The Lieutenant’s Lover. Harry Bingham

into the air and caught it.

      ‘One for you, one for me. Is it too late to go there now?’

      The girl looked at him and at the china doll in her hand. She was wide-eyed, disbelieving. ‘For me? Really?’

      ‘If you show me where to go.’

      She nodded. ‘It’s too late now. We have to go first thing. It’ll be a long haul back anyway.’

      ‘Do you have a sledge?’

      She shook her head.

      ‘Really,’ Misha tutted, ‘a pocketful of rubbish and no sledge. I can get one, though. Tomorrow morning then?’

      She nodded.

      She gazed down at the figurine in her hand and put it down gently on the table beside the stove. ‘You keep this,’ she said abruptly. ‘Until tomorrow. You shouldn’t…’

      ‘I shouldn’t what?’

      ‘You shouldn’t give people things like that. Not until you know that they’ll give you something in return. You don’t know me.’

      ‘But I trust you. If you’d taken the figurine, you’d have come back tomorrow anyway, wouldn’t you?’

      She nodded.

      ‘Well then.’

      ‘But that’s not the point.’

      ‘Isn’t it?’

      She didn’t answer, just turned to go. She had her hand on the door and was about to leave, when Misha stopped her. ‘Wait! I don’t know your name.’

      ‘Lensky.’

      ‘I can’t call you Lensky.’

      ‘Antonina Kirylovna Lensky.’

      ‘Antonina Kirylovna,’ said Misha with a very pre-revolutionary bow, ‘I’m Mikhail Ivanovich Malevich.’

      ‘Mikhail Ivanovich, comrade.’

      ‘Till tomorrow then.’

      ‘Till tomorrow.’

      6

      Tonya arrived early the next morning, just as Misha was bringing the sledge around to the front of the house. It was dawn, or just a few minutes after.

      They started off quickly. The empty sledge ran so easily on the icy upper layer of the snow that it seemed weightless. At turnings, it bucked and slid sideways like a boisterous colt. Going down hills, even shallow ones, it began to run so fast that on two occasions Misha and Tonya fell backwards into it, steering and braking with a boot heel. Misha laughed out loud for pleasure.

      ‘What’s so funny?’

      ‘This is. It’s fun, isn’t it?’

      ‘It won’t be so much fun on the way back, pulling this thing full of logs.’

      ‘All the more reason to enjoy it now.’

      Tonya shrugged and for a few moments they tramped along in silence. Then Misha spotted a side street that dropped in a long curve to a secondary road below. His face twitched. With a quick glance sideways at Tonya, he put out his foot and toppled her backwards into the sledge. In the same swift movement, he pulled the sledge around and directed it to the right, down the hill. The sledge quickly leaped forwards, picking up speed. Misha jumped in next to Tonya, who, apart from a single shout of surprise, had said nothing.

      Misha had his foot out, ready to guide the sledge, but where possible he let it find its own direction, banking steeply on the mounds of grey snow.

      ‘This isn’t the right way,’ she said.

      ‘We’ll go left at the bottom and pick up our road again.’

      Tonya kept her face set forwards. ‘You’re going too fast.’

      ‘All right then, I’ll brake.’

      Misha jabbed his foot out and deliberately kicked a spray of fine powdery snow high into the air. The sledge swept into the spray, spattering them. At first Tonya didn’t smile, but then she too thrust her leg out and kicked up a miniature snowstorm. And then they were both at it, wrestling each other like brother and sister, kicking snow everywhere, letting the sledge plunge recklessly downhill. When they got to the bottom, the sledge struck a big drift lying transversely across their path and the nose plunged in, stopping them abruptly and showering them with yet more snow.

      They lay in the bottom of the sledge, laughing, getting their breath and looking up at the piled-up clouds above.

      ‘Antonina Kirylovna?’

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘May I call you Antonina?’

      ‘You may call me comrade Lensky.’

      Misha looked at her. Her face flickered with a smile, though she was doing her best not to show it. ‘Very well. Comrade Lensky?’

      ‘Yes, comrade Malevich?’

      ‘May I reprimand you, comrade, for fooling around in the snow when your revolutionary duty is to escort the bourgeois to market.’

      ‘You are right, comrade. I believe my political education must be at fault. I will endeavour to correct my thinking.’

      They got up and brushed themselves clear of snow. Misha had taken his hat off and tossed it behind him into the sledge. Somewhere during their tumultuous descent, his hands had got muck on them, and he briskly washed them in a drift of cleanish snow, as matter of factly as if the drift had been a basin of warm water. Tonya watched him, finding him strangely exotic: this former aristocrat now living in bitter poverty; this tall young man, an outcast from the new Soviet system, laughing and joshing with her, the daughter of a lowly railway worker. Young and fair-skinned as he was, Misha only barely needed to shave daily and Tonya felt herself older than him, much older even, though she guessed their ages must be almost the same.

      ‘Very good, comrade Lensky.’

      ‘If you please, comrade Malevich.’

      They started off again, pulling the sledge, mostly in silence now, though the silence was very different from the way they’d started. After walking for an hour and a half, they got to the railway halt where the peasants brought their produce. There was everything there: food, logs, tobacco, vodka, sugar, meat. Tonya was right. The peasants faced none of the shortages of the city where food and fuel were concerned. Misha wished he’d brought more than just the figurine to trade.

      Tonya insisted on handling the haggling process herself. She played her hand perfectly, showing little interest in the stacks of firewood, making little clucks of disappointment when she noted sticks that were too thin or poorly seasoned. At the same time, she allowed the peasant women to handle the two figurines, never for long, but always for long enough for them to admire the extraordinary workmanship that had gone into them. Tonya didn’t want Misha with her as she bargained, and she waved him away into another part of the slushy yard. He found a man, a former teacher, with nothing to sell except a stack of books on mathematics and engineering. Misha longed to buy them. The books seemed like a glimpse of a possible future, a future of quiet studies and a reputable profession. But Misha had nothing in his pockets and he had to disappoint the man. Meantime, Tonya had fixed on a particular peasant woman, and soon the bargaining began, swift and sharp. A deal was made, and Tonya came over to Misha, waving her hand at an enormous stack of logs.

      ‘Those,’ she said.

      ‘Those? All of them?’

      Tonya nodded. ‘It’ll take two trips. You’ll have to take one load back by yourself while I wait here. I won’t let these logs out of my sight, or they’ll try to cheat us.’

      Misha nodded. He thought of pointing out that Tonya must therefore