The Knife Sharpener's Bell by Rhea Tregebov

Author:Rhea Tregebov
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Historical
ISBN: 9781550504088
Publisher: Coteau Books
Published: 2009-09-30T04:00:00+00:00

Late in the afternoon the electricity, which has been off all morning, comes back on. Though we’re not supposed to use it for cooking, Raisa has made an illicit borscht of beets, cabbage, onion – no meat of course. Pavel’s late for dinner, so we wait. Raisa gives Vladimir a piece of bread to hold him off. At last we hear slow footsteps on the stairs.

“Pavel, come in. What is it? Is something wrong?” Raisa asks. Pavel sits at the table. Raisa ladles the borscht into bowls, sets one at each place, resting a hand briefly on the nape of Pavel’s neck. She leaves just enough for Ben, who’s out with his unit.

“Pavel. Please tell us.”

“Let’s eat our dinner. We’ll talk later.”

Vladimir is at the soup. Raisa tears him off another piece of bread. Pavel sips, swallows, keeping his eyes on the bowl. Another sip, another swallow. Raisa hasn’t touched hers. I’ve been watching them, but find that I’ve eaten most of the borscht, am chasing the last shreds of cabbage across the bowl with my spoon.

“This is delicious, Raisa.” Pavel sets his spoon down. “But I’ll finish it later. I’m going to lie down for a while.” He walks into the bedroom.

Raisa watches Vladimir finish his soup, carefully pours her own into his bowl. He doesn’t seem to notice, just keeps eating. I should have saved him some of mine . . .

She goes to the bedroom; I follow. Pavel is sitting on the bed, his head in his hands, face wet with tears.

“They took Odessa, the Germans and the Romanians.”

“Are you sure?” Raisa’s voice is sharp. “It isn’t just another rumour?”

“I heard on a street loudspeaker. It’s official. On October 16, the Red Army, the Navy, withdrew. The Romanian army just walked in.”

“The Navy withdrew? They withdrew?”

“Without a fight. Comrade Stalin ordered the withdrawal.” He’s crying still, the tears running down his face.

“It’s not true,” I say. “Comrade Stalin wouldn’t let them go without even putting up a fight.”

“I’m sorry, Annette. Raisa – ”

“What is it?”

“Raisa, Annette can help us.” He looks up at me, his eyes searching mine as though he will find in them something incalculably precious he has lost. He doesn’t seem to notice the handkerchief Raisa is offering him.

“She can help us what, Pavel? Please, try to calm yourself. I’ll get you a small glass of brandy.” She turns quickly, goes to the cupboard.

Pavel looks up. “We have to pack our bags.”

“Our bags?” I ask.

“We have to pack our bags.” But he sits on the bed, only his long tapered fingers moving, fidgeting with the bedspread.

“Why, Pavel?” It doesn’t make any sense – Raisa has always refused even to contemplate being evacuated . . .

“We have to go there. To Odessa. We have to find them.”

“Pavel . . . Uncle Pavel . . .”

“Your mother, your father.” His voice is so low I can barely hear.

Raisa’s back, a small tumbler of brandy in her hand.

“Lev, Manya . . .” The words are dry; he licks his lips.

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