Tom Smith - The Secret Speech

— At the orphanage I was called Feliks. But the orphanage gave me that name. They renamed everyone, names they could remember. I don’t know my real name.

Malysh counted on his fingers:

— I’m fourteen years old. Or I might be thirteen. I don’t know when I was born. So, am I your son, or not?

Raisa asked:

— What do you remember of your orphanage?

— There was a tree in the courtyard. We used to play in it. The orphanage was near Leningrad, not in the town, in the country. Was that the place, with the tree in the courtyard? Was that where you took your son?

Raisa replied:

— Yes.

Raisa stepped closer to Malysh:

— What did the orphanage tell you about your parents?

— That they were dead. You’ve always been dead to me.

Zoya added by way of conclusion:

— There’s nothing more to talk about.

Zoya guided Malysh into the far corner, sitting him down. Raisa and Leo remained standing near the window. Leo didn’t press for information, allowing Raisa to take her time. Finally, she whispered, turning her face away from Malysh’s view:

— Leo, I gave up my child. It is the greatest shame in my life. I never wanted to speak about it again, although I think about it almost every day.

Leo paused:

— Is Malysh…?

Raisa lowered her voice even further:

— Fraera was right. There was a typhus epidemic. Many children had died. But when I went back my son was still there. He was dying. He didn’t recognize me. He didn’t know who I was. But I stayed with him until he died. I buried him. Leo, Malysh is not my son.

Raisa crossed her arms, lost in her thoughts. Working through the events, she speculated:

— Fraera must have gone back, looking for my son in 1953 or 1954, after she was released. The records would have been shambolic. There was no way she could have found the truth about my son. She wouldn’t have known I was there when he died. She found someone close in age to him: maybe she planned to use him against me. Maybe she didn’t because she did love Malysh. Maybe she didn’t because she couldn’t be sure I’d believe her lie.

— It might be nothing more than a desperate attempt to hurt us?

— And him.

Leo considered:

— Why not tell Malysh the truth? Fraera is playing with him too.

— What will the truth sound like? He might not take it as a matter of fact. He might feel that I’m rejecting him, devising reasons why he couldn’t be my son. Leo, if he wants me to love him, if he’s looking for a mother…

WITH HER CHARACTERISTIC KNACK for manipulation, Fraera brought a single, oversized plate of hot stew. There was no option but to sit around, cross-legged, eating together. Zoya refused, at first, to join in, remaining apart. However, the food was turning cold, and heat being its sole redeeming quality, reluctantly she joined in, eating with them side by side, metal forks clattering as they spiked chunks of vegetable and meat. Malysh asked:

— Zoya told me that you’re a teacher.

Raisa nodded:

— Yes.

— I can’t read or write. I’d like to, though.

— I’ll help you learn, if you want.

Zoya shook her head, ignoring Raisa and addressing Malysh:

— I can teach you. You don’t need her.

The plate of food was nearly finished. Soon they’d split off and return to their separate corners of the room. Exploiting the moment, Leo said to Zoya:

— Elena wants you to come home.

Zoya stopped eating. She said nothing. Leo continued:

— I don’t want to upset you. Elena loves you. She wants you to come home.

Leo added no more details, softening the truth.

Zoya stood up, dropping her fork, walking away. She remained standing, facing the wall, before lying down on the bedding, in the corner, her back to the room. Malysh followed, sitting beside her, resting his arm on her back.

LEO AWOKE, SHIVERING. It was early in the morning. He and Raisa were huddled on one side of the room, Malysh and Zoya on the other side. Yesterday Fraera had been absent: food had been brought by a Hungarian freedom fighter. Leo had noticed a change. A solemnity had fallen across the apartment. There were no more drunk cheers and no more celebrations.

Standing up, he approached the small window. He rubbed a patch of condensation from the glass. Outside, snow was falling. What should have sealed the impression of a city at peace, clean white and tranquil, only compounded Leo’s sense of unease. He could see no children playing, no snowball fights. The year’s first snowfall, in a liberated city, but there was no excitement and no delight. There was no one on the streets at all.

SOMEWHERE IN THE SKY above the apartment a faint whining noise climaxed in a high-pitched boom. A jet plane had flown overhead. Leo sat bolt upright. The room was dark. He stood, walking to the window. Raisa woke immediately, asking:

— What is it?

Before Leo could answer, explosions sounded out across the city, several in rapid sequence, in many locations. In an instant Raisa, Malysh, and Zoya were up, by his side, peering out the window. Addressing them, Leo said:

— They’re back.

There was panic in the adjacent rooms, footsteps on the roof, insurgents caught off guard, scrambling into position. Leo could see a tank on the street. Its turret pointed this way and that, before aiming directly at the rooftop snipers.

— Move away!

Shooing the others to the far side of the room, there was a split second of stillness, then an explosion. They were knocked off their feet, the roof collapsed, and the back wall fell away, beams tumbling down. Only a small portion of the room remained, closed by the sloping wreckage. Leo covered his face with the bottom of his shirt, struggling to breathe, checking on the others.

Raisa grabbed the remains of a smashed timber beam, battering at the door. Leo joined her, trying to break out. Malysh called out:

— This way!

There was a gap ripped through the base of the wall into the adjoining room. Flat on their stomachs, with the danger of the roof collapsing completely, they crawled through, tunneling out of the debris, reaching the corridor. There were no guards, no vory . The apartment was empty. Opening the door to the courtyard balcony, they saw occupants fleeing their homes, many huddled, unable to decide whether to brave the streets or whether they were safer staying where they were.

Malysh bolted back inside. Leo shouted:

— Malysh!

He returned, holding a belt of ammunition, grenades, and a gun. Raisa tried to disarm him, shaking her head:

— They’ll kill you.

— They’ll kill us anyway.

— I don’t want you to take them.

— If we’re going to get out of the city, we need them.

Raisa looked to Leo. He said:

— Give me the gun.

Malysh reluctantly handed it to him. A nearby explosion ended the debate:

— We don’t have much time.

Leo looked up at the dark sky. Hearing the drone of jet engines, he hurried them toward the stairs. There was no sign of any vory : he reasoned they must be fighting or they’d fled. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, moving through the terrified crowd, toward the passageway:

— Maxim!

Leo turned, looking up. Fraera was standing on the roof, machine gun in her arms. Trapped in the middle of the courtyard, they had no chance of reaching the passageway before she gunned them down. He called out: