Genrikh wore a dark suit and twirled his black fedora round a finger, a sign of his confidence, which declared: The Great Stalin needs me again! Satinov nodded at him. Then Tamriko rose and greeted Dashka, whose long heavy hair was pulled back in a bun. What tangled lives we lead, he thought as he watched the two women he most loved in the world hugging in Lubianka Prison as they waited for the children they so adored.
A lull; an hour passed; terrible thoughts: What if Mariko got out but Senka didn’t, or Vlad did and Andrei didn’t?
Tamriko was beside him, her face so loving, so honest. He sighed and took her delicate hand and squeezed it.
Suddenly the door opened. Every parent started – and Vlad Titorenko came in. Crop-haired, bedraggled school uniform, glazed eyes like a zombie. His mother, a jowly, over-rouged woman in a mauve hat like an upside-down chamberpot and a matching coat, exclaimed: ‘Vlad!’ and dabbed at her tears with a dirty yellow handkerchief.
Vlad cringed and looked around the room, clearly afraid of something. ‘Is Papa here?’ he asked.
But Mrs Titorenka seemed even more flustered by this question. ‘No, no… well… he’s not here. He’s gone away.’
That was how Satinov knew that they had arrested his subordinate, Titorenko. For twenty-five years now he, the Iron Commissar, had thrived in this precarious, clandestine world. His children may be coming home, he thought, but his subordinates were being arrested. Not good for him, but not terminal either.
A Chekist came in and talked to Genrikh, who spoke to the mirror, advising Minka and Senka to sign their papers. A few minutes passed. Even Satinov, who had helped storm the Winter Palace in 1917, who had waited in a hushed bunker for the launch of the Stalingrad offensive, was nervous by now, his heart drumming.
Dashka and Genrikh got to their feet. The doors opened and Senka’s sweet, high-pitched voice could be heard, talking about seeing his mother again.
‘She’s a doctor, I hear,’ said the Chekist as he held open the door.
‘Oh yes, she’s the best doctor in the world,’ cried Senka. ‘She sees all the top people.’
And then there he was. Dashka flew towards her boy and Minka; Genrikh put on his fedora and lingered behind her, his expression seeming to suggest that it was perfectly routine for his children to be arrested and then released.
‘Darling Senka!’ cried Dashka, opening her arms and bending over to greet him.
Senka threw himself into her embrace and kissed her face. For a moment, Satinov could only see the top of Senka’s tousled head as he was enveloped in Dashka’s arms. Then she hugged Minka too, and Genrikh touched Dashka’s arm: ‘Not here. Let’s not forget we’re Bolsheviks,’ he said gruffly.
‘Of course,’ said Dashka. They headed for the door, and then Dashka looked back and nodded at Tamriko. ‘Good luck!’ she mouthed. She glanced at him, and then they were gone.
‘Oh God, where’s Mariko? Where are they?’ Tamara started to panic again.
The door opened. They rose to their feet. But no, it was Andrei, pale but otherwise unharmed. He and his mother left.
Satinov and Tamriko were alone again. They held hands, so tense they couldn’t speak. A moment later, the door opened again.
‘Mamochka!’ called a shrill voice. Mariko, followed by George, ran into the room at high speed, holding one of her toy dogs. She ran round the room so fast that Tamriko and Satinov barely had time to get up before she threw herself into Tamriko’s arms. Tamriko whirled her round and round.
‘Look what I’ve got for you! Look who’s come to meet you!’ Tamriko reached into her bag and pulled out a handful of Mariko’s toy dogs. ‘Old friends and a new one too!’
Mariko squeaked with joy, grabbing the toy dogs, and threw her arms around her mother again.
‘Hello, Papa,’ said George sheepishly. He was still in his football kit.
‘You look OK, George,’ said Satinov briskly, ‘thinner perhaps. Good to see you!’ and he put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, an unprecedented act of informality. George looked grateful and Satinov realized his son was scared of his anger.
‘Come on,’ said Satinov, kissing Mariko on the top of her head. ‘It’s time to go home.’
They drove back to Granovsky in silence.
‘Papa, I’m so sorry. I had to sign,’ said George as soon as they were back in their apartment. Father and son both knew that the children’s confession could be used against the parents.
Satinov looked at George for a long moment, wishing he could reach across the dark valley of his own reticence. He wanted to tell him how much he loved him, and that he didn’t blame him for anything. But he didn’t know how to begin.
‘I know,’ he said briskly. ‘You’ve learned your lesson. The law will take its course. In the meantime you are to finish the term at school. Let’s not mention it again.’
‘Thank you, Papa,’ said George formally.
‘Look, Papa, look!’ Mariko ran into the room holding a bundle of her dogs. ‘My bitches have been in the kennel for being naughty but now they’re back at school. I’m so happy.’
