Tom Smith - Secret speech

She was right: containment wasn’t possible. On the defensive, Raisa countered:

– What if Zoya left school with immediate effect? I’d speak to Leo; he could speak to his colleagues. We’d find another school for her. Needless to say I would also leave.

There was no way Zoya could continue her education here. Students would avoid her. Many wouldn’t sit next to her. Teachers would resist having her in their classes. She’d be an outcast as surely as if a cross were daubed on her back.

– I propose that you, Karl Enukidze, make no statement about our leaving. We would simply disappear: no explanation given.

The other students and teachers would presume the matter had been taken care of. The sudden absence would be translated as the culprits being punished. No one would want to talk about it because the consequences had been so severe. The topic would close down, the subject would disappear-a ship sinking at sea while another ship passed by, all the passengers looking in the opposite direction.

Karl weighed up the proposal. Finally he asked:

– You’d take care of all the arrangements?

– Yes.

– Including discussing the issue with the relevant authorities? The Ministry of Education, you have connections?

– Leo does, I’m sure.

– I don’t need to speak to Zoya? I don’t need to have any dealings with her at all?

Raisa shook her head:

– I’ll take my daughter and walk out. You carry on as normal, as though I’d never existed. Tomorrow neither Zoya nor myself will attend classes.

Karl looked at Iulia, his eager eyes recommending the plan. It now depended on her. Raisa turned to her friend:

– Iulia?

They’d known each other for three years. They’d helped each other on many occasions. They were friends. Iulia nodded, saying:

– That would be for the best.

They would never speak to each other again.

Outside the office, in the corridor, Zoya was waiting, leaning against the wall-nonchalant, as though she’d merely failed to hand in homework. Her hand was bandaged: the cut had bled profusely. With the negotiations concluded, Raisa shut the office door, exhaustion sweeping over her. Much would now depend upon Leo. Walking to Zoya, she crouched down:

– We’re going home.

– Not my home.

No gratitude, just disdain. Close to tears, Raisa couldn’t manage any words.

Leaving the school building, Raisa stopped at the gates. Had they been betrayed so quickly? Two uniformed officers walked toward her:

– Raisa Demidova?

The eldest of the officers continued:

– We’ve been sent by your husband to escort you home.

They weren’t here about Zoya. Relieved, she asked:

– What’s happened?

– Your husband wants to be sure you’re safe. We can’t go into the details except to say there have been a series of incidents. Our presence is a precaution.

Raisa checked their identity cards. They were in order. She asked:

– You work with my husband?

– We’re part of his homicide department.

Since the department was a secret, even that admission went some way to satisfying Raisa’s suspicions. She handed back the cards, pointing out:

– We need to pick up Elena.

As they walked toward the car, Zoya tugged her hand. Raisa lowered her head. Zoya’s voice was a whisper:

– I don’t trust them.

Alonein his office, Karl stared out the window.

Times have changed.

Maybe that was true, he wanted to believe and put the entire affair out of his mind, as they’d agreed. He’d always liked Raisa. She was intelligent and beautiful and he wished her well. He picked up the telephone, wondering how best to phrase the denunciation of her daughter.

In the back of the car Zoya glared at the militia officers, following their every movement as if imprisoned with two venomous snakes. Though the officer in the passenger seat had made a cursory attempt at being friendly, turning around and smiling at the girls, his smile had smashed up against a brick wall. Zoya hated these men, hated their uniforms and insignia, their leather belts and steel-capped black boots, making no distinction between the KGB and the militia.

Glancing out the window, Raisa approximated where they were in the city. Evening had set in. Streetlights flickered on. Unaccustomed to being driven home, she slowly pieced together her location. This was not the way to their apartment. Leaning forward, trying to smooth out the urgency in her voice, she asked:

– Where are we going?

The officer in the front passenger seat turned around, his face expressionless, his back creaking against the leather upholstery:

– We’re taking you home.

– This isn’t the way.

Zoya sprang forward:

– Let us out!

The guard scrunched up his face:

– What?

Zoya didn’t ask twice. With the car still in motion she unlocked the latch, throwing the door wide open into the middle of the road. Bright headlights flashed through the window as an oncoming truck swerved to avoid a collision.

Raisa grabbed hold of Zoya, clutching her waist, pulling her back inside just as the truck clipped the door, smashing it shut. The impact crumpled steel and shattered the window, showering the interior with glass. The officers were shouting. Elena was screaming. The car thumped into the curb, running up onto the pavement, before skidding to a stop by the side of the road.

A stunned silence elapsed, the two officers turned round, pale and breathless:

– What is wrong with her?

The driver added, tapping his temples:

– She’s not right in the head.

Raisa ignored them, examining Zoya. Unharmed, her eyes were blazing. There was a wildness about her: the primeval energies of a feral child brought up by wolves and captured by man, refusing to be tamed or civilized.

The driver got out, examining the damaged door, scratching and shaking his head:

– We’re taking you home. What’s the problem?

– This isn’t the way.

The officer pulled out a slip of paper, handing it to Raisa through the gap where the window once was. It was Leo’s writing. She stared blankly at the address before recognizing that it was the address of Leo’s parents’ apartment. Her anger evaporated:

– This is where Leo’s parents live.

– I didn’t know whose apartment it was. I just follow orders.

Zoya wriggled free, climbing over her sister and out of the car. Raisa called after her:

– Zoya, it’s okay!

Unappeased, Zoya didn’t return. The driver moved toward her. Seeing him about to grab her, Raisa called out:

– Don’t touch her! Leave her! We’ll walk the rest of the way.

The driver shook his head:

– We’re supposed to stay with you until Leo turns up.

– Then follow behind.

Still seated on the backseat, Elena was crying. Raisa put an arm around her:

– Zoya’s okay. She’s not hurt.

Elena seemed to absorb those words, checking on her older sister. Seeing that she was unhurt, her tears stopped. Raisa wiped the remaining few away:

– We’re going to walk. It’s not far. Can you manage that?

Elena nodded:

– I don’t like being driven home.

Raisa smiled:

– Nor do I.

Raisa helped her out of the car. The driver threw up his hands, exasperated at the exodus of passengers.

Leo’s parents lived in a low-rise modern block to the north of the city, home to numerous elderly parents of State officials, a retirement home for the privileged. In the winter, residents would play cards in each other’s living rooms. In the summer they’d play cards outside, on the grass strip. They’d shop together, cook together, a community with only one rule-they never spoke about their children’s work.