The Russian Affair - By Michael Wallner Page 0,149

that bring the prettiest guests, Bulyagkov realized that Anna Nechayevna, in the flesh, was there in front of him. Wherever she might have come from, and for whatever reasons, she’d made her way to where he was. He loved her for that, right then. But in the next moment, anxiety seized him. He raised his head to see if others had come in behind her, but she was alone. Her demeanor indicated that she was glad to have finally reached her goal.

“Where did you come from?”

The group fell silent, emanating curiosity.

“This is Comrade Tsazukhina,” he said awkwardly. “She’s brought me some papers I forgot, documents I need for the presentation in Stockholm.” He straightened his tie. “Thanks for taking the trouble to come so far.”

Anna stood there and waited for him to invent an excuse for the two of them to leave the bar.

“Well, then, we should go over them right away,” Bulyagkov said, rising to his feet. “So you can finally go to bed, Comrade.”

Accompanied by the scientists’ farewells, in which there was no lack of double entendres, and followed by the Kyrgyz woman’s disillusioned gaze, he took his leave and, with a gesture, showed Anna the way to the elevators. After a few steps, they were alone.

“You’re crazy,” he whispered, grabbing her hand.

“No, the crazy one’s you.”

He saw the seriousness in her eyes. “You know?” Then, after a breathless pause, he asked, “Who else knows?”

She pushed the button. “Come on.” The elevator doors slid open.

They kissed on the way up, not out of passion, but in order to exclude the possibility of speech from the little space they were riding in. He pressed her against him; she clung to his shoulder. They stood there like that, in the deepest despair.

While they walked through the fourth-floor corridors, he kept his eyes fastened on her. Anna didn’t return his gaze. Bulyagkov opened the door of his room, and together they walked over to the window to watch Riga wake up. The hotel stood opposite the National Opera House, and behind that was the park with the Lenin monument.

“If you’d told me yesterday I’d be seeing all this today, I would have laughed at you.”

“It’s a lovely city,” he said. “I’ve always liked it.”

He fell suddenly silent, whereupon she said, “Anton begged me to do this. He wants to warn you.”

“Why didn’t Anton come himself?”

“He tried to. He …”

After the hours she’d spent conjecturing how this meeting would go, Anna suddenly knew nothing more. The wolf was in the trap, the trappers were getting ready to come for him, and he was too tired and too old to slip away from them this time. She looked at his eyes and the purple rings around them, the sullen mouth, the bowed shoulders. She tried to look beyond all that and see the Ukrainian boy who loved mathematics beginning his university studies in science. It was of course necessary to stop Alexey from going through with his plan, but was it also right? Anna was indifferent to Kamarovsky’s interests, but she wondered whether she herself was ready to play Judas. Her breath streamed in and out; she saw the morning light reflecting off the glass table and the reflection trembling on the wall. Medea let him go, Anna thought, and she knows him better than anyone. Who am I to play the part of fate? With a sigh, she realized it was no longer a question of that. She was only the messenger who was supposed to make it easier for him to lay down his arms.

“Are they already in the hotel?” He looked at his watch.

“I don’t know.” The light hurt her eyes, and she drew the curtain partly closed. “They’ve got Rosa.”

His weary face twisted into a sad smile. “I see.” Bulyagkov slowly ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m not going to get to Stockholm. Is that right?”

Anna saw no possibility of crossing the ten feet that separated them, taking his hand, and giving him an answer that would make his situation look good. On the morning of the execution, it was hard to say anything encouraging to the condemned. Alexey had put himself on a cliff from which there was no climbing down, only plummeting.

“What do you want to know?” Asking this question, Bulyagkov seemed suddenly distant, as though he didn’t wish to be disturbed while deciding on his next move.

“I want to know why you waited until you were practically about to leave before you started your divorce