Kate Furnivall - Under a Blood Red Sky

‘Pyotr, I am many things.’ She laughed, to show him she understood. ‘Don’t-’

The other boy jumped to his feet, his knees dusty, his eyes sharp. With a sinking heart she remembered him from the meeting, the youth who looked as if he’d stepped out of a propaganda poster.

‘Has Chairman Fomenko been informed of this?’ he asked.

‘Don’t be silly, Yuri.’ Anastasia waved a dismissive little hand at him. The gesture made Sofia smile, it was so obviously copied from her teacher. ‘The school is run by Comrade Lishnikova, not Chairman Fomenko.’ She turned to Pyotr with a bright expression. ‘Isn’t it, Pyotr?’

The boy shrugged and tossed a stone high into the cedar branches.

‘Don’t take any notice of Pyotr,’ Anastasia sighed apologetically. ‘He’s sulking because his father is leaving Tivil.’

Leaving. Sofia’s heart knocked against her ribs.

‘Leaving?’

Pyotr traced the outline of an aeroplane in the dust. His shaggy hair was falling over his face, hiding any expression from her.

‘Pyotr, is your father leaving Tivil?’ she asked softly.

Reluctantly he nodded. ‘He’s going to Leningrad.’

‘When?’

‘Tomorrow.’

One word. That’s all it took, and the evening sky grew dark.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘This morning, Sofia, with you eating my biscuits, I had no interest in tomorrow. I was enjoying today too much to think about leaving.’

‘You could have told me.’

‘Would it have changed anything?’

‘No. Except…’

‘Except what?’

‘Except make me… more aware of what I had and… of what I was losing.’

The look Mikhail gave her in response made her pulse quicken. It made the long wait alone in the dark worth every minute. The sun had set several hours ago but she had sat patiently on the edge of the stone water trough in the stableyard, listening to the contented sighs and snores of the horses while a bat flitted erratically above her head, snatching mosquitoes out of the air. She was growing used to waiting for him.

By the time she caught the steady tread of a horse’s hooves on the approaching slope, the moon had risen and the stars glimmered like diamond splinters in the great arc of black night that hung over the mountains of Tivil. The air was moist. Her skin was chilled in the breeze, her breathing fast and shallow. When Mikhail walked into the yard leading the big horse Zvezda on a loose rein, both man and animal moved with a tired step, limbs heavy and heads low. It had been a long day. He carried his jacket slung over his shoulder and a leather saddlebag hooked on to the pommel. In the colourless shaft of moonlight they seemed to drift like ghosts, silver and luminous. For one moment Sofia believed they were figments torn from her dreams. Only the metallic ring of the hooves convinced her otherwise.

‘Mikhail.’

His head lifted, eyes astonished. And the smile he gave her roused such a need to touch him that she forced herself to remain seated. If she stood, she might steal the rein from his grasp and slip her own hand in its place.

‘Sofia,’ he said, ‘is something wrong?’ His easy smile slipped into a frown of concern.

‘Yes.’

Instantly he strode forward. His face was divided by shadows, so that she was uncertain of his thoughts. The way he leaned over her made her sway towards him, the tip of her hair brushing his sleeve.

‘What is it?’ he asked urgently.

‘You’re leaving Tivil.’

He drew himself upright again with a light laugh. ‘Oh, is that all? I thought it was something serious.’

She swayed away from him, silenced by his indifference. He stepped aside and started to unbuckle the horse’s girth. The animal blew out its stomach with a snort of pleasure. Mikhail ran a hand over Zvezda’s thick neck, so that it gleamed in the sheen of moonlight.

‘ Spasibo , my friend,’ he said softly and Sofia was jealous of the deep affection in his voice. Without looking round he asked, as though it were unimportant, ‘Did you get my letter?’

‘What letter?’

‘I gave a letter to Zenia to deliver to you. I knew I wouldn’t be back until late tonight because I had to finish writing a report. Didn’t you receive it, the letter?’ He swung round and gazed intently at her face.

‘No. I came here straight from working in the fields.’

‘Oh, Sofia!’

She didn’t know what he meant by that. A bat dipped close to their heads as though listening in on their conversation, before swooping up over the grey outline of the stable roof and disappearing into the darkness. The freedom of its movement suddenly galled Sofia. She felt a spike of anger at Mikhail, who seemed to possess that same freedom, able to travel anywhere, but considered it too inconsequential to mention.

That was when she said, ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

Now he was looking at her as if expecting a response, but a response to what? She had the feeling she was missing something here, something big. Mikhail opened his mouth to speak, but just then the horse stamped its foot impatiently and instead he gathered the reins in his hand.

‘Come on, my midnight wanderer.’

Sofia didn’t know if he was talking to her or the horse, but was content when together they left the yard and walked into the sweet-scented stable where she lit an oil lamp. Mikhail unsaddled Zvezda and started brushing him down with long soothing strokes. Sofia filled the water bucket and hay net. They worked in companionable silence, except for Mikhail’s low murmurs to the horse, and Sofia enjoyed the ordinariness of working alongside him; it gave her a sense of satisfaction she hadn’t expected. When eventually he blew out the lamp, they retraced their steps into the yard. She was taken by surprise when he stopped by the trough where she had been sitting earlier.

‘You must be cold after waiting so long.’

He took up his jacket and draped it over her thin blouse, his hands lingering on her shoulders. She could smell the scent of him wrapped around her body and it released some of the tension from her skin.

‘Tell me what was in the letter, Mikhail.’

‘I’m not sure that you’ll want to hear this.’

‘Try me.’

‘It’s about tomorrow.’

Her stomach tightened. ‘You’re going to Leningrad.’ Her voice sounded flat.

‘Yes, I am.’

‘Weren’t you going to say goodbye? Or is that what the letter was for?’

‘If you haven’t yet read my letter, how did you know I was leaving?’

‘Pyotr told me.’

‘Ah yes, Pyotr. The boy is unhappy at being left behind in Tivil.’

She stared at him aghast. His face lay in deep shadow.

‘You’re abandoning your son?’

There was an odd little pause, a kind of blink in time, then Mikhail placed a hand on her arm and shook it hard. The movement shocked her, as did his rough laugh.

‘So you think me a deserter,’ he said.

She had offended him.

‘Yes.’

‘The boy will survive.’

‘I’m sure he will.’

But will I?

‘The delegations meet for only a few days.’

‘Delegations?’

‘Yes. It’s the summons to report to the Committee of Soviet Production and Distribution. An annual chore that…’ He stopped, removed his hand from her arm and stepped back. One half of his face slid into the moonlight and she could see that his cheek muscle was taut. ‘You thought I was going away for ever,’ he said quietly. ‘Didn’t you?’

She nodded.

‘You thought I was going off permanently to the bright city to enjoy myself without my son and without saying goodbye… to you.’

Sofia ducked her chin to her chest miserably and nodded again. Then the fact that Mikhail was coming back to Tivil in just a few days sank in and got the better of her. She looked up at him with a wide grin.