Natalie Tereshchenko - The Other Side Read online

  The tram system in Moscow was a wonderfully complex, almost anarchic, spider's web of tracks that radiated from the city centre. By the time we rode it in 1918 it was almost all electrically powered, though there were still a few four- or six-horse trams run by eccentric old private operators. We arrived at the South Terminus, and switched to another line heading over the river and northwards. It was a double-decker, open at the top, giving a wonderful view as we crossed the Moskva on one of the beautiful stone bridges. The gantry above our heads hummed and fizzed on the power rail and the wheels clattered as the track intersected with others, sometimes causing a lurch as the vehicle changed direction. We looked down over the side ~ at the roofs of motor cars, the tossing heads of horses, and the hats of pedestrians enjoying a stroll in the sunshine ~ then up and beyond to the river, stretching silvery into the distance to our left and right. The wind blew in our faces, lifting my spirits. It was a lovely day to be out.

  Sacha told me when to alight, and we hopped off outside the new Saratovsky Railway Station, which received trains from the east and south.

  Ignoring the passenger entrances, we skirted to a road at the side of the buildings to find the goods yard. Once through the gate, we scanned the jungle of tracks, looking for animal cages or painted wagons, but saw nothing that looked circus-like.

  Some men were working beside a trainload of coal, and I nervously asked them if they knew anything about a circus train due to arrive; they shook their heads. One of them pointed out the yard manager's office, a shack behind the passenger building, on one of the platforms opposite. I thanked him, and we picked our way over iron rails and sleepers, and around long chains of stationery freight trucks, to the brick-built annex tacked onto the back of the main structure.

  Inside, a secretary sat at a typewriter. She looked up in surprise when we entered. "Passengers are not allowed in the goods yard," she said sourly at once, glowering at us.

  "We are not passengers," I explained. "We are here for information about a goods train that is expected today, carrying the circus."

  "Circus?" she laughed. "There's no circus due here today, or any other day according to my schedule." She pointed to a chart on the wall, as though that made everything clear.

  I was shocked, and found myself suddenly fighting back tears; I did not know what to do next. Sacha spoke for me. "What about Kursky station?" she suggested to the woman. "All the trains used to go there before Saratovsky was opened, would you know if ...?"

  Already the woman was shaking her head. "You would have to ask them," she said, dismissively.

  Sacha, bless her, was tenacious on my behalf. She pointed to the woman's telephone. "Will you call them, please, and ask?"

  With a sigh and pursed lips, the woman picked up the handset. She spoke to the operator, then waited, moving papers around on her desk. When she was connected to the other station, she said, curtly: "I have two women here asking about a circus train; are you expecting one?" After a pause, she nodded. "I thought so."

  Hanging the little earpiece back on its cradle she turned back to us. "Nothing is expected there, either," she said, bluntly, ending the conversation by returning to her typewriter, hammering the keys loudly to indicate her displeasure at being disturbed, and to prevent any further conversation. It was clear that there was nothing to be gained by staying, so Sacha thanked her, with only a hint of sarcasm, though her gesture was ignored, and led me out onto the platform again.

  We found a door to the passenger ticket area, and made our way through the crowds to the front, where we paused in the bright sunlight to collect our thoughts. My mind was in turmoil, I could not speak ~ it was as though the circus had never existed.

  Back on the main street, we found a small café and sat for a while with a pot of tea to plan the next move.

  I felt bereft, with no plan and no-one who could help. "Can we go to that place your mother mentioned?" I asked Sacha. "Perhaps they came early, or by road."

  "Sokolniki Park? Certainly," she nodded, smiling reassuringly. "It's a pleasant ride from the city centre. Don't give up hope; I'm sure there is an explanation."

  We finished our tea and caught a tram back towards the city centre, then hopped onto another heading for the western suburbs.

  My heart began to pound with excitement when we reached the park for, as we alighted from the tram, I could see the tops of colourful awnings among the trees, and crowds of people were filling the footpaths. I felt a smile filling my face, and I turned and hugged Sacha, who was also looking happy and relieved. I wanted to push past the families and couples who were moving too slowly for my liking, and run excitedly to the centre of the park, but managed to walk at a steady pace, craning my head to look past the crowd. I could hear music and smell hot food.

  At last we reached the focus of all the activity, and I finally broke into a run as we entered the perimeter, leaving Sacha behind. But the smile fell from my lips and I stopped dead as I saw what we had found. It was a market, with stalls selling produce and crafts, and a small fair, with rides for the children. Tears suddenly erupted from my eyes and poured down my cheeks as I looked around in despair. There was no circus; my last hope had been dashed.

  Chapter 5

  ~ Aleksandra ~

  Sacha led me away from the pushing crowd to a quiet spot by a lake, and we stopped at one of the benches arranged along the side of the path. She put her arms around me and I sobbed into her shoulder.

  We stood like that, and Sacha held me close, until my tears had ebbed and my breathing settled to something resembling normal, then she gently lowered me onto the bench and sat beside me.

  As I regained control of my body, I felt my despair turning into anger. "I trusted too many people," I said, vehemently. "Someone has lied to me, and I need to get some answers."

  Sacha looked puzzled. "Who? How?"

  "I don't know for sure, yet, but I have my suspicions." I hesitated, then plunged on. "Your mother knows more than she is telling, Sacha. Did you notice how she responded this morning when I was asking about the circus?"

  "She's not herself, Nata. Her world fell apart when daddy was killed. Half the time I think she is slowly shutting down, waiting to join him."

  "I know, but I'm convinced that some of it is an act. She and Sofiya have been hiding something from me, I am sure."

  "Your mother?" Now she was really surprised. "Why do you say that?"

  "When she came to see me in the convent last week, with all her grand plans to make me Tsarina, do you remember that I insisted that she had to get Max and me to England?"

  "Yes, and I noticed that she seemed thrown by it."

  I nodded, grimly. "Exactly. She knew that he would not arrive here. When she agreed, she was just humouring me to persuade me to agree to go along with her idea."

  Sacha became thoughtful. "I will get the truth out of my mother," she said, suddenly, surprising me with the force of her reaction and jumping to her feet. "In fact, I am going home to tackle her right now!"

  "Thank you," I responded, "but be gentle with her; she has suffered a lot. Perhaps Sofiya put pressure on her."

  "Yes, but if you are right, then she has been deceiving me, too. What do you want to do next?"

  "There is only one thing left that I can do, right now," I said, "and that is to return to the convent and wait for Max. If he comes, that is where he will be expecting to find me."

  * * *

  Once again we made our way back to the city centre and the busy terminus, where Sacha helped me to catch the right tram. "I will come to pick you up from the convent in my motor car at dusk," she promised, hugging me before I climbed onto the platform. I found an empty wooden seat and waved to her as, with a whining of electric motors and the now-familiar smell of hot grease from the wheels and sparks occasionally erupting as it collected its power from the cable stretched above my head, the tram set off.

  It was not a long journey, ten minutes or so, and when the convent came into view, I nodded to the co
nductress, who rang the bell to stop the bus. I had seen some people hopping on and off while the vehicle was still moving, but I did not feel brave enough to try that.

  When it came to a halt, I stepped down onto the pavement and looked across the square to where the two bell-towers, with their golden domes, rose above the church that formed the front of the convent. This was where I had sought sanctuary when I arrived in Moscow, where the nuns had made me welcome, and where my mother had suddenly re-entered my life, trying to persuade me to become the next Tsarina.

  Two days ago, I had peered down from the top of that left-hand tower, my mind in turmoil, and watched as the soldiers took up their positions around this square. I was sure they had come for me, and, tired of running, I had surrendered to fate.

  It was a strange feeling, now, standing where those men had been when I emerged from the dark, heavy doors. But, as the tram droned and clattered away, I saw that the church was the scene of some activity. The doors were open, and a cart was drawn up at the foot of the steps. People were carrying things up and into the building.

  Curious, I crossed the road and approached. An assortment of chairs and tables remained piled on the cart, along with rolls of carpet and boxes of various sizes filled with everything from books to kitchen utensils. As I stood, uncertain what to do next, a woman emerged from the church doors and wearily descended the steps. She looked at me, blankly, and I smiled nervously.

  "May I ask what is happening?" I said, then felt the need to explain: "I was a nun here until recently."

  She returned my smile with her own, tired, version. "We are making a women's refuge," she replied, gesturing with a hand. "The sleeping quarters will be turned into a dormitory for homeless families, and the church is to become a soup kitchen."

  Somehow, it struck me as a worthy use for the building. "Would you like some help?" I offered.

  She studied my skinny frame, which admittedly was not ideally constructed for hard work, but she did not comment on it. "I cannot pay you, but I would certainly be pleased to have another pair of hands," she said.

  Her pretty oval face was etched with tiredness, her eyes had dark circles, and her wild hair was lank with sweat. She seemed to be ready to drop with exhaustion, and my heart went out to her. "I'll be glad to help in any way I can," I said sincerely.

  At that moment a man came down the steps, grabbed some furniture and, with a glare at my companion and I, carried them inside. She ignored him and began to explain to me what was to be done with the things on the cart. Then another woman emerged from the building and descended to stand beside us, her head lowered in weariness. The first woman turned and took her arm. "This is my friend and assistant, Anna Itkina," she said by way of introduction. The woman raised her head and nodded.

  "Hello Anna," I smiled. "I'm sister ... I'm Ephraimia. Call me Mia."

  She returned my smile, and we shook hands.

  "And I'm Aleksandra Kollontai," the first woman said. "Now, let's get on; we have much to do."

  * * *

  I grabbed a box of crockery and followed the other two into the church, adding my box to a stack that was growing against the wall just inside the inner doors.

  The last time I had been there, I had looked around the nave at a colourful picture gallery of the saints, ranged beside and above each other on all sides like a permanent congregation of silent worshippers. Now the walls were bare, the grey stone dotted with lighter patches where the icons had been. The brightly painted screen at the far end was also gone, revealing the altar and leaving a large, clear room. The echoes remained, however, the clicks and scrapes as we moved and spoke, reverberating from the hard walls and far ceiling.

  We laboured until the cart was empty and the sullen driver had taken it away, then we began laying out the tables and chairs. The rugs and books for the classroom we carried through the side doors into the ringing room and stacked them there temporarily. The bell ropes still hung mutely from the ceiling and the stone steps spiralled upwards ~ the steps on which I had sat and decided to die. What a strange turn of events it was that had brought me back.

  At lunchtime, Anna heated some soup and we paused briefly to eat it with small pieces of bread, gazing around the room, discussing what to do next. The wide, carved, stone altar stood like a mute accusation of blasphemy, stripped now of its embroidered velvet drape and its gold candlesticks and chalices. I was told that the sacred sanctuary, where the the priests would conduct their secret rites (obscured from the view of the unworthy worshippers by the ornately painted screen) was to become a kitchen, and the altar would serve as the counter over which food would be dispensed to the needy of Moscow. I liked that ~ hot meals for the homeless and hungry seemed to me to be a more worthwhile use for it.

  Another cart arrived and was unloaded. By late afternoon, we had created a reasonable eating hall in the nave, with seating for up to a hundred people at a time. We had also started to set up a classroom in what had previously been the nuns' chapel.

  I noticed that Aleksandra began looking frequently at her watch, and eventually she announced that she and Anna had to leave, to attend a meeting. I volunteered to continue helping the next day, and she accepted gratefully, offering to pick me up in her motor car on her way in the morning. I gave her Sacha's address.

  We parted at the steps, and I watched the two women walk off across the square and out of sight, then I sat on the steps to wait for Sacha. I realised that my head was throbbing; funny that I had not noticed it until then.

  Oh Max my darling, where are you?

  Tonight we should have been together, but the world is conspiring to keep us apart.

  I will wait here for you, where we arranged to meet, every day until you return to me.

  Chapter 6

  ~ All Lies ~

  Sacha was subdued as she drove me back to her apartment in the fading light, the car's headlamps casting a smudge of yellow light on the road before us. She asked about my visit to the convent, and appeared to be listening as I told her about the changes happening there and the people I had worked with, but I could see that she was only half-concentrating. I guessed that the confrontation with her mother had been a difficult experience, and longed to know the outcome, but I could not ask about it. She would tell me at her chosen time.

  Evgeniya was not to be seen when we entered the apartment, and the door to her bedroom was closed. Sacha made us a pot of tea and a salad for dinner. There was no meat ~ most foods were still in short supply, and all our meals were simple. She took a plate through to her mother's room, then returned to join me at the table. We ate in tense silence.

  At last, as we stood to clear the table, Sacha paused, the crockery in her hands, and turned to face me. I felt a moment of dreadful foresight. "There is no easy way to tell you this," she said, softly. "I'm sorry Nata, the circus seems to have vanished."

  It was not what I had been expecting. I felt as though the world had suddenly detached itself from me, and I was observing myself, standing alone in an echoing gallery. I stared at her, struggling to come to terms with the meaning of her words. If the circus was not coming, then where was Max? And why was it not coming? My day had begun in excited expectation of his return, and now I found my head swimming at the disappointing news. An answer was clearly expected, but my mind could not make one. Sacha's voice reverberated in the void that suddenly filled my head; my legs became weak and tears began to flow from my eyes. I sat down again heavily.

  Seeing my face fall, she put the plates back on the table and grabbed my hands. "It does exist, though," she continued quickly. "Mother says it's called the Revskovsky Circus. It forms up each year in the south at the beginning of summer, travelling northwards on barges, by canal and river to the Urals. Then it turns west, using its own train, along the Trans-Russia Railway calling at the main towns on the way to Moscow. From there, it works its way south again, and disperses in the autumn."

  "Why didn't it come to Moscow?" I managed to ask.

 
; "That's a mystery at the moment. It's not been seen since Kotelnich, the first stop after Nizhny, six days ago. And another odd thing is that the train it uses has been abandoned in a siding; they must have struck out by road, but no-one knows why, nor which direction they took."

  "Strange behaviour," I commented.

  She nodded, pensively, hesitating. I sensed another bombshell.

  "That's not all," she said, hoarsely, looking at her feet.

  Could it get worse? "Max?" I managed to ask.

  She shook her head. "No. Oh, no. Something else," she whispered, "something ... unexpected."

  I waited, puzzled.

  With a deep breath, she raised her face until her eyes locked with mine. "Sofiya," she began, then hesitated.

  "My mother?" I asked.

  She nodded her head once, then changed the motion to a slow shaking, her lips tightening. "She's not your mother," she said.

  "The woman who came with you to the convent is not my mother?" I repeated, slowly.

  "That's right; I got it out of my mother this afternoon. She let something slip, while explaining about the circus, and I realised that there was more than she was telling me. I demanded to know what was going on, but she wouldn't say at first. I was so angry that I threatened to leave her here alone if she didn't tell me everything. She held out for a while, convinced I was bluffing, but when I started to pack a suitcase she admitted everything.

  "It seems that I was pathetically easy to fool. I had never met your mother before, so when my mother told me that the woman who came here was her, of course I believed her. But the truth is that no-one knows where the real Sofiya is. That woman and my mother concocted this story between them to get you to agree to stand as Tsarina. I don't even know what her real name is ~ Mother wouldn't tell me, I think she's too scared ~ but it's not Sofiya Tereshchenko."

  I should have been angry at the deception, but instead I felt a strange surge of relief. Three days earlier, when I met her for the first time, I could not understand why there was no bond between us; why, if anything, I had felt a barrier. This explained it. I smiled at my friend, and grabbed her in a hug.