Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

“How long are you going to take over that?” he asked her testily.

“Don’t be so impatient. Good boys have to wait,” she advised him, adding, “just for that I might have another cup.”

“In that case,” he said, beckoning to their waiter, “I shall order a proper drink.”

“Don’t!” she pleaded quickly.

He waved the waiter away.

“Don’t be such a Tartar,” she said with a moue. “You mustn’t rush me.”

Leonid Kavelin reached inside his jacket pocket and brought out a slim gold cigarette case.

If he could not drink, he reasoned, there was no reason why he could not smoke.

Without offering the case to Irena – it was unthinkable that she should smoke in a public room – he took out a cigarette and lit it using a match from the small embossed box thoughtfully placed beside the table’s ashtray.

“What will you say when Ivan Tarpelovich returns?” he asked casually.

Irena shrugged.

“I will tell him that I have missed him and that I have been incredibly bored.”

“You should have children. They would keep you occupied.”

Irena frowned.

“Children? Here in Berezovo?” she said. “Good God, no!”

“Or at least a pet,” Kavelin went on. “You should ask him to bring you back a pet.”

“A pet!” Irena exclaimed, laughing. “Really? Can you see me with a pet?”

“Yes, I can. A borzoi,” he said, adding cruelly, “you could pretend to be a proper lady.”

Irena looked at him, momentarily wounded by his words. Raising her half empty cup of chocolate to her lips she took a sip while she considered her response.

“A dog? Yech!” she said with distaste, setting her cup down. “I detest dogs. Great big stupid creatures, always following you around, slobbering all over you and ruining your clothes.”

“You wouldn’t want a dog?”

“No, decidedly not. A wolf, perhaps.”

“A wolf?”

“Yes! A whole pack of them, to hunt down predatory men like you.”

“Truly?” he asked with a wry smile.

“No not really,” she admitted. “A cat, perhaps.”

“Ah, a cat,” said Kavelin, nodding in agreement. “Yes, I would like to see that. Poor Ivan Tarpelovich, coming home to find two pussies in one house.”

“Oh, please don’t be crude,” she said quietly.

“You can’t really want a cat,” Kavelin continued. “It would be too independent. You wouldn’t be able to put it on a leash and parade it around the town.”

“Is that what I would want to do?” asked Irena.

“Yes, I believe so,” replied Kavelin. “In fact, I know so.”

“If you insist. Yes, possibly so. And I could because, you see, it would be a big cat. A tiger.”

“A tiger?”

“Yes,” she said, lowering her voice.

Leaning forward, she began smoothing out a wrinkle in the linen tablecloth with her hand. “And when Illya was away,” she continued in a confidential whisper, “at night I would lie naked with it in front of the fire, stroking its fur, feeling its taut muscles under its stripes and watching the firelight flickering over our resting bodies.”

“That is an extraordinary image,” Kavelin whispered in reply. “But aren’t you at all afraid that it might hurt you?”

“Oh no,” she told him, with a definite shake of her head. “Not the tiger I am imagining because I would ensure that it had been fully fed first before I lay down beside it. And once it had eaten I would give it peppermint lozenges to keep its breath sweet, so that it would come to associate peppermints with security and contentment.”

“And what, precisely, would you be feeding it on?” enquired Kavelin softly.

“Why, the population of Berezovo of course. Starting, I think, with its wives.”

Laughing, Kavelin sat back in his chair, freed from her spell by this alarming admission.

“You have it all worked out,” he said, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray.

“Yes. All I have to find now is the tiger.”

“Well, I wish you luck.”

“Ah, luck,” sighed Irena. “You surprise me. Do you really believe in Madame Luck?”

“I believe I am fortunate to be here with you,” he said.

“Oh, Lyonya, Lyonya…” sighed Irena, feigning exasperation. “You have such a silver tongue. Whatever am I going to do with you?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t we go upstairs to the lounge and discuss it?” suggested Kavelin with a broad smile.

Irena pursed her lips as if deep in thought and then nodded her agreement.

“Oh, but I think we ought to go higher than the mezzanine, don’t you?” she suggested.