He prayed that she would change her mind. That she would see that staying in Gorky made no sense, and that she’d come with Yuri to the cabin. He imagined her, radiant, strolling through Central Park with her hand in his, going up the giant skyscrapers to look at the horizon, enjoying life, the two of them together.
The trial would have resumed by now. Viktor Smirnov would be bringing the farce to a close, applauded by the same flunkies who, clearly, had supported him in bringing about Sergei’s downfall. They would present more false evidence of Sergei’s treachery, and Hewitt’s, and his niece’s, and even that of the translator who’d disappeared.
He looked at the Danielses. They had no passports, no savings, no food. Joe Brown shivered under a threadbare blanket. He had only wanted a fair chance at a better life, and now he was freezing and hungry, dreaming of returning to the country where they had called him Negro every day of his life. Miquel hummed a song that Jack guessed came from his homeland. He stroked his red barretina as if it were his most treasured possession. Elizabeth sighed. She hadn’t stopped sighing for a single moment. Surely her uncle Wilbur was dead. Jack pitied all of them, but most of all he pitied himself. He let his body slide down the wall until his backside found the floor. He longed to be with Natasha. He could only hope that Yuri would bring her to him.
They sat in silence for hours, frightened by the bursts of gunfire in the distance. Not long after nightfall, the sound of footsteps put them on the alert. Jack gripped a knife and approached the door. Joe Brown did the same. They waited, holding their breath as the footsteps neared. It sounded like several people. Jack signaled to Joe Brown to get ready. Joe crossed himself. Knuckles rapped on the door. A few seconds later, they heard Yuri’s voice. Jack hoped Natasha was with him, but when he opened the door, he found himself face-to-face with Ivan Zarko. The two men slipped quickly into the cabin. Yuri had a sack of black bread. He opened it and shared out the loaves.
“Do you know anything about the trial?” Elizabeth asked.
Though Jack could guess the answer, he translated the question.
“They’ve sentenced him. Apparently, Stalin’s staying in Gorky until Smirnov has crushed the rebellion, which complicates matters as far as your escape is concerned. And now, if you don’t mind, I need to discuss some details with Jack, outside,” Zarko said apologetically.
After translating his answer, Jack pulled on his ushanka and went out with Ivan and his nephew. Once outside, he asked Yuri about Natasha.
Yuri shook his head. “I tried to persuade her, but it was like talking to a rock. The hospital was full of wounded. Workers shot to pieces, men and women who’d been tortured, burned . . . She spoke to me while she helped a half-dead mother give birth.”
“I’ll go find her.”
“It’s pointless. They’ve issued a warrant for your arrest, and they’re watching her. If you go, in all likelihood they’ll end up killing all of us.”
Jack nodded in resignation. Though he had expected Natasha’s answer, he had held out hope for a different one. He asked Zarko for the passports, but the old man shook his head.
“You said four! One for you, one for the capitalist, one for his niece, and another for the Russian girl.”
“How much would six more cost?”
“It’s not a question of money, Jack. Yours are ready, but the way things are, obtaining more will be impossible. We’d need small photographs, blank passports, new signatures . . . With Smirnov heading the OGPU, any slip would mean the firing squad.”
“How much, Ivan?”
“Too much.”
Jack looked down at the ground. Then he turned toward the cabin, where six souls waited to hear their fate. “Could you get a camera?”
“I guess so, but the problem’s not the photos so much as the passports themselves. Yours are German, but for them we’d need one Spanish and five American. We’d have to order them from Moscow, get the right signatures . . .”
“You find the camera. Maybe we can do something about the passports later on, somewhere else.”
Ivan Zarko shook his head, as if implying that trying to escape without passports was madness. Even so, he agreed to Jack’s request.
“As for the escape route, you mentioned a freight train . . .”
“You have to forget the railway. They’ve fenced off the station and stepped up security with packs of trained dogs. They’re searching every train leaving Gorky from top to bottom.”
“We have the car.” He gestured toward it. “Squeezed in, we could—”
“You wouldn’t make it sixty miles. They’ve set up roadblocks, and the secondary roads are impassible because of the snow. Not to mention the issue of fuel. Your only chance is the Volga. Gorky’s wharves are heavily guarded, but downriver I could arrange passage for you on a barge that could take you to Stalingrad. There we have friends who could keep you hidden until you are able to take another boat to the Sea of Azov. But there’s a problem . . .”
“Yes?”
“There’re too many of you. It will be a risky journey . . .” He made it clear to Jack that their chances of success were slim. “And it will cost money.” He gestured toward the fugitives. “A lot.”
“Damn it! I’ll pay! Forget the money.”
“It’s up to you. I’ll get that camera.”
“One more thing.” He stopped Yuri as he turned away. He took off his ushanka and then the medallion his mother had given him. When he handed the necklace to Yuri, he felt as if he were parting with a piece of himself. “Here. It’s the last favor I’ll ask of you. Give this to Natasha. Tell her that, without love, life isn’t worth living.”
He told his friends not to worry, that Ivan and Yuri would solve their problems and lead them to freedom.
Elizabeth believed him. The rest of them guessed what really awaited them.
Jack sat down and fell silent. Until the last moment, he had hoped that Natasha would come with him, but she had chosen to fight for her ideals. For an instant, he cursed her integrity, her senseless generosity, and her commitment to solidarity. He cursed them from the bottom of his soul. And yet, he couldn’t reproach her for them. She overflowed with honesty, while he, when it came down to it, was just a poor wretch.
He chewed on a piece of black bread and tried to get her out of his mind. He had to forget her once and for all and get used to the idea that he was returning to the United States, perhaps to lead the life he had always wanted alongside a young heiress to a fortune. Her time in isolation seemed to have changed Elizabeth. She now not only accepted her uncle’s fate, but in a moment of weakness, had even suggested some future plans for Jack.