Child 44 - Страница 52

Unable to remain in the house any longer with the cat staring at her, Nadya set off, even though it was late and the rest of her family were in the kitchen, preparing uzhin. Knowing that she’d be refused permission to go for a walk she didn’t bother asking, slipping on her shoes and sneaking out of the front door.

They lived on a bank of the river Don, her younger sister, her mother and father, in a neighbourhood on the outskirts, cratered streets and brick hut-houses. The city’s sewage and factory waste fed into the river just upstream and Nadya would sometimes sit and watch the patterns of oils, filth and chemicals on the water’s surface. There was a well-trodden path along the riverbank which ran in both directions. Nadya turned downstream, out towards the countryside. Even though there was very little light she was confident of the route. She had a good sense of direction and as far as she could remember she’d never been lost, not once. She wondered what kind of jobs a girl with a good sense of direction might get when she grew up. Maybe she’d become a fighter pilot. There was no point becoming a train driver since they never had to think about where they were going: a train could hardly get lost. Her father had told her stories about female bomber pilots during the war. That sounded good to her, she wanted to be one of them, her face on the front of a newspaper, awarded the Order of Lenin. That would get her father’s attention; that would make him proud of her. That would distract him from his stupid cat.

She’d been walking for a little while, humming to herself, pleased to be out of the house and away from that cat, when suddenly she came to a stop. Up ahead she could see the outline of a man walking towards her. He was a tall man but in the gloom she couldn’t tell much else about him. He was carrying some kind of case. Normally the sight of a stranger wouldn’t have bothered her in the least. Why would it? But her mother had recently done a peculiar thing: she’d sat Nadya and her sister down and warned them not to talk to any strangers. She’d even gone as far as telling them it would be better to be impolite than to obey a stranger’s request. Nadya looked back towards her house. She wasn’t all that far from home; if she ran she could get back in less than ten minutes. The thing was, she really wanted to walk to her favourite tree further downstream. She liked to climb up and sit in it and dream. Until she’d done that, until she’d reached that tree, she didn’t feel like the walk had been a success. She imagined that this was her military mission: to reach the tree and she couldn’t fail. Making a snap decision, she decided she wouldn’t talk to this man: she’d just walk straight past him and if he spoke to her, she’d say good evening but not stop walking.

She continued along the path with the man getting nearer. Was he walking faster? He seemed to be. It was too dark to see his face. He was wearing some sort of hat. She moved up the edge of the path, giving him plenty of room to pass by. They were only a couple of metres apart. Nadya felt afraid, an inexplicable urge to hurry past him. She didn’t understand why. She blamed her mother. Bomber pilots were never afraid. She broke into a run. Concerned this would insult the gentleman, she called out:

— Good evening.

With his free arm, Andrei grabbed her around the waist, lifting her small frame clear off the ground, bringing her face close to his, staring into her eyes. She was terrified, holding her breath, her little body rigid with tension.

And then Nadya began to laugh. Recovering from her surprise, she put her arms around her father’s neck and hugged him.

— You scared me.

— Why are you out so late?

— I wanted to walk.

— Does your mother know you’re outside?

— Yes.

— You’re lying.

— No, I’m not. Why are you coming from this direction? You never come from this direction. Where have you been?

— I’ve been working. I had some business in one of the villages just outside the city. There was no way to get back except to walk. It was only a couple of hours.

— You must be tired.

— Yes, I am.

— Can I carry your case?

— But I’m carrying you so even if I gave you my case I’d still be carrying its weight.

— I could walk by myself and carry your case.

— I think I can manage.

— Father, I’m glad you’re home.

Still carrying his daughter, he used the base of his case to push open their door. He stepped into the kitchen. There was affection from his youngest daughter who ran over to greet him. He watched his family’s pleasure at his return. They took it for granted that when he went away, he’d come back.

Nadya had her eye on the cat. Evidently jealous of the attention she was getting from her father, the cat jumped down from the window, joining the family reunion, rubbing itself against her father’s leg. As Andrei lowered her to the floor she accidentally dropped her foot onto the cat’s paw, causing it to screech and dart away. Before she could enjoy any small sense of satisfaction her father took hold of her wrist, crouched down, staring at her through his thick square glasses, his face trembling with anger.

— Don’t ever touch her.

Nadya wanted to cry. She bit her lip instead. She’d already learned that crying made no impression on her father.

Andrei let go of his daughter’s wrist, standing up straight. He felt flustered and hot. He looked at his wife. She hadn’t moved forward, but she smiled at him.

— Have you eaten?

— I have to put my things away. I don’t want anything to eat.

He wife didn’t attempt to hug or kiss him, not in front of the children. He was strict about these things. She understood.

— Was your work successful?

— They want me to go away again in a couple of days. I’m not sure for how long.

Without waiting for a reply, he was already feeling claustrophobic, he moved to the door that led to the basement. The cat followed him, its tail up high, excited.

He locked the door behind him, descending the stairs, immediately feeling better now that he was on his own. An elderly couple had previously occupied this downstairs space but the woman had died and the man had moved into his son’s apartment. The housing bureau hadn’t sent another couple to replace them. It wasn’t a nice room: a basement sunk into the riverbank. The bricks were always wet. In winter the room was freezing. There was a burzhuika, a wood-fired stove, which the elderly couple had been forced to keep running for eight months of the year. Despite the basement’s many disadvantages it had one advantage. It was his space. He had a chair in one corner and a slender bed which had belonged to the elderly couple. He occasionally slept down here when the conditions were tolerable. He lit the gas lamp and before long another cat had entered through the space in the wall where the pipes from the burzhuika ran outside.

He opened his case. Amongst his papers and the remains of his lunch there was a glass jar with a screw-top lid. He unscrewed the lid. Inside the jar, wrapped in an old issue of Pravda, sodden with blood, was the stomach of the girl he’d murdered some hours ago. He peeled the paper away, carefully making sure no paper was stuck to the flesh. He put the stomach on a tin plate, slicing it into strips then again into cubes. Once he’d finished he fired up the stove. By the time it was hot enough to cook the meat there were six cats circling him. He fried the meat, waiting till it had turned brown before tipping it back onto the tin plate. Andrei stood watching the cats around his feet, enjoying the spectacle of their hunger, holding the food, teasing them, watching them yelp. They were desperately hungry, frenzied by the smell of cooked meat.

After he’d had his fill of teasing them he put the food down. The cats squeezed together in a circle around the plate and began to eat, purring with delight.

Upstairs, Nadya stared at the basement door, wondering what kind of father preferred cats to children. He was only going to be home for two days. No, she was wrong to be angry with her father. She refused to blame him, the cats were to blame. A thought came into her mind. It wouldn’t be all that difficult to kill a cat. The hard part would be getting away with it.

Same Day

On Vorovski Street, Leo and Raisa joined the back of the grocery-store queue. The queue would take several hours before it reached inside, where each person would place their order before being made to wait in a second queue to pay for the item. After those two queues there was a third queue to collect the item. They could easily remain in these various lines for up to four hours, waiting inconspicuously for Ivan to come home.

Having failed to persuade Galina Shaporina to speak, they were in danger of coming away from Moscow with nothing. Raisa had been pushed out of the apartment, the door shut in her face. Standing in the hallway, surrounded by staring neighbours, many of whom might be informers, there was no way they could try again. It was possible that Galina and her husband had already notified the State Security forces. Leo didn’t think that was likely. Galina clearly believed that doing as little as possible was the safest course of action; if she tried to inform there was a possibility she’d be incriminating herself, drawing attention to herself. That was a small consolation. Their only achievement so far was to recruit Fyodor and his family into their investigation. Leo had instructed Fyodor to send any information he might be able to discover to Nesterov since mail addressed to Leo was being intercepted. Even so, they were no closer to identifying the kind of man they were looking for.