Page 46 of The Unseen
“He implied I’m fat,” Quinn muttered, ignoring the question.
“And you believed him?”
“No. Should I have?” she demanded, angry with herself for allowing Luke to get to her.
“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer. Come on. There’s a glass of mineral water with your name on it and a pint with mine.”
“Drinking on the job?”
“If you had to keep a bunch of self-important, mind-blowingly competitive, sex-starved historians from tearing each other to bits before lunchtime, you’d be drinking on the job too. And don’t even get me started on the students.”
“Your need is clearly greater than mine. Lead the way.”
TWENTY-FOUR
DECEMBER 1917
London, England
Valentina woke early. The sheets were unpleasantly damp from the moisture that seemed to seep into every crevice and crack of the house. She shivered with cold and tried to burrow deeper beneath the inadequate woolen blanket. Her breath came out in puffy clouds in the chilly air of the dingy room, which was just beginning to emerge from the shadows as the first gray light of dawn crept stealthily through the window. Tanya was still asleep, her slight form pressed against Valentina’s side. Kolya and Elena slept in the other bed, huddled beneath Elena’s fur coat. Valentina would have loved a cup of hot tea, but going out to get water would wake the rest of the family, and she didn’t want to disturb them. Instead, she slid out of bed and pulled on her coat and boots, desperate to get warm.
She kept a tight rein on her emotions during the day for the sake of the others, but at moments like this, when no one was awake to witness her pain, her resolve weakened and she often gave in to despair. The past two months had been surreal. Valentina moved from one task to the next like an automaton, steeling her mind against the pain that threatened to eviscerate her if she gave in to it. She had to remain strong for her mother, brother, and sister.
Elena Kalinina had virtually shut down since arriving in London, leaving all the decision-making to her daughter. She spent her days in a haze of confusion, alternating between sudden hysterics and periods of impenetrable silence, when she remained immobile for hours, staring out the window, her hands folded in her lap. Valentina was the one who purchased provisions, prepared the meals, and tried to comfort her brother and sister, who were bewildered and frightened.
Kolya still woke in the night, screaming for their father and shaking with terror, and Tanya carried on stoically, helping Valentina without a word of protest. They found satisfaction in mastering everyday tasks, since at the moment that was all they could aspire to. Making soup that didn’t taste like slops was a triumph and washing their own garments brought a sense of quiet satisfaction. Neither Valentina nor Tanya had ever had to fend for themselves before. They’d never made a meal, mended a stocking, or laundered a garment. In those first days in London, they’d been paralyzed with uncertainty, unsure how to go about the simplest tasks. Now, after more than a month, they were finally learning how to get from day to day without going hungry or wearing soiled undergarments.
Valentina angrily brushed the tears from her cheeks. She was ashamed of her weakness, but at times, the tears flowed unchecked, no matter how hard she tried not to give in to her misery. Tanya and Kolya became upset when she cried, but Elena hardly noticed, so lost was she in her own impenetrable grief. She’d never been on her own, having gone from the home of her supportive parents to the loving embrace of her husband. The foundation of her life, which had always been solid and secure, had suddenly given way, a chasm opening beneath her feet and swallowing her whole in a matter of minutes. Valentina wasn’t sure if her mother would ever recover from the shock and fear of the past few months.
She tried not to think of the day everything had changed, but sometimes she dreamed of those awful moments, and lost in her nightmare she screamed and screamed when she saw armed men breaking into their home, their faces distorted by hatred and bloodlust. That day, the day that was now known as the October Revolution, had begun quietly enough, but by afternoon, the Kalinins could no longer ignore the shouting in the street or the ominous sounds of gunfire and the roar of engines. The Bolsheviks were on the move, marching through the streets, armed and dangerous, on their way to the Winter Palace. Their numbers had swelled since the February Revolution, more and more workers and soldiers flocking to what was now the leading political party.The people were fed up with a war they didn’t support, crippling poverty that brought them to their knees, and the lies and feeble excuses of a provisional government that tried to appease the upper classes while still ignoring the needs of the common people.
The city churned and heaved, the streets thronged with armed men and pulsing with the camaraderie of the insurgents. Many still brandished axes and scythes, but the majority now had firearms, horses, and even trucks and automobiles. They were no longer an angry mob, but an army of workers and peasants, intent on bringing down the provisional government and seizing power for the people. Valentina heard several names shouted over the din. Lenin. Trotsky. Those names alone seemed to be enough to inspire a manic loyalty among the men, driving them on to victory.
The Kalinins were too afraid to go to sleep that night, so they huddled together in a back room that faced the garden, wide awake and terrified. The noise seemed to die down toward the small hours and they managed a few hours of fitful sleep, but once the sun was up, it all began anew. And as with any armed rebellion, there was bloodshed and looting. The thugs came in the late afternoon on the second day; there were six of them. They broke down the door and surged into the foyer, looking around with a mixture of wonder and resentment. The men were armed with rifles and knives and dressed in homespun trousers, cotton-stuffed vatniki coats and hand-me-down army greatcoats. They overturned furniture, slashed several portraits, and ransacked the kitchen, searching for food. The servants hid in their rooms, correctly assuming that no one would bother burglarizing the bare, cold rooms of the lower classes. It was valuables and provisions they were after.
Things might have turned out differently had Ivan Kalinin simply allowed the men to take what they wanted and leave. They hadn’t searched the back rooms, nor had they been interested in the members of the household, but fearful for his family and outraged by the insolence of the rebels, Ivan came charging out of the back room, intent on confronting the intruders.
“Stop this minute!” he bellowed. “What do you think you’re doing? Does your esteemed Lenin approve of such barbarism? Does he encourage his men to loot and destroy other people’s property?”
“Get out of our way, old man,” a blond youth with a rifle replied. “Go hide like the rat that you are. Your kind is finished. It all belongs to us now. It’s for the good of the people, and we are the people,” he added, winking at his companions.
“You’d best leave while you can, high and mighty sir,” an older man said to Ivan, poking him in the chest with meaty finger. “The new government will not tolerate freeloaders like you, who do nothing to earn their daily bread. They’ll send you down the mines, or to muck out after the horses. You’ll soon learn what it means to work for a living, you imperialist bastard.”
“Get out of my house, you worthless miscreants!” Ivan roared. “You’ll all be shot once this is over, or better yet, hanged like the criminals you are. You can’t disguise petty thievery with talk of your shining ideals. Let go of that!” Ivan cried when he saw one of the men emerging from the master bedroom upstairs with Elena’s lacquered jewelry box. He took the steps two at a time to get to the man. “Thief!” Ivan bellowed as he tried to wrestle the box from the man’s grasp.
“Vanya, please, let them take it,” Elena cried from the ground floor. “Please, come back here.”
“I’ll do no such thing. I will not allow this filthy vermin to intimidate me. I was in the military, and I can still put up a fight.”
“You want to fight?” a swarthy middle-aged man asked, baring his rotten teeth. He brandished a lethal-looking knife in his right hand. “Come. Come at me, you pathetic maggot. I’ll show you what it’s like to fight a real man and not a trained baboon, used to obeying orders. I give the orders now.”
Ivan charged the man, who held up Ivan’s father’s gold pocket watch in his left hand and let it swing like a pendulum. “Come and get it, your worship,” he sang, mocking Ivan.
Valentina clapped her hand over her mouth as she watched the scene unfold. She recognized the man. He’d delivered coal to them for the past two winters. He’d always been dressed in layers, bundled into a threadbare coat to battle the cold wind blowing off the Neva, his hands reddened and chapped beneath his moth-eaten mittens. He knew exactly who they were, and she could see the hatred in his narrowed eyes.
“Papa, please, forget the watch,” Valentina cried. “It’s not worth it.”
“That watch belonged to your grandfather Count Vasiliy Kalinin, and this dirty, flea-ridden peasant will not have it,” Ivan cried, incensed.
