at this most unsuitable, most fatal and yet opportune moment, she longed to say his name. What was happening to her? A Bolshevik didn’t need a family, just the Party, but she loved her papa! She wanted to know—was he felling logs somewhere? Were his bones in some shallow grave out in the Siberian taiga? Had he long since faced the Highest Measure? Please, Comrade Stalin, she prayed, say he’s alive! Free him! “Comrade Stalin…”

“Cushions!” Stalin and Sashenka turned to the doorway, and Vanya’s mouth fell open. “Mamochka, I can’t sleep!” cried Snowy. “There’s so much noise. You woke me up. I want a cuddle!”

Snowy was wearing a nightie printed with butterflies, her long golden hair curling around her rosy cheeks, her smile revealing evenly spaced milk teeth and pink gums. She fell into her mother’s arms.

7

“Snowy!” Vanya, who had been cheerfully drunk a minute earlier, stood up, his face darkening. Sashenka too sensed real peril. She had tried to teach her children to say nothing, repeat nothing, hear nothing, but Snowy was capable of anything! With Stalin in the house? One foolish word, a single stupid game could at best make a fool of her and Vanya in front of Stalin, at worst dispatch them all to the firing squad. What would Stalin say? What would Snowy say to Stalin?

“Who’s this?” asked Stalin quietly, apparently enjoying Vanya’s expression of panic.

“Comrade Stalin,” said Sashenka, “may I introduce you to my daughter, Volya.”

Stalin beamed at her daughter. Didn’t all Georgians love children? thought Sashenka, as he bent down and tickled her nose. “Hello, Volya,” he said. “That’s a good Communist name.”

“That noise woke me up,” Snowy grumbled.

Stalin pinched her cheek.

“Stop!” she cried. “You’re pinching me!”

“Yes, so you’ll remember me,” said Stalin. “I confess my guilt before you, Comrade Volya. It was me playing the music, not your mama, so be angry with me.”

“She’s not angry at all. I apologize, Comrade Stalin,” Sashenka said quickly. “Now, Snowy, off to bed!”

“I hate sleeping.”

“Me too…Snowy,” said Stalin playfully.

“Here’s my cushion!” Snowy pushed her cushion toward Stalin’s face but Sashenka caught it just in time.

“Well, what’s that?” asked Stalin, bemused, half smiling.

“It’s my best friend, Miss Cushion,” said Snowy. “She’s in charge of production of cushions for the Second Five Year Plan and she wants to join the Young cushiony Pioneers so she can wear the red scarf!”

“That’s enough, child,” Sashenka said. “Comrade Stalin doesn’t want to hear such nonsense! Off to bed!” She was aware that, on the other side of the room, her husband had raised a hand to his face.

“Yes, bed!” he said too loudly.

“Easy, Comrade Palitsyn,” said Stalin, ruffling Snowy’s hair. “Couldn’t she stay up a little? As a treat?”

“Well…of course, Comrade Stalin.”

Snowy performed a quick cushion dance and blew a kiss to her father.

“So you’re a Cushionist?” said Stalin solemnly.

“I’m in the Cushion Politburo,” said Snowy with that gummy smile. Sashenka saw she was thrilled to find herself the focus of all eyes. “Long Live Cushionism!”

Sashenka felt as though she were drowning, as she waited miserably for Stalin’s reaction. There was a long silence. Beria sneered. Mendel scowled. Stalin frowned, glancing gravely round the room with his yellow eyes.