The Troika Dolls - Miranda Darling [59]
Many people had become poorer since the Iron Curtain was swept aside and the window of freedom revealed. They resented this, as anyone would. They no longer even had the glorious Soviet Motherland—an empire that stretched from Europe to China, a space programme, one half of the world under its belt—the über myth that had compensated for certain deficiencies in the Soviet system. The myths had turned to ash. The past had been taken from the people; their future was uncertain, the present uncomfortable. Little wonder that racism, distrust, paranoia and rage seemed to be taking hold of Russia.
Masha drained her tea and smiled mischievously. ‘Our history is unpredictable. This is a book of witnesses. I want to remind people of the past, and of who they were, and of the things that happened, to stop them.’
The three of them became aware of a flute being played in Galina’s room; she was accompanying on the piano. Her student must have been a young child, just beginning to learn: the notes were uncertain and imperfect.
‘It’s a Sisyphean task Masha has taken on.’ Vadim was leaning against the wall, half smiling. ‘To restore humanity soul by soul, tale by tale.’
‘But the struggle is part of the victory,’ Masha replied. ‘It will probably take me the rest of my life.’ She grinned, as if this idea pleased rather than daunted her.
Then she grew serious. ‘I told Vadim the other day about another of my subjects, a man named Gregori Petrovitch Maraschenko. He came to me on four occasions and I recorded his story. He was caught in the Moscow theatre siege, when the Chechens took the audience hostage.’ She took a sip of her tea. ‘On the second time, he was early and waiting for me in Galina’s music room. He was reading the lesson timetable. I thought he was just bored, passing time. But then he asked me about Anya Kozkov. I didn’t know her, I told him so. But after that, he always came when she had a lesson.’ Masha shot an apologetic glance at Vadim.
‘Perhaps it was coincidence, but perhaps not, in light of the questions he used to ask: where did she go to school, who were her friends. I told him I knew nothing about her and he stopped asking. But he always seemed to be listening if she was playing in the next room, trying to hear her conversations with Galina. You can half-hear most things.’ Masha gestured towards the thin wall. ‘I thought maybe he had some fascination. On the last day Anya and Galina were arguing . . . She wanted to be a fashion model.’
Their voices would have been raised, Stevie thought, and Petra’s name would have come up. She could see how easily the argument might have been overheard in this tiny room, with its paper walls.
‘I should have warned Anya.’ Masha’s eyes were still on Vadim. ‘In fact, after this last time, I decided I would speak to Galina so that she could warn Anya. It would be better coming from her.’
‘But there was never a next time?’ Stevie asked, guessing the answer.
‘No. Gregori never came back. I tried to ring him but the number was no longer in use. I thought it strange. He seemed to enjoy our sessions. But I didn’t think too much of it until Vadim came and he told me about his sister being missing. I wondered if the two disappearances were connected.’
Stevie frowned. ‘It sounds possible. How did you find Gregori?’
‘I put a small ad in the paper, for people with interesting stories they wanted to tell, in exchange for sweet tea and biscuits, for a book about Russia. I was quite overwhelmed with replies. I didn’t expect that.’ Masha shrugged. ‘But perhaps the longing to tell one’s story remains one of the most basic in humans.’
Stevie nodded. ‘And then you whittled it down, I presume, to the most interesting among them.’
‘Yes, it was a difficult process and I wanted to choose very different stories. But I chose Gregori because of the Nord-–Ost theatre siege.’
The flute in the next room stopped. Galina’s voice, only faintly muffled,