Andrea Bennett - Galina Petrovna's Three-Legged Dog Story

Zoya was utterly still for a moment. ‘Why not?’

‘From what I could make out, Zoya, he said,’ Galia paused, not quite believing she was saying the words, ‘he said, you told him that Pasha was a spy.’ Her friend’s head vibrated slightly on her neck with a slight cracking noise.

‘I didn’t!’ Zoya’s answer was immediate and firm.

‘A spy!’

‘No, Galia, that’s nonsense!’ Zoya began to laugh, and then the laugh became a cackle, and her tiny bony fingers made little crackling indents on the can of beer in her hand. Her eyes disappeared within a nest of wrinkles beneath her brows and she guffawed so hard that the rows of grey heads in front began to turn towards them with curiosity and some annoyance.

‘It’s not funny, Zoya. That’s what Grigory Mikhailovich said.’

‘Oh, Galia, can’t you spot an old fool when you see one? He can hardly remember what day it is, let alone anything else.’ Zoya continued giggling, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘And he is also a Scorpio, Galia: supposed to be wise, but mark my words, they are generally bullshitters of the first order, my dear.’

‘So now you’re saying he’s lying?’

‘Not lying, Galia, that is an awful word. But quite possibly… very confused.’

‘Demented?’

‘Well, maybe. Oh look – some houses, with little piggies running in the yard!’ Zoya leant further towards the window and away from Galia, tapping her gnarled finger on the Perspex.

‘This is serious, Zoya! Be quiet about piggies!’

‘Don’t take that tone with me, Galia. It doesn’t become you. And I like piggies.’ Zoya took another gulp from her can of beer.

‘Two days ago, Zinaida Artyomovna, your cousin was going to be our saviour, then he neglected to come to the ministry to meet us.’

‘Now, that’s not strictly, true, he—’

‘And now, now he’s a demented old liar. That’s a startling turnaround, isn’t it? What is he, Zoya?’

Zoya harrumphed a little and continued looking out of the window, her beady eyes constant on the middle distance. Eventually, she spoke.

‘Had there been mention of Lenin, when he said that Pasha was a spy.’

‘What do you mean, mention of Lenin? We were booking tickets at an airport, in the 1990s, not sorting cabbages on the collective farm in 1930.’

‘Yes, I know, but sometimes mention of Lenin sets him off, on a bit of a flight of fancy. I have seen it before. Was there talk of Lenin?’ An odd sincerity in Zoya’s eyes made Galia pause, and think back over the conversation in the ticket hall.

‘Ah, well, yes. Oh… yes. The woman behind the desk: she was a bit disparaging about Lenin, actually. I didn’t really pay it any attention, and neither did Grigory Mikhailovich, I thought—’

‘Oh, Galia, it doesn’t need to be much. But it can have a terrible effect.’

‘But he was so clear, Zoya. He said you must have referred Pasha to him… because he was a spy. He said he did medical experiments on him! Pasha was no spy, Zoya. He was weak, yes; difficult, in fact quarrelsome sometimes. Annoying a lot of the time, mildly dishonest, not very clean, lazy in the garden… but he wasn’t political.’

‘Yes, Galia, I know. Do you really think I’d report your husband as a spy and then never mention it, for forty years? I am not a bad person, Galia.’ Zoya gave her friend an unwavering look. It pierced Galia’s defences, and had her looking down at her own hands and fumbling in her pocket for a boiled sweet.

‘Well, Zoya, that’s as maybe, but you didn’t mention arranging the trip to Kislovodsk. You didn’t mention that for forty years.’ Galia found the last of her reserve of barley sugars and sucked on it for all she was worth.

‘That’s different. I told him Pasha needed a holiday.’

‘Really? Is that all?’

The aeroplane buzzed high above the fields and trees, the factories and farms, following the River Don southward. Zoya looked away through the window.

‘Yes. I may have expressed some doubts as to the qualities of Pasha’s character, at some point. But that was all. It was just in conversation, nothing more. I made no… report. My cousin was looking for people to try out new facilities at the sanatorium at Kislovodsk, and I told him Pasha needed a holiday and said some words to the effect that he was a difficult sod, I believe.’

‘Grigory Mikhailovich told me that Pasha was part of an experiment, Zoya. He was there as a guinea pig. Did you know that?’

‘You’re not hearing what I am saying, Galia,’ replied Zoya with a squeak, blinking rapidly. ‘Grigory Mikhailovich is deluded. There were no medical experiments. Galia, my dear, I knew you were struggling with Pasha at home.’ Zoya stopped for breath, wheezed slightly and thumped herself on the chest twice. ‘Remember, Galia: there was no love lost between you two then. I thought a few weeks up in the clear mountain air, with the natural spring waters and plain food, might do him some good. And I thought the break would do you good too.’

‘But why, Zoya? And why not tell me?’ Galia lifted an eyebrow.

‘Oh Galia, he didn’t deserve you! Ever!’ Zoya grabbed Galia’s hands and looked into her eyes.

‘He was my husband!’

‘Yes and he was weak and mean and paltry and… you know that wasn’t all.’ Zoya ended her sentence with a small sigh, and dropped her friend’s hands. She reached for her smelling salts and inhaled deeply, shuddering slightly.

‘What do you mean?’ Galia may have regularly thought these things about her husband, but she was not entirely prepared to hear them from somebody else, and especially not her friend.

‘Wait… I can’t breathe.’ Zoya’s eyes rolled back in her head and her tongue protruded slightly.

‘Stop that at once,’ said Galia firmly. ‘You’re play acting. Breathe, and speak.’

‘Oh… you’re so harsh! Just wait,’ Zoya finished off her beer with a gulp and hiccuped slightly back in to the can. The fleshy man in the row opposite tutted loudly and quickly put his head back in his copy of Pravda when Galia caught his eye. ‘He was… an odd fish… Oh, you know. You must know!’

‘Know what?’ Galia was flummoxed.

‘Don’t be dumb. You know what I mean.’ Zoya folded her arms and looked out of the window again, her cheeks now restored to pale lilac by her smelling salts and the beer.

‘I don’t know what you mean. What must I know?’

‘Oh, Galia… come on! That… he was one of them.’ Zoya hunched over in a conspiratorial manner and hissed the words quickly.

‘One of them ?’

‘Yes.’

‘A spy? But I told you just now—’

‘No! Not one of them, one of them !’

‘One of who?’ Galia was confused.

‘Keep your voice down! You know… one of them !’ Zoya looked about her in a way that unnerved Galia, but gave her no further clue as to what she was talking about.

‘No, I don’t know! Would you please explain yourself?’

Zoya rolled her eyes and began to look about for the stewardess for more beer.

‘Spit it out, Zoya.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ the bird’s-nest head leant towards Galia. ‘A gay!’

Galia’s jaw dropped. It seemed to her that time had stood still on the vibrating jet as she gazed into her friend’s face, which had now turned an odd shade of ox blood.

‘Have you gone mad?’ Each word was very carefully enunciated by Galia’s lips.

‘You must have known.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘Well, I just said it.’

‘You’re not serious.’

‘You mean you didn’t know?’

‘How dare you!’ Galia had the awful feeling she might slap her friend.