Moscow Exile by John Lawton

Author:John Lawton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grove Atlantic
Published: 2023-03-24T20:25:33+00:00

Wilderness

§146

Somewhere East of Berlin

December 24, 1968

Wilderness wasn’t sure where he was. In fact he was sure of bugger all. He just knew it hurt a lot.

He’d stick to name, rank and number, except that he’d long ago forgotten his number. But no one was asking.

A nurse came in and swapped the drip thing that hung just out of sight and fed he-knew-not-what into his right arm. No doubt she’d done this a few times before while he was unconscious, as she batted not an unmascaraed eyelash and spoke not a word. He wondered if anyone would speak to him again.

He nodded off.

When he awoke, the light had changed, there was no winter sun scraping vainly at the high, dirty window on the opposite wall, and the overhead light cast everything in an appropriately sickly, jaundice hue.

And there was a woman. A big woman, parking her big arse on a stacker chair and easing herself down with both hands on her walking stick.

General Zolotukhina.

Volga.

He didn’t remember her using a stick.

What had happened?

“They shoot you too, General?”

“Eh, Joe. Eeeeeh, Joe. You are still such a boy.”

“I’m twice as old as when we first met.”

“And still you know nothing of the perils of ageing. How bits fall off all the time.”

“What is it today?”

She shifted one buttock, her uniform squeaking on the plastic seat, more to let fly a fart than illustrate her point.

“Sciatica. Take my word for it. Hurts like fuck.”

“So does being shot. Or don’t they teach you that at KGB College?”

“Couldn’t be helped. I am sorry.”

“I note you don’t say ‘it was an accident.’”

“One of your team shot you. Not one of mine.”

“So—maybe it was an accident. Just not your accident.”

Volga put both hands firmly on the walking stick and eased the chair forward, a dissonant scrape across the bare concrete floor.

“Tell me, Joe—no one is listening, after all—why did you have the Koppenrad brothers there?”

“No one’s listening? Volga, I don’t have the energy to laugh. This is Russia and no one is listening?”

“Actually, this is Poland. You’re in Łodz. You’ve been here more than a week. I had you taken off the train at Łodz. You were bleeding to death. I was told you would not live to see Moscow otherwise. These people, these Polish doctors and nurses, saved your life. They put ten units of blood into you.”

Ten units of blood? Good grief, that was a red lake. Wilderness contained his gratitude.

“Ah—I am to see Moscow. Quaint. Almost Chekhovian.”

“Don’t thank me, Joe, just answer the question. Why did you have the Koppenrad brothers on the bridge at Glienicke?

“Call it an insurance policy.”

“And you paid them?”

“They don’t work for nothing, you know that.”

“And you paid them to do what?”

Wilderness said nothing. He’d no idea who was listening, Poles or Russians, but someone surely was, and he wasn’t about to admit that the Kopps had been hired to shoot Russians—if necessary.

“How much did you pay them? Surely that’s not a secret?”

It wasn’t.

“Four grand.”

“Sterling? Deutschmarks?”

“Dollars.”

“They don’t come cheap, do they? (pause) And they don’t make mistakes.

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