The Secret Speech

Unaware of any plans, he couldn’t imagine what Raisa was doing out at this time of night with Elena. No clothes had been packed: no bags had been taken. Phoning his parents, they didn’t have any answers. His fear wasn’t that Fraera was involved. Zoya’s murder had been her last act of revenge against State Security personnel. After a five-month absence he doubted Fraera would return. There was no need. Leo had been hurt exactly as she desired.

Hearing the noise of someone approach he rushed to the hallway, throwing open the door. Raisa staggered forward, catching the door-frame as if drunk. Leo supported her, taking her weight. He checked the corridor. It was empty.

— Where’s Elena?

— She’s… gone.

Her eyes rolled, her head slumped. Leo carried her into the bathroom, placing her under the shower, running it cold.

— Why are you drunk?

Raisa gasped, shaken awake by the shock of the water:

— Not drunk… drugged.

Leo turned the shower off, wiping Raisa’s hair out of her eyes, sitting her on the side of the bath. Her bloodshot eyes were no longer rolling shut. She stared at the puddles forming around her shoes, her speech no longer slurred:

— I knew you’d disagree.

— You took her to see a doctor?

— Leo, when someone you love is sick, you seek help. He said it would be unofficial, no paperwork.

— Where?

— Serbsky.

At the sound of the name—Serbsky—Leo went numb. Many of the men and women he’d arrested had been sent there for treatment. Raisa began to cry:

— Leo, he sent her away.

Dumb incomprehension, then rage:

— What is the doctor’s name?

Raisa shook her head:

— You can’t save her, Leo.

— What is his name!

— You can’t save her!

Leo raised his hand, arching it back, ready to strike her across the face. In a flash, diverting his anger, he grabbed the mirror from the wall and smashed it in the sink. The shards cut his skin, drawing blood, red lines rolling around his wrists, down his arms. Leo dropped to the floor, bloody mirror fragments scattered around him.

Taking a towel, Raisa sat beside Leo, pressing it against his injured hand:

— You think I didn’t fight? You think I didn’t try and stop them? They sedated me. When I woke up Elena was gone.

Leo turned the defeat over in his mind. It was complete. His hopes of a family had been destroyed. He’d failed to save Zoya’s life and failed to persuade Elena that life was worth living. Three years of honesty and trust between himself and Raisa had been wiped out. He’d lied to her, a lie forever preserved by the calamities that had followed from it. He didn’t feel any anger at Raisa for accepting Fraera’s offer, for agreeing to leave him. Raisa claimed it was tactical and nothing more, a desperate bid to save Zoya. She’d taken their family’s well-being into her own hands. The only mistake she’d made was waiting too long.

The three-year pretense had come to an end. He was no father, no husband, and certainly no hero. He would join the KGB. Raisa would leave him. How could she not? There would be nothing between them except a sense of loss. Each day he’d know that Fraera had been right about him: he was a man of the State. He had changed, but far more importantly he’d changed back. He remarked:

— There was a moment when I thought we had a chance.

Raisa nodded:

— I thought so too.

SAME DAY

LEO WASN’T SURE HOW MUCH TIME had passed. They hadn’t moved — Raisa by his side, the two of them on the floor, leaning against the bathtub, the tap dripping behind them. He heard the front door open yet still he couldn’t stand up. Stepan and Anna appeared at the bathroom doorway. No doubt concerned by Leo’s earlier phone call, his parents had traveled over. They took in the room, seeing the blood, the smashed mirror:

— What happened?

Raisa squeezed his hand. He answered:

— They took Elena.

Neither Stepan nor Anna said a word. Stepan helped Raisa to her feet, wrapping a towel around her, guiding her to the kitchen. Anna took Leo into the bedroom, examining the cut. She dressed the wound, behaving as she had done when he’d been a boy and had hurt himself. Finished, she sat beside Leo. He kissed her on the cheek, stood up, walked into the kitchen, stretching out his hand to Raisa:

— I need your help.

* * *

FROL PANIN WAS LEO’S MOST INFLUENTIAL ALLY, but he was unavailable, out of the city. Although they weren’t friends, three years ago Major Grachev had supported Leo’s proposal to create an autonomous homicide department. Leo had reported to him directly for the first two years until Grachev had stepped aside, making way for Panin. Since then Leo had seen the major infrequently. However, a proponent of change, Grachev believed that the only way to govern was by making amends, seeking to admit and readdress, in moderation, the wrongs perpetrated by the State.

With Raisa by his side, Leo knocked on Grachev’s apartment door, instinctively checking the length of the communal corridor. It was late but they couldn’t wait until morning, fearful that if their efforts lost momentum a sense of crushing despondency would return. The door opened. Accustomed to seeing the major in a pristine uniform, it was a shock to see him scruffily dressed, his glasses smudged with finger-prints, his hair wild. Normally formal and restrained, he embraced Leo affectionately, as though reunited with a lost brother. He bowed affectionately before Raisa:

— Come in!

Inside there were boxes on the floor, items being packed. Leo asked:

— You’re moving?

Grachev shook his head:

— No. I’m being moved. Out of the city, far away, I couldn’t even tell you where, really I couldn’t. They did tell me. But I’d never heard of the place. Somewhere north, I think, north and cold and dark, just to make the point even clearer.

His sentences were tumbling one after the other. Leo tried to focus him:

— What point is that?

— That I am no longer a man in favor, no longer the man for the job, any job it seems, other than running a small office in a small town. You remember this punishment, Leo? Raisa? Exile. You both suffered it yourself.

Raisa asked:

— Where is your wife?

— She left me.

Preempting their condolences, Grachev added:

— By mutual agreement. We have a son. He has ambitions. My relocation would ruin his