Контакты

Случайная статья

XXXIII Accelerando

⇐ ПредыдущаяСтр 33 из 37Следующая ⇒

Katherina was grainy-eyed with exhaustion when they reached Wernigerode, but the clock on the dashboard of the van read only a little before two in the morning. They had arrived with time to spare at the featureless concrete building that was their destination. The metallic sign across the top row of windows read Fernsehen DDR/Wernigerode. There was no sign of life anywhere around the building when they pulled into the lot behind it.

When she and Anastasia descended from the service van, Johann was taciturn and businesslike, waving off their thanks.

“Just tell Boris we’re quit now. I don’t want any more of this. ” With that he drove into a garage to park the van and remove all evidence of the night’s undertaking.

“The car’s over there. ” Anastasia pointed toward a dark blue rental car parked half a block away from the television substation. “There’s a change of clothes for both of us in the trunk. ”

The night-quiet of the street was suddenly broken by the sound of a truck engine. Before the two women could get out of sight, a military truck swung around a corner and rumbled toward them. They froze, caught in the truck’s headlights.

Katherina muttered, “Scheisse. ” Her mind raced as she tried to think of a plausible explanation as to why a Soviet soldier and a half-naked woman in a blanket would be standing in the middle of the street at two in the morning. There was none. None whatsoever. Her instinct was simply to run, but Anastasia took hold of her arm.

“They’re Russians. Let me do the talking. ”

Katherina frowned. “No argument here, ” she muttered back. “Your uniform. Are you an officer, or what? ”

“I have no idea. This is one of Anne’s costumes. Let’s just hope it’s dark enough so they don’t notice. ” Anastasia adjusted her cap and tugged her tunic down over her hips.

The truck stopped directly in front of them and they both moved around to the side of it, out of the blinding headlights. Katherina could see now it was a Soviet troop carrier. The motor continued pounding noisily even in neutral, and the gray-painted fender, which rose almost to her shoulder, was slightly dented. At the rear, the truck bed was enclosed by low wooden siding. Poles at the four corners held a canvas roof that was rolled up, and some dozen men in field kit sat huddled beneath it. Most of them seemed to be hanging over one side staring at them.

The driver poked his head out through the truck-cab window and Anastasia saluted him. Katherina fervently hoped it was the right kind of salute. The two began talking in a rapid Russian and Katherina tried to detect signs of anger or suspicion. Would there be any point in running from twelve men with service rifles?

Anastasia’s voice had dropped to a lower register, below the pitch she had used for Octavian, but still high for a mature man. Would she be able to pull it off? What could she possibly be saying that would explain them?

Oh, hell. The driver was opening the cab door, stepping down onto the ground. He was dressed almost identically to Anastasia, except that he had a sidearm. A critical difference. He gawked for a moment at Katherina, and she realized, for the first time since fleeing the Brocken dressing room, that she was still in full stage makeup. Half naked and painted like a clown, she must have looked like a madwoman to him.

Anastasia seemed to realize the problem as well and laid her hand on the man’s shoulder, turning him away from the bizarre spectacle and guiding him toward the street corner. Was she giving Katherina a chance to flee in the other direction? She waited for a signal, anything that would tell her what to do. But Anastasia simply continued in Russian, gesticulating and pointing up the street.

When the two returned to the truck, they seemed to be arguing, though without anger. The driver kept repeating, “Nyet, nyet! ” and Katherina’s heart began to pound again, ready for flight.

But whatever was wrong, it did not involve attack or arrest, and though the driver was still agitated, he climbed back into the truck cab and put the engine into gear. In a moment, the truck had turned around, leaving Katherina in full view of the soldiers squatting in the wooden truckbed. One of them called out something, and then all of the soldiers joined him in their calls. She recognized only one word: suka. Bitch. She didn’t mind the seemingly automatic hostility. As long as the word was not preceded by “Someone should arrest that…”

Then, mercifully, the truck pulled away and rumbled up the street they had just come with Johann ten minutes before.

“What just happened? ” Katherina asked.

Anastasia guided her over to the blue Mercedes. “Come on, get in the car where we won’t be seen again, and I’ll explain. ” She opened the car trunk and lifted several articles of clothing out of a suitcase. “We can change in the backseat. ” She handed Katherina a dark skirt and a sweater.

The two of them climbed into the car. Relieved to finally be free of her blanket, Katherina pulled on the sweater first, relaxing into the warmth. The skirt, she noticed, was a bit long. In spite of the urgency of the moment, Katherina chuckled as she rolled it at the waist. “I see. The soprano gets the skirt and the mezzo wears the pants. ”

“Hey, I just saved our lives out there. It was the toughest trouser role of my career. ”

“Gods, yes, and you were superb. We both owe Anne a lot for that. Who could have known she’d be accurate enough to fool the real thing. ”

“Apparently I am a praporshchik, a warrant officer. While it’s obvious I was in violation of regulations being with a woman on the street alone at two in the morning, I was one rank higher than the soldier in charge of the transport, who was only a podpraporshchik. While theoretically he could have reported me, I think I won him over. ” She slid off the military trousers and pulled on blue jeans. “I had no good excuse ready, so I just suggested they had interrupted me in the middle of something manly, and he was momentarily distracted trying to imagine what you looked like under the blanket. ”

“Oh, so that was dirty guy-talk you were having with him. ”

“It started that way, but then I recognized his accent. He was from Leningrad and I got him to talk about that. You know, the two of us, homesick for the Neva and hot Russian women. ” Anastasia struggled out of the officer’s tunic and drew a sweater over her head.

“But you were gabbing there for five minutes. All about Russian women? ”

“No, we traded opinions on the subject men talk about everywhere. Sports. I said I’d been away too long and asked if he knew how Zenit, the Leningrad soccer team, was doing and whether Nikolai Larionov was still their top scorer. ”

“You follow Russian soccer? ”

They moved to the front of the car and Anastasia started the motor. “No but Boris does. Zenit is a famous team. Fortunately I just remembered the name Larionov. One of the few times I spent a Sunday in front of the television with him. ”

“So what were these guys doing here at two in the morning, anyhow? Obviously not on patrol. ”

“They were lost. They were being transferred from the base at Sperenberg, just south of Berlin, up to the Brocken garrison and they made a wrong turn. Their radio was out too—to give you a sense of the efficiency of the Soviet military—so they couldn’t radio for help. They just wandered around looking for someone who could give them directions. I explained the way to him. He was so happy to find someone he could talk to in Russian he didn’t seem to care much what I was doing with you. I’m sure he assumed it was something unsavory, but had no interest in confronting me about it. He was already in trouble himself. Still, he may report what he’s seen, so we’ve got to get moving. ”

“Thank God for male bonding. ” Katherina shifted focus. “Do you have any cold cream or something similar so I can take off this makeup? ”

“Yes, good idea. It was so dark coming down the mountain I never thought about it. There’s hand lotion and tissues in my bag. ”

While they drove, Katherina rubbed a layer of lotion over her face and throat and removed as much as possible of the pancake and mascara. A final washing would have to wait until they were safe and near hot running water. “Okay, then. What now? ”

“Now we cross the border. “It’ll be risky, crossing at this hour, but it’s still our best chance. If we’re lucky, the Brocken guards are still stumbling around on the mountain. Tomorrow they’ll know for sure you’ve escaped and they’ll have sent out an alert for you at the border. You do have your pass and visa, don’t you? ”

“Of course. It’s the only thing I grabbed from my dressing room. What about you? I thought you were persona non grata in the DDR. ”

“I am, but I’m carrying a fake passport. It’s not a very good one, though. Boris used to deal in those, after the war, but he’s lost contact with the people who made them. He had to patch one together from an old counterfeit he still had. So we have to hope no one scrutinizes it too closely. I tried to warn you that I was on my way, but I couldn’t get through to you. ”

“You tried to call me? ”

“I did. Several times. I always left my number. But you didn’t call back. I thought at first you were angry. Then it occurred to me that Raspin would try to isolate you. ”

“Good guess, he did isolate me and blocked my messages. But I got your package. My agent forwarded it to me. The doll that you left for me in Salzburg. Very sweet. ”

“I’m glad you liked it. Though it would have been more to the point if you’d gotten it in Salzburg so you’d have known I didn’t dump you. I had to leave, but I didn’t want you to forget me. ”

“I never did for a moment. If you only knew. ”

Anastasia let the remark stay in the air. Katherina wasn’t sure whether she wanted to avoid a dangerous subject or was simply exhausted. Katherina was beat too, battle-fatigued both physically and mentally.

They were outside of Wernigerode now and on the highway, alone on the road. “Do you really think Raspin murdered my father? ” she asked suddenly.

“Yes, though I doubt we can ever put together the whole story. My guess is that first he tried to denounce your father to the police, for homosexuality, or identity fraud, or both. If so, the issues were probably so trivial and obsolete that the exposure had no effect except to put the government machinery in motion that identified Sergei Marovsky as a survivor of the Battle of Stalingrad. With the possibility of blackmail now removed, your father was free to turn Schalk in to the police at any time. ”

Katherina stared out the car window, embarrassed. “Do the Cyrillic entries also tell about his being homosexual? ”

“Yes, in a very poignant way. You can read the translation as soon as we’re safe. Right now, let’s decide what to do at the border crossing. ”

“One obstacle after another, ” Katherina muttered. “So this is what it feels like to be a fugitive. Which one of us is the bigger liability, I wonder. You, who are wanted for defection, or me, who’s wanted for murder? ”

“Let’s hope the border guards are so enchanted by our pretty faces that they don’t stare too long at our documents. ”

“Let’s also hope there are no opera lovers on duty who might recognize us. ”

Anastasia laughed. “Opera fans on night duty in the backwoods of Sachsen-Anhalt? How likely can that be? ”

Jö rg Menger slouched against the wall of the guard station at Seesen trying to stay awake. At four in the morning, with nothing to do but paperwork, he kept feeling consciousness slip away. His sergeant was sick and so only two men were on duty, and still nothing for them to do. Seated at the station table, Theo rolled himself another cigarette and leafed through his television magazine. Having contempt for both diversions, and no radio to listen to, Jö rg felt stupor encroach again. If he could have gotten away with it, he’d have snatched a nap, but the military had removed all sturdy horizontal surfaces that could be adapted for dozing. Even the worktable was metal, with metal stools rather than wooden chairs, and the unheated station was so cold that he preferred to stand through his shift.

His boredom lifted momentarily when he saw the headlights in the distance. On the other hand, it was his turn to go out into the cold. He zipped up his field jacket to the throat and shouldered his rifle. As military protocol required, Theo watched from inside, the phone to headquarters at one hand and his rifle within reach of the other.

The car pulled up to the barrier and Jö rg relaxed immediately. Two women in their thirties. Attractive ones, too. But then he was suspicious. It was almost 2: 30 a. m.

“Passports, please, ” he said, with just the right balance of authority and courtesy, and perused the documents by the light of his flashlight. He read the name on the first one and stared at the picture. It looked familiar, but the name said nothing to him. The second passport gave him a start. It was a name he recognized, but the impossibility of it being her was so great he was sure it was simply a coincidence. He shone his flashlight on the passport holder on the passenger side, and his jaw dropped. The woman was a little disheveled, but he recognized the face from the newspaper photographs. He couldn’t believe his luck.

“You are Katherina Marow? ”

“Yes, ” she said meekly.

“The opera singer? ”

“Yes. ”

It was true! His heart leapt. He had never met an opera singer face-to-face, and now a beautiful and famous one was right there in front of him. He wished he could invite her in for coffee. Her papers seemed in order, but he didn’t want to let her go without at least exchanging a few words with her.

“I read about you. You sang Tosca in Berlin, didn’t you? ”

“Yes, I did, ” was all she said again. The repetition was getting monotonous and Jö rg wished she’d say more. What was the point of meeting an opera singer if she had nothing to say? The encounter would make a good story when he called his mother, but there would not be much to tell. He had to think of a good question to get the singer talking.

“I love opera. My mother sang in a choir and we listen to opera on the radio all the time. Last week they played Rosenkavalier. Have you ever sung that one? ”

“Yes, last month, in Salzburg. ” Katherina’s voice was very small.

“I’ve always wanted to go to Salzburg. ” Jö rg persisted, trying to elicit conversation. Why was she so stiff? And who was the other woman?

“It’s a nice city, ” Katherina said.

“Do you sing too? ” He shone the flashlight on the driver who seemed paralyzed. Then he recognized her. The famous Russian mezzo-soprano. He nearly fainted; he had two beautiful opera singers in front of him. No one would ever believe him.

“I love Rosenkavalier, ” he said, unable to think of anything better at such an early hour. “Especially the end, you know, the trio. Uh, well, I guess everyone loves that part. ” He was beginning to feel foolish, saying stupid things, but he didn’t want them to leave. He wanted to invite them in, maybe have his picture taken with them. Something to show his mother and his friends.

“How was the performance? ” he asked Anastasia.

“It went very well, thank you. ” She avoided eye contact with him at first, then abruptly seemed to change her mind, as if suddenly she found him interesting. She glanced up and smiled, and then he knew for sure it was her. She was so beautiful, more than on the covers of the recordings his cousin had smuggled in for him. He was surprised at her short hair, which is why he didn’t recognize her at first, but at second glance, he liked it.

“Not everyone likes Rosenkavalier. It’s an acquired taste, ” she said, with the warmest, sexiest voice he had ever heard. “It’s wonderful that you’re such a serious listener. Do you like the other Strauss operas? Electra, for example? ”

Jö rg blinked, speechless that she had actually complimented him. A beautiful and famous opera singer had noticed his existence long enough to say something nice about him, and to ask him a question! He was utterly smitten. Had she invited him to give up everything and flee with them both, to simply sit in their dressing rooms every evening while they went onstage, he would have gone. What had she just asked him? Oh, about Strauss.

“Some Strauss is a bit too modern for my taste, ” he said. “I prefer Mozart. Do you sing Mozart? Oh, of course you do. What a dumb question. ”

She continued to smile, engaging him, tugging on his heart. He draped his arm over the roof of the car and leaned his hip against the door and would have loved to settle in for a long chat as between friends.

But it was the middle of the night, they were on their way someplace, and he had a job to do. Ladies, even great ones, respected men for doing their duty. He swept his flashlight over the driver’s passport again. Something was wrong. The name didn’t go with the woman.

He met her eyes again and she held his glance, her lips opening slightly and hinting at a smile. No woman had ever looked at him with such intensity, such openness. He seemed to fall into her; he had the feeling that, had she been standing in front of him instead of sitting down, she would have allowed him to embrace her.

Somewhere in the distance he heard a telephone ring. The glass front of the guard station was reflected in the rear side window of the car, and without turning around, he saw the figure of his comrade waving at him, signaling wildly. He felt suspended, for just a heartbeat. Then something in him broke, or blossomed, or changed. He handed back the two passports, the real one and the counterfeit one, and raised the barrier.

“Have a nice evening, ladies. ”

For several minutes the two of them drove in silence, as if talking would set off some alarm and they would be pursued. But when it became clear that no one followed them, relief settled on them like warm air. Katherina was fully awake now, excited by the near disaster they had weathered. The danger was past, she was in West Germany again, with Anastasia, and she had never felt happier.

“So what do we do next? I mean, we’re driving west, but I live in Berlin, which is in the other direction. Inconvenient, I realize. ” Lightheartedness crept into her voice.

Anastasia also seemed a bit giddy at having succeeded in what amounted to heroic rescue. “Yes, I vaguely recall where Berlin is. Right in the heart of the DDR. Don’t worry. It’s all pretty easy from here. We just drive to Hanover, where we leave this car. If you feel that you need to rest, we can stay in Hanover at the hotel where I was living. But we’ll be arriving in the morning, so if you have the strength, we can fly directly from Hanover to Berlin. There’s a ten a. m. flight to Tempelhof. ”

“I’d prefer that. You’re doing all the work, after all. If you can hold out, I can. Besides, I want to show you my house, cook you a nice breakfast. ” Katherina imagined showing Anastasia from room to room, preparing a meal for both of them as if they were a couple, leading her upstairs. Then uncertainty clouded the picture. What would happen in Berlin, she realized, was not at all clear. Murky, even. She inhaled deeply and posed the question she had to ask, but which could ruin everything.

“Boris. So you are reconciled with him now? Has he agreed to the baby? ”

“No, just the opposite. We made a different deal. He agreed to help me sneak in and get you out of the DDR. ”

“And what did you agree to? ” Katherina held her breath.

“I agreed to give him his divorce. ”

Katherina felt a guarded joy at the announcement, still new, still fragile. She wanted to be sure she’d heard correctly. “So, you don’t have to go right back to him? I mean you can stay in Berlin…for a while? ” She was careful not to say “with me. ”

“Would you like me to? I mean, now that you’re rescued, you don’t really need me any longer. ”

“Oh, but I do need you. You can’t imagine. I want you to come home with me. Stay with me. Sleep with me. ” The moment she said the words, warmth spread upward from her sex to her chest, then to her face. The admission was as powerful as their kiss had been, and just as fraught with risk. Had she taken a step too far?

Anastasia let a long agonizing moment pass. “I’d like that too. Although I don’t quite know what to do. I mean, the sleeping part. I’ve never…”

Katherina dared for the first time that night to touch Anastasia’s shoulder, then her neck, playing with a lock of hair curled over her ear. “I know what to do. I think. ” She laughed softly, nervously. “I’ve thought for months of what it would be like, every moment of it. I’ve felt a strange and wonderful sort of desire that I never knew before. The kind that makes people write sonnets, I suppose. ”

“I love you, you know, ” Anastasia said simply, as if she were talking about the road.

“Oh, God. I hope so. ”

“But I’m pregnant. You know that. I’ve left Boris, but I can’t mess up your life. I have enough money to support myself and a child. ”

“Don’t talk about messing up my life. You’ve just given life back to me. And right now I don’t want to be with anyone but you. Tonight…” She looked at her watch. “Well, tomorrow morning, I want to be in your arms. I want to feel you, smell, taste your skin, touch you, excite you, lie on, under, next to you. I want to do all the things I’ve imagined doing since Salzburg. ”

“I imagined them too. Or tried to. ”

“Why didn’t you let them happen? If I had thought for just a moment you’d let me, I would have come to your room and ravished you. ”

“I think I knew that and was terrified of it. ”

“You broke my heart leaving that way, so suddenly. ”

“I’m sorry. It broke my heart too. But so much was at stake, so many decisions to make. The first was actually the easiest. To not terminate the pregnancy. Then there was Boris. We were never in love, but he was a part of my life. I owed it to him to try to work something out, to give him a chance to be a father. As it turned out, fatherhood was never in his life plans. But you understand, I couldn’t make these life decisions on the basis of a kiss on a balcony in the middle of a snowfall. Even if it had also made me want to write sonnets. ”

“Does he know about our Rosenkavalier kiss? ”

Anastasia smiled. “Rosenkavalier kiss. What a nice word for it. I was still half Octavian that night, wasn’t I? The entire evening was operatic. But no, Boris doesn’t know about the kiss. He doesn’t need to. He’ll simply accept that we’re together. He has no reason to be jealous, and he likes you, anyhow. If he hadn’t alerted me of the danger you were in, and helped me set up this whole operation, you’d still be on the Brocken, who knows in what state. ”

“I guess I wasted a lot of time disliking him, didn’t I? ”

“Yes, you did. He’s a decent man. He was part of that gangster world in postwar Berlin, but when times got better, he became a better man. You’ll see. ”

“Will I? ” Katherina wondered how her future would intersect with that of Boris Reichmann. Then she remembered Anastasia’s baby. To her surprise, it filled her with such tenderness that she almost cried.

⇐ Предыдущая 28 29 30 31 323334 35 36 37 Следующая ⇒

© helpiks.su При использовании или копировании материалов прямая ссылка на сайт обязательна.