At exactly the same time he placed his hands over their mouths. He could feel them waking, startled, tense. To stop them from calling out he whispered:
– It’s me. Leo. Don’t make a noise.
The tension in their bodies disappeared. He removed his hands from their mouths. He could hear them sitting up. He felt his mother’s hands on his face. Blind, in this darkness, she was touching him. Her fingers stopped moving when they felt his tears. He heard her voice, barely a whisper:
– Leo…
His father’s hands joined hers. Leo pressed their hands against his face. He’d sworn to look after them and he’d failed. All he could do was mutter:
– I’m sorry.
His father replied:
– You’ve nothing to apologize for. We would’ve lived like this all of our life had it not been for you.
His mother interrupted, her mind catching up with all the questions she wanted to ask:
– We thought you were dead. We were told you’d both been arrested.
– They lied. We’ve been sent to Voualsk. I was demoted, not imprisoned. I’m now working for the militia. I wrote to you many times, asking the letters be forwarded to you but they must have been intercepted and destroyed.
The children in the nearby bed stirred, their bed frame creaking. Everyone fell silent. Leo waited until he could hear the children’s deep, slow breathing.
– Raisa is here.
He guided their hands to her. All four of them held hands. His mother asked.
– The baby?
– No.
Leo added, not wanting to complicate this reunion:
– Miscarriage.
Raisa spoke again, her voice broken with emotion.
– I’m sorry.
– This is not your fault.
Anna added:
– How long are you in Moscow for? Can we meet tomorrow?
– No, we shouldn’t be here at all. If we’re caught we’ll be imprisoned and you will be too. We leave first thing in the morning.
– Shall we come outside so we can talk?
Leo thought about this. There was no way they’d all be able to leave the apartment without waking some of the family.
– We can’t risk waking them. We have to talk here.
No one spoke for a while, four sets of hands clasped together in the darkness. Eventually Leo said:
– I have to get you a better place to live.
– No, Leo. Listen to me. You’ve often behaved as if our love was dependent on the things you could do for us. Even as a child. That is not true. You must concentrate on your lives. We’re old. It doesn’t matter where we live any more. The only thing that has kept us alive is waiting for some news from you. We must accept that this will be the last time we meet. We mustn’t make futile plans. We must say goodbye while we have the chance. Leo, I love you and I’m proud of you. I wish you could’ve had a better government to serve.
Anna’s voice was now quite calm.
– You have each other, you love each other. You will have a good life, I believe that. Things will be different for you and for your children. Russia will be different. I feel very hopeful.
A fantasy, but she enjoyed believing it and Leo said nothing to contradict it.
Stepan took hold of Leo’s hand, placing in it an envelope.
– This is a letter I wrote to you many months ago. I never had the chance to give it to you because you were sent away. I didn’t want to post it. Read this when you’re safely on the train. Promise me not to read it earlier. Promise me.
– What is it?
– Your mother and I considered very carefully the contents of this letter. It contains everything we wanted to say to you but were unable to for one reason or another. It contains all the things we should’ve spoken about a long time ago.
– Father…
– Take it, Leo, for us.
Leo accepted the letter and in the darkness the four of them hugged for the last time.
6 July
Leo approached the train, Raisa beside him. Were there more officers than usual on the platform? Was it possible they were already looking for them? Raisa was walking too fast: he took hold of her hand, briefly, and she slowed. The letter written by his parents had been stashed with the case file attached to his chest. They were almost at their carriage.
They boarded the crowded train. Leo whispered to Raisa.
– Stay here.
She nodded. He entered the cramped toilet, locking the door behind him, dropping the toilet lid to reduce the smell. Taking off his jacket, unbuttoning his shirt, he removed the thin cotton bag he’d stitched to hold the case file. It was soaked with sweat and the ink from the typed documents had made an impression on his skin, writing printed across his chest.
He found the letter, turning it over in his hand. No name on the envelope, it was crumpled, dirty. He wondered how his parents had managed to keep it a secret from the other family, who inevitably would’ve searched through their belongings. One of them must have kept the letter on their person at all the times, morning and night.
The train began to move, leaving Moscow. He’d kept his promise. He was now allowed to read it. He waited until they’d left the station before opening the envelope and unfolding the letter. It was his father’s handwriting. Leo, neither your mother nor I have any regrets. We love you. We always expected there would come a day when we’d talk to you about this matter. To our surprise that day never came. We thought you would raise it when you were ready. But you never did, you’ve always acted as though it never happened. Perhaps it was easier to teach yourself to forget? This is why we said nothing. We thought this was your way of dealing with the past. We were afraid that you’d blanked it out and that bringing it up again would only cause hurt and pain. In short, we were happy together and we didn’t want to ruin that. That was cowardly of us. I say once again, both I and your mother love you very much, and neither of us have any regrets. Leo-
Leo stopped reading, turning his head away. Yes, he remembered what had happened. He knew what the letter would go on to say. And yes, he’d spent his whole life trying to forget. He folded the letter before carefully ripping it into small pieces. He stood up, opening the small window, throwing the fragments out. Caught in the wind, the uneven squares of paper rose up into the air and disappeared out of view.
South-Eastern Roston Oblast Sixteen Kilometres North of Rostov-on-Don
Same Day
Nesterov had spent his last day in the oblast visiting the town of Gukovo. He was now on the elektrichka, travelling back towards Rostov. Though the newspapers made no mention of these crimes, the incidents of murdered children had entered the public domain in the form of whispers and rumour. So far the militia in their closed localities had refused to see each murder as anything other than an isolated occurrence. But people outside of the militia, unburdened by any theory regarding the nature of crime, had begun to thread together these deaths. Unofficial explanations had begun to circulate. Nesterov had heard it stated that there was a wild beast murdering children in the forests around Shakhty. Different places had conjured different beasts, and supernatural explanations of one kind or another were being repeated all across the oblast. He’d heard a fearful mother claim the beast was part man part animal, a child brought up by bears who now hated all normal children, making them its food source. One village had been sure it was a vengeful forest spirit, the inhabitants performing elaborate ceremonies in an attempt to mollify this demon.
