Juliet Butler - The Less You Know the Sounder You Sleep

We moved in yesterday and I still feel dizzy with all the space and luxury. The first thing I did was put all Slava’s letters under the pillow. The door to our room locks, so I know they’re going to be safe now. Olessya’s sitting with us because her room’s only four doors down and Garrick, her boy from the Twentieth, has been transferred here too. The large window leading on to our balcony lets in lots of light and we have flowery, textured wallpaper. I want to keep touching it. That’s stupid though, so I bend down instead to pick some white fluff off our red rug.

‘ Gospodi! You’re gonna break my back if you keep doing that for the next forty years,’ says Masha, but I know she loves having a rug as much as I do. A rug just like Vera Stepanovna’s or Barkov’s. Or Aunty Nadya’s… Masha’s paced out the room, over and over again and it’s five times bigger than the one in the Twentieth. The bed’s at one end and there’s a sofa with cushions the other end. I can’t stop laughing when I look around, neither of us can, it’s more than we could ever have hoped for.

It’s like waking from a lifelong nightmare.

And that’s not all. We have an entrance hall with a big cupboard for our clothes (we’ll have to get some clothes) and we have our own toilet and shower, which is so wide and deep at the bottom we’ll be able to sit in it together and have a bath. If we had a little kitchen it would be like having our own flat. But this is even better, because we get cooked for and have all our friends and cheerful staff around to chat to. And no one bullies us now we’re famous. Fame brings respect.

‘Well, I don’t know,’ says Baba Iskra, shaking her head and sucking in her lips. She’s the cloakroom attendant from downstairs, but she’s come up to help us move in. We don’t really have any stuff to move in actually, so she’s walking around straightening the tables and rearranging cushions. ‘I never knew anything as splendid as this existed in the Sixth and I’ve been here since it opened. A proper VIP apartment. Your own kettle, look, and a fridge as big as me – and that’s saying something.’ She opens the door and peers in before closing it. There’s nothing there yet. ‘And you’ll be able to afford a TV now, to put there, by the bedside table.’

‘And a tape recorder. We’ll get a Modern Talking cassette and play it all the time, over and over, and dance on our rug,’ says Masha. ‘And we’ve got a phone too, see? Our very own phone.’ Masha picks up the receiver and speaks into it: ‘Kremlin Palace? Yes, it’s Mashinka here, could I have a quick word with Comrade Gorbachev?’ We all laugh again, even Olessya. She wasn’t too pleased that we didn’t use that opportunity to talk about the plight of invalids in the country, but she’s happy that we got what we wanted. She says we deserve it. We deserve the peace of mind.

‘I’m surprised it’s not ringing off the hook,’ she says, ‘with all those journalists wanting to interview you now.’

‘They don’t give out our phone number to journalists. Anyway, I’m done with that. All they want is to sell their newspapers with a story about the two-headed girl. Besides, we’ve got our American journalist. One foreign journalist in the hand is worth a thousand of our lot in the bush. We’re snug as a bug in a rug now. We don’t need anyone.’

‘B-British,’ I say. ‘Joolka’s B-British, not American.’ Masha shrugs.

Olessya tips her head on one side thoughtfully and looks at our reflection in the three-winged mirror on our dresser. There’s three of her from all angles. ‘But you could make a real difference now, you know. You have the power to make real changes. People will listen to you.’ I can’t see if she’s looking at me or at Masha; the sun’s shining in our eyes.

‘Don’t start that again, Olessinka,’ says Masha, picking up the kettle and stroking it. ‘We’ve got all the changes we want.’

‘Yes, but what about our rights?’ says Olessya in her calm voice. ‘The right not to be sterilized without our knowledge, the right to live independently, the right to be acknowledged? You two can be a mouthpiece for us. Who’s interested in anyone with palsy or polio? They won’t listen to us. But they’ll listen to you.’ She looks straight at me, but she knows it’s hopeless. Masha’s made up her mind. Masha’s found her place in the sun.

‘And we should be permitted to work,’ puts in Garrick, who’s leaning against the wall, lighting up a papirosa. He doesn’t know Masha very well so he’s not giving up the argument. ‘Just because I’m on crutches doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be allowed to go into an office and ask for work. Or walk into a shop or theatre. Why are we still considered to be such an ugly secret?’

‘ Ei , speak for yourself, and smoke that out on the balcony,’ says Masha, clapping her hands at him. ‘You’ll be even uglier after I tip you off it. We’ve still got rules, you know. Don’t want to be kicked out on our first day because of morons like you with your nasty habits.’ He shrugs and goes over to open the balcony door. A cold blast of air hits us.

I wish Aunty Nadya could see all this. I really wish she could. She came in to visit us in the Stom the day after the interview. Our room was full of doctors and nurses, congratulating us on the show when the door flew open and in burst Aunty Nadya, her face as black as coal.

She marched right up to our bed, ignoring everyone. ‘How could you do this without telling me?’ she’d said in a low voice, standing over us. The room fell quiet. Masha just sniffed and looked out of the window. Masha hadn’t wanted to see her again after she sided with Barkov and ‘abandoned’ us. And then Sanya told us that Aunty Nadya was being paid by Barkov to keep us in the Twentieth, which made it even worse. I didn’t believe it for a minute, but Masha did. And then there she was, standing over us. ‘How? Without asking me? And how could you not say one word about me? Not one word? And I know it’s you, Masha, it’s no use putting your hard face on. I know it’s you, I know Dasha will be suffering. I know you two inside out. I know you better than anyone and you’ve just cut me out of your life as if you’re deadheading a flower, just like you did with your mother. Well?’

Masha turned to face her then. ‘We’re not children, Aunty Nadya,’ she said coldly. ‘We’re all grown up. You wouldn’t help us, so we helped ourselves. We don’t… we don’t need you any more.’ My heart had lurched at those words. I felt physically sick. Oh yes we do! Of course we do. We’ll always need her! She’s been more than a mother to us. She’s been everything to us. But I hadn’t said anything, of course. What’s the point? I’d just looked down at the floor. Everyone in the room was listening as if their lives depended on it. I couldn’t look at either of them.

After a bit Aunty Nadya said, even more quietly: ‘Is that it then?’ Silence. ‘Now that you have all these new, so-called friends of yours? Now that you’re famous for a day?’ More silence. ‘You think you’re just wonderful, don’t you? You think you’re always right. No one else matters to you, do they? Well, I’ll tell you what you are, Masha Krivoshlyapova. You’re selfish and arrogant and spoilt and cruel, just like you’ve always been.’ I bit my lip hard but still didn’t look up. If I looked at her I’d cry, I just willed her to stop. Masha never forgives.

I could see her boots, the ones she always wears, furry and chunky, which make her look like a teddy bear. And the heavy woollen stockings she always wears too. I knew her eyes would be popping and her face all red. Aunty Nadya… don’t let Masha turn you away from me forever.