The Lieutenant’s Lover. Harry Bingham
You won’t get much sense from him, though. Not with a crack on the head like he got.’
The men were unhelpful, pressing close. With their oily, leering faces and black beards and moustaches, the men didn’t just seem like another half of the same species, but like a different species altogether: dirtier, noisier, brutish, dangerous. Unconsciously, Tonya held her coat closed at the front and broke away from the men, heading for the welding bay. Behind her, the fool Tupolev began ordering his men back to work, so she was spared the delight of a fifteen-man escort.
Down in the welding bay, a single man worked with a blowtorch. Showers of flame and sparks were struck into being. The metal glowed red-hot, even white-hot. Nothing of the man himself was visible. He wore a protective suit and had a dark visor to protect his face. Except that he was tall, Tonya could guess almost nothing of his looks. He didn’t see her approach. He didn’t stop work. He was mending a thick metal tube which must have been heavy, but the man handled it with a rare combination of strength and deftness, turning it with his left hand as he welded with his right. Finally the job was done. He cut his torch and the flame died. He pulled his visor up and off. He stepped back and saw Tonya.
She was the first to react.
‘Comrade Malevich!’
‘Gracious! Good Lord! Lensky!’
Tonya saw a bright red weal across Misha’s forehead and the start of what looked like an almighty swelling. She was disconcerted by seeing Misha, of all people. She didn’t know what she felt.
‘It’s you… I had no idea… I came because of my father.’
‘Your father?’
‘My father, Kiryl, the drunken oaf whose life you saved this afternoon.’
‘That was your father, was it? Good Lord.’
As a nurse, Tonya was well accustomed to seeing head trauma, shock, and concussion. She could see at once that Misha had a well developed case of all three. He shouldn’t be working at all, still less handling dangerous equipment. He rubbed his head again, as though trying to clear his mind.
‘You hurt your head. None of the imbeciles over there could tell me what happened.’
Misha shrugged. ‘Your father got himself caught underneath a railway carriage. We had to winch it up and I slid in to get him out. The winch isn’t up to much though, and the whole thing came crashing down again. I only got out because Tupolev got hold of my leg and whipped me out. Somewhere along the way, I banged my head. It’s fine though. Sore, but fine.’
Tonya felt a surge of emotion, a mixture of tenderness, anger, impatience, compassion. She felt angry with her father for being a drunk. She felt suddenly, briefly, angry with all of Soviet Russia for being a place where winches broke, where drunk men tumbled from railway coaches, where injured men were sent back to work, unthanked.
‘You’re not fine,’ she snapped. ‘Come on. I’ll take you home.’
‘No, really, it’s—’
‘Don’t argue. I’m a nurse.’
Brusquely, almost rudely, she pushed Misha away from his work and out towards the exit. He let himself be pushed. When Tupolev called out to him to stop and explain his early departure, Misha just said, ‘Oh don’t be such a damned idiot!’ and carried on walking. Outside, under the violet night and the first scatter of stars, Tonya felt Misha stiffening and pulling away.
‘What’s the matter? You need to get home and rest. I’ll tell Tupolev, if you like. An official instruction from the hospital.’
‘Oh, I don’t care two kopecks for Tupolev … but I’ll go home by myself, thanks. I don’t need you to walk me.’
‘You’ve got a nasty case of concussion. You shouldn’t be alone.’,
Misha, tall, pale, suddenly angry, turned on her.
‘Alone? No, I expect not. But then again, I’m not sure if I want to be walked home by you. Our last expedition didn’t turn out so well, did it?’
‘Our last expedition? The logs? I think I was rude when you left. I’m sorry. I didn’t know… I didn’t mean…’
Misha brought his face close to Tonya’s. She felt his force, his anger.
‘Comrade Lensky, you can be as rude to me as you like. But I had thought we had gone to buy logs together. I didn’t know you were on a little mission from the secret police.’
‘The police? I don’t know… I didn’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Tonya felt her voice vibrating with emotion. She didn’t really understand why. Only it was desperately important to her that this unusual man did not think badly of her.
‘The police. You don’t understand, eh?’
‘No, really not. Really!’
In a few brief and savage words, Misha explained. His arrival home. His instant arrest. His interrogator’s perfect knowledge of their little shopping trip.
Tonya’s face was wet with tears. ‘No. I know nothing of that. I told no one. I wouldn’t. It was you who bought me those logs. That figurine! I’d never seen anything so beautiful. I wanted it almost more than the firewood. They must have followed you. Maybe my cousin. Maybe Rodyon. Not me. I wouldn’t.’
‘Really? Really not?’ For several seconds, Misha searched Tonya’s face for the truth of what she said. Illuminated and simplified by the moonlight, Tonya’s face was a pale oval, surrounded by a halo of dark hair. Her lips and eyes were imploring. They had a softness about them which they seldom or never seemed to have by daylight. A strand of hair had fallen across her face and had stayed there, wet from her tears. At long last, Misha nodded. He put his hand to her face and moved the strand of hair away from it. ‘All right then. I believe you. I take back what I said. Sorry.’
‘Sorry.’
Tonya breathed the word as if it held no meaning. Misha’s apology didn’t seem to change things. Her face was still turned up to his. She was still crying, not even she knew why. Then quietly, gently, she raised herself on tiptoe and put her face to his. She kissed him, the first real kiss of either her life or his. The kiss was mouth to mouth, but still quite chaste. It was as though she wanted to break a barrier, but still allow herself room to retreat if she had got the situation wrong. But she hadn’t. When she pulled away, slightly frightened at what she had just done, he pulled her back and kissed her again. After a few minutes, they stopped kissing, but stayed arm in arm, suddenly and astonishingly close.
‘If this is concussion,’ said Misha, ‘then I like it.’
She butted his shoulder with her head in mock-rebuke.
‘Do you always thank people like this?’ he continued. ‘I should think it makes a good impression mostly, but some people must be a bit surprised.’
She shoved against him as if to scold him, but he had his arm so tightly wrapped around her body that the two of them moved together, one creature under the moonlight.
‘I wanted to kiss you when we sledged down that hill together and rammed the big snowdrift at the bottom. I wanted to kiss you and kiss you and never stop,’ he said.
‘Me too.’
‘Well, why didn’t you?’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘Because I thought you didn’t want me to. You weren’t very friendly, you know.’
‘I know.’
‘Well then… What about you? Why didn’t you let yourself kiss me?’
She tossed her head coquettishly, secure now that she was in his arms. ‘A girl doesn’t have to explain,’