Grigori turned to see Pinsky standing over Katerina, kicking her repeatedly with his heavy boots.
A motorcar approached from the direction of the factory. As it passed, its driver braked hard, and it squealed to a stop under the streetlamp.
Two long strides brought Grigori to a position just behind Pinsky. He put both arms around the police captain, gripped him in a bear hug, and lifted him off the ground. Pinsky kicked his legs and waved his arms to no avail.
The car door opened and, to Grigori’s surprise, the American from Buffalo got out. “What is happening?” he said. His youthful face, lit by the streetlight, showed outrage as he addressed the wriggling Pinsky. “Why do you kick a helpless woman?”
This was great good luck, Grigori thought. Only foreigners would object to a policeman kicking a peasant.
The long, thin figure of Kanin, the supervisor, unfolded out of the car behind Dewar. “Let the policeman go, Peshkov,” he said to Grigori.
Grigori set Pinsky on the ground and released him. He spun around, and Grigori got ready to dodge a blow, but Pinsky restrained himself. In a voice full of poison he said: “I’ll remember you, Peshkov.” Grigori groaned: the man knew his name.
Katerina got to her knees, moaning. Dewar gallantly helped her to her feet, saying: “Are you badly hurt, miss?”
Kanin looked embarrassed. No Russian would address a peasant so courteously.
Ilya got up, looking dazed.
From within the car came the voice of Princess Bea, speaking English, sounding annoyed and impatient.
Grigori addressed Dewar. “With your permission, Excellency, I will take this woman to a nearby doctor.”
Dewar looked at Katerina. “Is that your wish?”
“Yes, sir,” she said through bloody lips.
“Very well,” he said.
Grigori took her arm and led her away before anyone could suggest otherwise.
At the corner he glanced back. The two cops stood arguing with Dewar and Kanin under the streetlamp.
Still holding Katerina’s arm, he hurried her along, even though she was limping. They needed to put distance between themselves and Pinsky.
As soon as they had turned the corner she said: “I have no money for a doctor.”
“I could give you a loan,” he said, with a pang of guilt: his money was for passage to America, not to soothe the bruises of pretty girls.
She gave him a calculating look. “I don’t really want a doctor,” she said. “What I need is a job. Could you take me to the factory office?”
She had guts, he thought admiringly. She had just been beaten up by a policeman, and all she could think about was getting a job. “The office is closed. I just said that to confuse the cops. But I can take you there in the morning.”
“I have nowhere to sleep.” She gave him a guarded look that he did not quite understand. Was she offering herself? Many peasant girls who came to the city ended up doing that. But perhaps her look meant the opposite, that she wanted a bed but was not prepared to pay with sexual favors.
“In the house where I live there’s a room shared by a number of women,” he said. “They sleep three or more to a bed, and they can always find space for another one.”
“How far is it?”
He pointed ahead to a street that ran alongside a railway embankment. “Just here.”
She nodded assent, and a few moments later they entered the house.
He had a back room on the first floor. The narrow bed that he shared with Lev stood against one wall. There was a fireplace with a hob, and a table and two chairs next to the window that overlooked the railway. An upended packing case served as a nightstand, with a jug and bowl for washing.
Katerina inspected the place with a long look that took everything in, then she said: “You have all this to yourself?”
“No-I’m not rich! I share with my brother. He’ll be here later.”
She looked thoughtful. Perhaps she was afraid she might be expected to have sex with both of them. To reassure her, Grigori said: “Shall I introduce you to the women in the house?”
“Plenty of time for that.” She sat in one of the two chairs. “Let me rest a while.”
“Of course.” The fire was laid, ready to be lit: he always built it in the morning before going to work. He put a match to the kindling.
There was a thunderous noise, and Katerina looked frightened. “It’s just a train,” Grigori said. “We’re right next to the railway.”
He poured water from the jug into the bowl, then set the bowl on the hob to warm. He sat opposite Katerina and looked at her. She had straight fair hair and pale skin. At first he had judged her to be quite pretty, but now he saw that she was really beautiful, with an oriental cast to her bone structure that suggested Siberian ancestry. There was strength of character in her face, too: her wide mouth was sexy, but also determined, and there seemed to be iron purpose in her blue-green eyes.
Her lips were swelling up from Pinsky’s punch. “How do you feel?” Grigori asked.
She ran her hands over her shoulders, ribs, hips, and thighs. “Bruised all over,” she said. “But you pulled that animal off me before he could do any serious damage.”
She was not going to feel sorry for herself. He liked that. He said: “When the water’s warm, I’ll wash away the blood.”
He kept food in a tin box. He took out a knuckle of ham and dropped it in the saucepan, then added water from the jug. He rinsed a turnip and began to slice it into the pan. He caught Katerina’s eye and saw a look of surprise. She said: “Did your father cook?”
“No,” said Grigori, and in a blink he was transported back to the age of eleven. The nightmare memories of Princess Bea could no longer be resisted. He put the pan down heavily on the table, then sat on the edge of the bed and buried his head in his hands, overwhelmed by grief. “No,” he repeated, “my father didn’t cook.”
They came to the village at dawn: the local land captain and six cavalrymen. As soon as Ma heard the trotting hoofbeats she picked up Lev. He was a heavy burden at age six, but Ma was broad-shouldered and strong-armed. She grabbed Grigori’s hand and ran out of the house. The horsemen were being led by the village elders, who must have met them at the outskirts. Because there was only one door, Grigori’s family had no chance of concealment, and as soon as they appeared the soldiers spurred their mounts.
Ma pounded around the side of the house, scattering chickens and scaring the goat so that it broke its tether and bolted too. She ran across the waste ground at the back toward the trees. They might have escaped, but Grigori suddenly realized that his grandmother was not with them. He stopped and pulled his hand free. “We forgot Gran!” he squealed.
“She can’t run!” Ma yelled back.
Grigori knew that. Gran could hardly walk. But all the same he felt they must not leave her behind.
“Grishka, come on!” Ma shouted, and she ran ahead, still carrying Lev, who was now shrieking with fear. Grigori followed, but the delay had been fatal. The horsemen came closer, one approaching on either side. The path to the woods was cut off. In desperation Ma ran into the pond, but her feet sank into the mud, she slowed down, and at last she fell into the water.
The soldiers hooted with laughter.
They tied Ma’s hands and marched her back. “Make sure the boys come too,” said the land captain. “Prince’s orders.”
Grigori’s father had been taken away a week ago, along with two other men. Yesterday, Prince Andrei’s household carpenters had built a scaffold in the north meadow. Now, as Grigori followed his mother into the meadow, he saw three men standing on the scaffold, bound hand and foot, with ropes around their necks. Beside the scaffold stood a priest.
Ma screamed: “No!” She began to struggle with the rope that bound her hands. A cavalryman drew a rifle from the holster fixed to his saddle and, reversing it, hit her in the face with its wooden stock. She stopped struggling
