Ken Follett - Fall of Giants

“Try to stay calm.”

She slapped Grigori’s face. She was only a girl, and he hardly flinched. “Swine!” she screeched. “You’ve sent him away!”

“I did it to save his life.”

“Bastard! Dog! I hate you! I hate your stupid face!”

“Nothing you say could make me feel any worse,” Grigori said, but she was not listening. Ignoring her curses, he walked away, her voice fading as he went out through the door.

The screaming stopped, and he heard footsteps running along the street after him. “Stop!” she cried. “Stop, please, Grigori, don’t turn your back on me, I’m so sorry.”

He turned.

“Grigori, you have to look after me now that Lev’s gone.”

He shook his head. “You don’t need me. The men of this city will form a queue to look after you.”

“No, they won’t,” she said. “There’s something you don’t know.”

Grigori thought: What now?

She said: “Lev didn’t want me to tell you.”

“Go on.”

“I’m expecting a baby,” she said, and she began to weep.

Grigori stood still, taking it in. Lev’s baby, of course. And Lev knew. Yet he had gone to America. “A baby,” Grigori said.

She nodded, crying.

His brother’s child. His nephew or niece. His family.

He put his arms around her and drew her to him. She was shaking with sobs. She buried her face in his jacket. He stroked her hair. “All right,” he said. “Don’t worry. You’ll be okay. So will your baby.” He sighed. “I will take care of you both.”

Traveling on the Angel Gabriel was grim, even for a boy from the slums of St. Petersburg. There was only one class, steerage, and the passengers were treated as so much more cargo. The ship was dirty and unsanitary, especially when there were huge waves and people were seasick. It was impossible to complain because none of the crew spoke Russian. Lev was not sure what nationality they were, but he failed to get through to them with either his smattering of English or his even fewer words of German. Someone said they were Dutch. Lev had never heard of Dutch people.

Nevertheless the mood among the passengers was high optimism. Lev felt he had burst the walls of the tsar’s prison and escaped, and now he was free. He was on his way to America, where there were no noblemen. When the sea was calm, passengers sat on the deck and told the stories they had heard about America: the hot water coming out of taps, the good-quality leather boots worn even by workers, and most of all the freedom to practise any religion, join any political group, state your opinion in public, and not be afraid of the police.

On the evening of the tenth day Lev was playing cards. He was dealer, but he was losing. Everyone was losing except Spirya, an innocent-looking boy of Lev’s age who was also traveling alone. “Spirya wins every night,” said another player, Yakov. The truth was that Spirya won when Lev was dealing.

They were steaming slowly through a fog. The sea was calm, and there was no sound but the low bass of the engines. Lev had not been able to find out when they would arrive. People gave different answers. The most knowledgeable said it depended on the weather. The crew were inscrutable as always.

As night fell, Lev threw in his hand. “I’m cleaned out,” he said. In fact he had plenty more money inside his shirt, but he could see that the others were running low, all except Spirya. “That’s it,” he said. “When we get to America, I’m just going to have to catch the eye of a rich old woman and live like a pet dog in her marble palace.”

The others laughed. “But why would anyone want you for a pet?” said Yakov.

“Old ladies get cold at night,” he said. “She would need my heating appliance.”

The game ended in good humor, and the players drifted away.

Spirya went aft and leaned on the rail, watching the wake disappear into the fog. Lev joined him. “My half comes to seven rubles even,” Lev said.

Spirya took paper currency from his pocket and gave it to Lev, shielding the transaction with his body so that no one else could see money changing hands.

Lev pocketed the notes and filled his pipe.

Spirya said: “Tell me something, Grigori.” Lev was using his brother’s papers, so he had to tell people his name was Grigori. “What would you do if I refused to give you your share?”

This kind of talk was dangerous. Lev slowly put his tobacco away and put the unlit pipe back into his jacket pocket. Then he grabbed Spirya by the lapels and pushed him up against the rail so that he was bent backward and leaning out to sea. Spirya was taller than Lev but not as tough, by a long way. “I would break your stupid neck,” Lev said. “Then I would take back all the money you’ve made with me.” He pushed Spirya farther over. “Then I would throw you in the damn sea.”

Spirya was terrified. “All right!” he said. “Let me go!”

Lev released his grip.

“Jesus!” Spirya gasped. “I only asked a question.”

Lev lit his pipe. “And I gave you the answer,” he said. “Don’t forget it.”

Spirya walked away.

When the fog lifted they were in sight of land. It was night, but Lev could see the lights of a city. Where were they? Some said Canada, some said Ireland, but no one knew.

The lights came nearer, and the ship slowed. They were going to make landfall. Lev heard someone say they had arrived in America already! Ten days seemed quick. But what did he know? He stood at the rail with his brother’s cardboard suitcase. His heart beat faster.

The suitcase reminded him that Grigori should have been the one arriving in America now. Lev had not forgotten his vow to Grigori, to send him the price of a ticket. That was one promise he ought to keep. Grigori had probably saved his life-again. I’m lucky, Lev thought, to have such a brother.

He was making money on the ship, but not fast enough. Seven rubles went nowhere. He needed a big score. But America was the land of opportunity. He would make his fortune there.

Lev had been intrigued to find a bullet hole in the suitcase, and a slug embedded in a box containing a chess set. He had sold the chess set to one of the Jews for five kopeks. He wondered how Grigori had come to be shot at that day.

He was missing Katerina. He loved to walk around with a girl like that on his arm, knowing that every man envied him. But there would be plenty of girls here in America.

He wondered if Grigori knew about Katerina’s baby yet. Lev suffered a pang of regret: would he ever see his son or daughter? He told himself not to worry about leaving Katerina to raise the child alone. She would find someone else to look after her. She was a survivor.

It was after midnight when at last the ship docked. The quay was dimly lit and there was no one in sight. The passengers disembarked with their bags and boxes and trunks. An officer from the Angel Gabriel directed them into a shed where there were a few benches. “You must wait here until the immigration people come for you in the morning,” he said, demonstrating that he did, after all, speak a little Russian.

It was a bit of an anticlimax for people who had saved up for years to come here. The women sat on the benches and the children went to sleep while the men smoked and waited for morning. After a while they heard the ship’s engines, and Lev went outside and saw it moving slowly away from its mooring. Perhaps the crates of furs had to be unloaded elsewhere.

He tried to recall what Grigori had told him, in casual conversation, about the first steps in the new country. Immigrants had to pass a medical inspection-a tense moment, for unfit people were sent back, their money wasted and their hopes dashed. Sometimes the immigration officers changed people’s names, to make them easier for Americans to pronounce. Outside the docks, a representative of the Vyalov family would be waiting to take them by train to Buffalo. There they would get jobs in hotels and factories owned by Josef Vyalov. Lev wondered how far Buffalo was from New York. Would it take an hour to get there, or a week? He wished he had listened more carefully to Grigori.