Byzantium Endures: The First Volume of the Colonel Pyat Quartet Read online

  When Wanda came in, she found me recovered from the worst of my rage but still weeping, still dressed in what was left of my finery. ‘What happened, Maxim? An accident?’

  I looked up at her warm, fat body, her plain, concerned face. I decided that Wanda was the girl I needed. Wanda would never make herself available to more than one man. She would be grateful that she had a man at all.

  ‘Only in love,’ I replied heavily. ‘A girl turned out to be unfaithful.’

  ‘That’s terrible. Dear Maxim!’ Feminine sympathy seeped from her pores like sweat. ‘Who on earth could do such a thing to you? What a bitch she must be.’

  I remember a pang or two at this description, but when I considered the situation I decided Katya had been more cynical than I had guessed. I made some attempt to defend her, remembering Shura’s words. ‘She’s just weak … ‘

  ‘Don’t you believe it, Maxim dear. Not a word. Weakness is a wall women hide behind. And it’s a wall, I assure you, as strong as steel. You’ve been deceived.’

  ‘By a Jewish harlot,’ I said.

  This seemed to make her hesitate. I think she was a little upset that I had been sleeping with a Jewess. ‘Never again,’ I said. ‘She didn’t give you anything … ?’ I shook my head.

  Wanda sat on the bed and began to stroke my dusty hair. She helped me off with my overcoat and my jacket.

  In time, as these things go, she helped me offwith the rest of my clothes. Then she undressed and climbed into the narrow bed beside me. Her soft, yielding flesh, her massive breasts, her great, warm private parts, her bottom, like two comfortable cushions, her strong, engulfing legs and arms, her wide, hot mouth, all brought immediate relief to my anguish. I began to congratulate myself that I had not only recovered from my pain but that I would always have another woman waiting. So different was Wanda from Katya that it was almost like making love to a different species. Slender, boyish girls like Katya and huge, peasant girls like Wanda, each has her virtues. To know a hundred women is to know a hundred different forms of pleasure. I was lucky to understand this while still so young.

  Rising from the damp and overheated bedding, Wanda said she had duties in the house. She kissed me. She asked me if I felt better. She told me she had been a virgin. She had always loved me. Now I would not need to go out for my consolations. With an awkward wink and a blown kiss, she left me. I slept for an hour or two and woke to find the room in cold, pale twilight. I thought, now that my temper had cooled, of going to visit Katya. The prospect of having two lovers, as she had had, pleased me. But I realised it would be hard to accomplish. Wanda was in a position to watch and watch jealously—my every move.

  I felt vengeful towards Shura. I had confided in him. I had told him I loved Katya. He had given me cocaine, white clothes, ivory, to distract me from his dark plots. He had pretended to be my friend and mentor in the ghetto and had exposed me to its worst aspects. All the while he had laughed up his sleeve. I could not beat him in a fight. He was too strong. I could not go to the police and say he was a criminal. I had been involved in some of those crimes, as had friends of mine in the Moldovanka. Not that I regarded them any more as friends. Probably they had all known about Shura’s making a fool of me and been amused. I had been treated as a naif. A village idiot. There must be half-a-dozen good stories about Max the Hetman all over Odessa. I had lost face. I wondered how I could in turn humiliate Shura. Nothing came to mind. He was too certain of himself. Anything I did he could turn to his advantage. There was only one person to whom he owed something, whom he respected (aside from Misha the lap) and that was Uncle Semya. I grinned to myself. It would be nothing less than dutiful to go to Uncle Semya and ‘warn’ him of Shura’s involvement in crime. My uncle would be horrified. He would send for Shura. He would punish him. It was an ideal revenge because it showed me in a good light and Shura in a bad one.

  I turned my attention to Katya. I might be able to involve her in the revenge by mentioning her to Uncle Semya as the hussy who had led my cousin into evil ways. But Uncle Semya was not shocked by such things. He was tolerant of young men who sowed their wild oats. What would he think if I told him Shura was Katya’s pimp? It would not make Uncle Semya take reprisals on Katya. Somehow I would have to work out my own revenge on Katya.

  I am not very proud of those thoughts. But I was a hurt youngster believing himself utterly betrayed by his friends and by a race. I behaved in a bigoted fashion. I have not a bigoted bone in my body. My dislike of Jews, my anger at being identified with them, was because we Ukrainians were inundated by Jews. The Revolution was directly inspired by Jews. To be a Slav in Odessa was to be in a minority. As a member of a minority, I am anxious to disassociate myself from those of Oriental origin who control our press, our publishing, our radio and television stations, our industry, our engineering plants, our financial world. How many Ukrainians occupy such positions in England?

  Katya could quite easily be reported to the police. But that would mean her arrest and deportation (since she and her mother were from Warsaw), possibly her imprisonment. Even in my most vengeful moments I balked at my little Camille of the ghetto going to prison. Also I wanted a more personal revenge.

  I remembered the clown from Magasin Wagner which now lay smashed on her floor. I would send her another Christmas present. From an unknown admirer. I knew she hated spiders: spiders horrified her more than anything. I would collect together a huge box of them and I would send it to her, wrapped in wonderful paper. She would open it on Christmas Eve and her screams would bring the whole Moldovanka down about her ears.

  In the meantime I was distracted from my vengeance. Lovely, simpering Wanda brought me tea and cake, stroked my body and made herself familiar with my private parts as if she saw them as being quite independent of me, as if she played with a tame mouse, or a snake, which she would kiss, fondle and laugh at. She had something Katya had never possessed: while Wanda made love to me I could continue to exist in my private mind, keep myself to myself. It is a great advantage of such girls. I have always valued it.

  Another advantage to Wanda, of course, was that she had slept with nobody else. She was clean. I did not have to take precautions with her. This was a relief. That night I did little but scheme against Shura and Katya. Uncle Semya had to go out to dinner, so I was not in a position to betray either Shura or myself. After our meal, Aunt Genia played some popular Jewish melodies on her gramophone. Wanda and I made an excuse and retired early. I was in a far better position with her than I had been with Katya. With Wanda, the relationship between Katya and myself was reversed. I became the teacher, instructing my wonderful, passive pupil in every delicious debauchery.

  My enjoyment of Wanda nonetheless left me with a passionate determination for revenge. I began to collect the spiders for Katya’s Christmas present. Soon I had about a dozen in an old tea-box. But I wanted more. So that they should not fight and devour one another I found various insects and fed the spiders every evening. Wanda did not know what I kept in the box. I refused to tell her. In the meantime I purchased gifts to present at Christmas Eve dinner. My uncle did not celebrate the Season elaborately. Like my mother he had little use for formal church services. The day before Christmas Eve I asked to see Uncle Semya in his study. He was rather distracted. The War, of course, was making his business difficult. The partial blockade had delayed certain important shipments. I determined to get my revenge on Shura as quickly as possible. Uncle Semya stood behind his desk, his back to the window. He wore a heavy black frockcoat and a black cravat.

  ‘I have distressing news, Semyon Josefovitch,’ I began. ‘It is my duty to tell you what it is. You, of course, must take whatever action you think fit.’

  This amused him. His mood of distraction appeared to lift. He asked me to sit down in one of the hard, cane-bottomed chairs he favoured. He leaned back in his own leather-padded chair and lit a Burma cheroot. The room began to fill with heavy, oily smoke.

  ‘I hope you are not in trouble, Ma
xim.’

  ‘I hope so, too, uncle. My mother would be horrified if she learned what had happened.’

  ‘Happened?’ He became more alert.

  ‘Or almost happened, I suppose. I believe Shura to be involved with crooks.’

  He was surprised. He put his cheroot into his brass Persian ashtray. He scratched his head. He produced a thin, puzzled smile. ‘What makes you think so?’

  ‘He is mixed up in the rackets. He could be working with Misha the Jap.’

  ‘Misha the what?’

  ‘The Jap. A notorious bandit in the Slobodka district.’

  ‘I believe I’ve heard of him.’

  This was no surprise. Misha’s exploits were the raw material of all the popular papers in Odessa. He had even been mentioned in the Nick Carter and Sherlock Holmes dime-novel pulps we had in those days.

  ‘He is a kidnapper,’ I said, ‘a hold-up man. He forces local people to pay him protection money. If they don’t, he shoots them or burns their shops. He deals in drugs. In prostitution. Illegal alcohol. He owns cabarets, taverns. He bribes police-inspectors, city officials, everyone.’

  Uncle Semya became amused again. ‘Such a Jew should join the Black Hundreds.’

  ‘And he recruits young lads,’ I continued. ‘Of all races. Ukrainians, Katsups, as they call Russians, Greeks, Armenians, Georgians, Muslims, anyone. He has a web like a— ‘ I felt uncomfortable ‘—like a spider.’

  ‘Heaven preserve us! Are you sure this bandit doesn’t just exist in your Pinkerton magazines?’

  I told him I spoke the truth. ‘And,’ I added, ‘he has Shura in his grip.’

  ‘I cannot believe it.’

  ‘Shura tried to recruit me, too. He used me as an interpreter. I went aboard an English ship. He bought drugs.’

  Uncle Semya turned his head away. He looked through the window. There was a yard with an entrance into the alley running between the houses. He watched a small child balancing on the wall. The child fell off and disappeared. He turned to look at me again. ‘I think you’re mistaken, Maxim. Shura works for me.’

  ‘Of course he carries messages between the ships and merchants and keeps a look-out for good cargo when it’s unloaded. But for the rest of the time he works with crooks, prostitutes. There’s a place called Esau’s. A Jewish tavern. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?’

  ‘I don’t often visit taverns in Slobodka.’

  ‘It’s a terrible place. Shura has slipped into bad company. He tried to involve me, too. I refused and now he’s angry with me.’

  ‘You had an argument?’

  ‘I objected morally to his life.’

  ‘He’s a young bohemian. You, too, have been living such a life.’

  ‘There’s a difference, Semyon Josefovitch, between bohemianism and criminality.’

  ‘And young people do not always recognise it.’ He waved a tolerant hand.

  I was disappointed. ‘I think Shura should be sent away from Odessa.’

  ‘To where? To Siberia?’ He sounded the word slowly and sardonically.

  ‘Possibly to sea. It would do him good. The education.’

  ‘Did he ask you to tell me this?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Shura would hate to be removed from Odessa, from Katya. With Shura gone I should have both Wanda and Katya. Even when Katya opened the box of spiders she would not know it was from me. I could resume where we had left off. The notion of sending Shura to sea had been an inspiration.

  ‘Shura isn’t much of a sailor. Also, we are at war … ‘ Uncle Semyon relit his cigar.

  ‘Think what he would learn.’

  ‘Have you told him you were coming to me?’

  ‘No, Semyon Josefovitch.’

  ‘It might have been more manly to have done so?’

  ‘He needs an adult to tell him.’

  ‘And you’ve mentioned this to no other adults?’

  ‘Only yourself.’

  ‘I will speak to Alexander. But you must keep this a secret, Maxim.’

  ‘Because of the family scandal?’

  ‘Quite so.’

  He sighed. Perhaps he was grateful that at least one of the younger members of the family was honest. ‘Off you go, Maxim. If you see Shura ask him to come here.’

  ‘I will, Semyon Josefovitch.’

  Not an hour later, as I went downstairs to find wrapping paper for Katya’s present, I saw Shura arrive and go through the door connecting Uncle Semya’s business with the house. I had only seen these premises once: dark-painted wood and little glass windows, and oak, mahogany and brass desks, with clerks sitting at them who might have been there since the days of Pushkin. I wondered why Shura should go into the offices rather than into Uncle Semya’s study.

  I waited on the landing, watching the door, but Shura did not emerge again. I assumed he had left through another exit.

  Feeling mightily pleased with myself, I went to ask Aunt Genia for the fancy paper. She handed me a sheet, together with some scissors and ribbon. I was not, she said, to disturb Uncle Semya if I saw him. He was in an unusually difficult mood.

  ‘Was it to do with Shura?’

  She shrugged. ‘Perhaps. He doesn’t seem too pleased with you, either. Have you been up to anything?’ ‘Nothing, Aunt Genia.’

  I returned to my room. I was just a little puzzled. I wrapped the parcel. I called Wanda in and asked her if any boys in the street could be paid to take a parcel to Slobodka. She said that she would see. I had marked the parcel with Katya’s initials, and her Polish surname, which was something like Grabbitz.

  ‘Who are you sending a present to?’ Wanda asked. ‘It looks a very nice one.’

  I kissed her. ‘It is nobody I love. A friend of mine. Someone to whom I owe a favour.’

  With a few kopeks, she took the box downstairs and eventually returned to say one of the street-urchins from the square had agreed to deliver it. Now, if Katya asked who had given the boy the box, Wanda and not myself would be identified as the sender.

  Wanda and I made love very briefly. I was not really in the mood. I was still wondering what had happened to Shura. The way my luck now ran, he could be on the next ship out of the Quarantine Harbour.

  I had asked Wanda to leave me alone for half-an-hour and was reaching for the drawer where I kept my cocaine when the door opened softly and closed. I expected Wanda. To my horror, it was Shura. He was grinning at me in a very menacing way. He had abandoned his tie and shirt and was wearing a laced peasant blouse with a loud, heavy scarf tied around his throat; over this was thrown a fur coat whose surface had worn away in patches. In his hand was a three-eared cap. He looked almost pathetic.

  ‘You little stool-pigeon,’ he said. ‘You stupid, silly little Kiev gilt-goyim. You wouldn’t have it out face to face. What a crook I am! That’s a laugh. Uncle Semya’s the biggest crook of all.’

  I was familiar with these revolutionary arguments. ‘Capitalism isn’t a crime.’

  ‘Isn’t it? Well, your plan misfired. I’m not to be sent to the galleys. I’m merely to be more cautious about what I let green little sneaks see.’

  ‘Did Uncle Semya say that?’

  ‘Not exactly. But it’s the substance.’

  ‘I can’t believe it.’

  ‘You don’t have to. I thought we were friends, Max.’

  Shura spoke as if I had betrayed him! I now remember him with nothing but kindness and have long since forgiven him, but at that moment the fact that Shura considered himself a victim was almost laughable. I smiled. ‘Shura, it was you who broke the friendship.’

  ‘You idiot. I was sleeping with Katya before you even turned up. I asked her to be nice to you. I slipped her money. Why did you think it went so easily for you?’

  ‘She loved me.’

  ‘I suppose she did. As much as she could. She’s been my girl-friend for years. Ask anyone.’

  ‘You’re lying. It’s despicable.’

  He went bright red. His face was a match for his cropped hair. ‘
You don’t have to take my word. Katya will tell you.’

  The door opened slowly. Wanda came in. ‘What is it, Shura?’

  Shura told her to leave. I nodded in agreement. ‘This is between us.’

  ‘Don’t start fighting, or I’ll call Aunt Genia.’

  ‘I wouldn’t touch him,’ said Shura. This relieved me.

  ‘At least you’ve made it clear how you feel,’ I said. ‘What about me? My rival’s a Jew-loving lout who can hardly speak his own name. A crook.’

  ‘Jew-lover?’ He laughed. ‘And why not? Do you know what our name originally was?’

  ‘Your father’s you mean? I’m surprised you know it.’

  ‘Coming from you, that’s rich.’

  We were hurting one another quite unfairly, as only those who have been close can wound. It was I who turned my back first, refusing to continue. If Shura was going to flaunt the fact of being half-Jewish, that was his own affair. It only confirmed what I thought.

  ‘I feel sorry for you,’ he said. ‘You could have been happy here. You could have had friends here. People liked you. But not now. I advise you to get out of Odessa as quickly as possible.’

  Was it a threat? I said, ‘Odessa has no further attractions for me.’

  He opened the door, drawing his moth-eaten fur about him. ‘You won’t say that when your sneg runs out.’ Sneg was the slang term for cocaine, meaning ‘snow’.

  Then he was gone. Did he think he had turned me into a drug fiend? I became alarmed, then reassured. I was not the type to become addicted. I have gone for months without touching the stuff. Indeed, in recent years, with prices the way they are, I have all but given it up. It is possible to burn the candle at both ends sometimes and feel the results of that, but as for withdrawal symptoms, I have never known them. One has to have withdrawal symptoms to be an addict. They made cocaine illegal after the First World War. It was on of the silliest things they did. They should have made aspirin and gin illegal at the same time.