“There was a mess-up last night. We were supposed to unload some cigarettes from a barge.” They would be stolen cigarettes, Grigori assumed. Katerina went on: “Lev paid for them, then the bargeman said it wasn’t enough money, and there was an argument. Someone started shooting. Lev fired back, then we ran away.”
“Thank heaven neither of you got hurt!”
“Now we don’t have the cigarettes or the money.”
“What a mess.” Grigori looked at the clock over the bar. It was a quarter past six. He still had plenty of time. “Let’s sit down. Do you want some tea?” He beckoned to Mishka and asked for two glasses of tea.
“Thank you,” said Katerina. “Lev thinks one of the wounded must have talked to the police. Now they’re after him.”
“And you?”
“I’m all right, no one knows my name.”
Grigori nodded. “So what we have to do is keep Lev out of the hands of the police. He’ll have to lie low for a week or so, then slip out of St. Petersburg.”
“He hasn’t got any money.”
“Of course not.” Lev never had any money for essentials, though he could always buy drinks, place a bet, and entertain girls. “I can give him something.” Grigori would have to dip into the money he had saved for the journey. “Where is he?”
“He said he would meet you at the ship.”
Mishka brought their tea. Grigori was hungry-he had left his porridge on the fire-and he asked for some soup.
Katerina said: “How much can you give Lev?”
She was looking earnestly at him, and that always made him feel he would do anything she asked. He looked away. “Whatever he needs,” he said.
“You’re so good.”
Grigori shrugged. “He’s my brother.”
“Thank you.”
It pleased Grigori when Katerina was grateful, but it embarrassed him too. The soup came and he began to eat, glad of the diversion. The food made him feel more optimistic. Lev was always in and out of trouble. He would slip out of this difficulty as he had many times before. It did not mean Grigori had to miss his sailing.
Katerina watched him, sipping her tea. She had lost the frantic look. Lev puts you in danger, Grigori thought, and I come to the rescue, yet you prefer him.
Lev was probably at the dock now, skulking in the shadow of a derrick, nervously looking out for policemen as he waited. Grigori needed to get going. But he might never see Katerina again, and he could hardly bear the thought of saying good-bye to her forever.
He finished his soup and looked at the clock. It was almost seven. He was cutting things too fine. “I have to go,” he said reluctantly.
Katerina walked with him to the door. “Don’t be too hard on Lev,” she said.
“Was I ever?”
She put her hands on his shoulders, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him briefly on the lips. “Good luck,” she said.
Grigori walked away.
He went quickly through the streets of southwest St. Petersburg, an industrial quarter of warehouses, factories, storage yards, and overcrowded slums. The shameful impulse to weep left him after a few minutes. He walked on the shady side, kept his cap low and his head down, and avoided wide open areas. If Pinsky had circulated a description of Lev, an alert policeman might easily arrest Grigori.
But he reached the docks without being spotted. His ship, the Angel Gabriel, was a small, rusty vessel that took both cargo and passengers. Right now it was being loaded with stoutly nailed wooden packing cases marked with the name of the city’s largest fur trader. As he watched, the last box went into the hold and the crew fastened the hatch.
A family of Jews were showing their tickets at the head of the gangplank. All Jews wanted to go to America, in Grigori’s experience. They had even more reason than he did. In Russia there were laws forbidding them to own land, to enter the civil service, to be army officers, and countless other prohibitions. They could not live where they liked, and there were quotas limiting the number who could go to universities. It was a miracle any of them made a living. And if they did prosper, against the odds, it would not be long before they were set upon by a crowd-usually egged on by policemen such as Pinsky-and beaten up, their families terrified, their windows smashed, their property set on fire. The surprise was that any of them stayed.
The ship’s hooter sounded for “All aboard.”
He could not see his brother. What had gone wrong? Had Lev changed plans again? Or had he been arrested already?
A small boy tugged at Grigori’s sleeve. “A man wants to talk to you,” the boy said.
“What man?”
“He looks like you.”
Thank God, thought Grigori. “Where is he?”
“Behind the planks.”
There was a stack of timber on the dock. Grigori hurried around it and found Lev hiding behind it, nervously smoking a cigarette. He was fidgety and pale-a rare sight, for he usually remained cheerful even in adversity.
“I’m in trouble,” Lev said.
“Again.”
“Those bargemen are liars!”
“And thieves, probably.”
“Don’t get sarcastic with me. There isn’t time.”
“No, you’re right. We need to get you out of town until the fuss dies down.”
Lev shook his head in negation, blowing out smoke at the same time. “One of the bargemen died. I’m wanted for murder.”
“Oh, hell.” Grigori sat down on a shelf of timber and buried his head in his hands. “Murder,” he said.
“Trofim was badly wounded and the police got him to talk. He fingered me.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I saw Fyodor half an hour ago.” Fyodor was a corrupt policeman of Lev’s acquaintance.
“This is bad news.”
“There’s worse. Pinsky has vowed to get me-as revenge on you.”
Grigori nodded. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
“What am I going to do?”
“You’ll have to go to Moscow. St. Petersburg won’t be safe for you for a long time, maybe forever.”
“I don’t know that Moscow is far enough, now that the police have telegraph machines.”
He was right, Grigori realized.
The ship’s hooter sounded again. Soon the gangplanks would be withdrawn. “We only have a minute left,” said Grigori. “What are you going to do?”
Lev said: “I could go to America.”
Grigori stared at him.
Lev said: “You could give me your ticket.”
Grigori did not want even to think about it.
But Lev went on with remorseless logic. “I could use your passport and papers for entering the United States- no one would know the difference.”
Grigori saw his dream fading, like the ending of a motion picture at the Soleil Cinema in Nevsky Prospekt, when the house lights came up to show the drab colors and dirty floors of the real world. “Give you my ticket,” he repeated, desperately postponing the moment of decision.
“You’d be saving my life,” Lev said.
Grigori knew he had to do it, and the realization was like a pain in his heart.
He took the papers from the pocket of his best suit and gave them to Lev. He handed over all the money he had
