Sashenka полностью

Accused Zeitlin-Palitsyn: I must declare before the court that my greatest regret and shame are the crimes I’ve committed before the Party and that the future…posterity…will remember me as a scoundrel.

Posterity? Was this a message to Satinov?

Judge Ulrikh (presiding): All right, are we Comrade Judges ready? Any comment?

Judge Lansky (second judge): What wickedness. No other comment.

Judge Ulrikh: Comrade Satinov?

Judge Satinov (third judge): Accused Zeitlin-Palitsyn confesses to shocking crimes in a lifetime of deception and mask wearing. I must ask the court to forgive me for saying that, due to the vigilance of the NKVD investigation, we the Soviet people are grateful that our brilliant Leader of the Peoples, Comrade Stalin, is safe, that his loyal comrades Molotov, Voroshilov, Mikoyan, Andreyev and other Politburo members are now safe finally from spies, traitors and Trotskyites, safe in their offices and homes from this poisoning viper in their midst. They are now safe, quite safe. There is only one possible punishment, the way we treat mad, rabid dogs, the justice of the people…Thank you, Comrade Ulrikh.

Katinka could scarcely breathe. She read it again, and then again, and it was unmistakable: the sign. Satinov said ‘safe,’ and then repeated it four times in all. Two ‘safe’s for Snowy, two ‘safe’s for Carlo. So Satinov had not betrayed Sashenka. Instead he was really saying, “Dear friend, die easy if you can, the children are safe! I repeat, the children are safe!”

What relief for Sashenka. Yet the judgment was missing: did she survive after all? There it was, just the same note—Papers sent to Central Committee.

Dawn was coming up over Moscow, as Katinka’s head fell forward onto the transcripts that still rested on her knee.

Judge Ulrikh: Thank you, Comrade Satinov, let us retire to make our judgment.

Judges retire.

An upstart sun in an eggshell-blue sky threw golden beams onto Mayakovsky’s statue. Katinka walked up Tverskaya, first passing the statue of Prince Dolgoruky on one side and then Pushkin on the other, toward the new archive. She had woken up too early and with a crick in her neck when Maxy had phoned, then gone back to sleep. But she still ached as if she had been pummeled and only a bracing double espresso at the Coffee Bean café on Tverskaya—good coffee was one of the benefits of democracy, she thought—had restored some of her spirits.

Carrying a bulky package under her arm, she passed Mayakovsky Metro and took a left through one of those red granite archways that help give Moscow its somber and hostile grandeur. She found herself on a tiny road that seemed to be a cul-de-sac, but just when she could go no farther it turned sharply once and then again, becoming narrower. Katinka relished this unlikely, meandering lane in the midst of the unforgiving metropolis, as if she were discovering a jumbled village behind the granite walls and ramparts of those roaring boulevards. After the second twist, she came upon an ocher wall with a white top and then a black steel gate, which was open and led to some steps. Maxy’s bike was parked next to a plaque engraved with Lenin’s domed profile.

“You look tired—did you get any sleep? You procured what I suggested?” he asked.

Katinka nodded at her package. “It was the most expensive stuff I’ve ever bought and I had to ask Pasha Getman for permission.”

“Three hundred dollars is nothing to him. Did you tell him what it was?”

“I thought it better not to.”

“Well, it’s our only hope. This woman will do anything for that.” Then Maxy took her hand. “I fear you’re becoming even more obsessed than me about the secret lives of fifty years ago. Are you ready?”

“Yes, but how are you getting us in? I thought you said—”