Winter of the World

She studied it thoughtfully. After a minute she said: ‘I’m assuming you gave this little boy a bicycle for Christmas.’

‘That’s right.’

She looked up. ‘Are you telling me you have a child?’

Greg nodded. ‘His name is Georgy.’

‘Are you married?’

‘No.’

She threw down the photo. ‘For God’s sake!’ she said angrily. ‘What is the matter with you Peshkov men!’

Greg was dismayed. ‘I don’t know what you mean!’

‘Another illegitimate child! Another woman bringing him up alone!’

He realized that she saw Jacky as a younger version of herself. ‘Mother, I was fifteen . . .’

‘Why can’t you be normal?’ she stormed. ‘For the love of Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with having a regular family?’

Greg looked down. ‘There’s nothing wrong with it.’

He felt ashamed. Until this moment he had seen himself as a passive player in this drama, even a victim. Everything that had happened had been done to him by his father and Jacky. But his mother did not view it that way, and now he saw that she was right. He had not thought twice about sleeping with Jacky; he had not questioned her when she had said airily that there was no need to worry about contraception; and he had not confronted his father when Jacky left. He had been very young, yes; but if he was old enough to fuck her, he was old enough to take responsibility for the consequences.

His mother was still raging. ‘Don’t you remember how you used to carry on? “Where is my Daddy? Why doesn’t he sleep here? Why can’t we go with him to Daisy’s house?” And then later, the fights you had at school when the boys called you a bastard. And you were so angry to be refused membership of that goddamned yacht club.’

‘Of course I remember.’

She banged a beringed fist on the table, causing crystal glasses to shake. ‘Then how can you put another little boy through the same torture?’

‘I didn’t know he existed until two months ago. Father scared the mother away.’

‘Who is she?’

‘Her name is Jacky Jakes. She’s a waitress.’ He took out another photo.

His mother sighed. ‘A pretty Negress.’ She was calming down.

‘She was hoping to be an actress, but I guess she gave that up when Georgy came along.’

Marga nodded. ‘A baby will ruin your career faster than a dose of the clap.’

Mother assumed that an actress had to sleep with the right people to progress, Greg noted. How the hell would she know? But then she had been a nightclub singer when his father met her . . .

He did not want to go down that road.

She said: ‘What did you give her for Christmas?’

‘Medical insurance.’

‘Good choice. Better than a fluffy bear.’

Greg heard a step in the hall. His father was home. Hastily, he said: ‘Mother, will you meet Jacky? Will you accept Georgy as your grandson?’

Her hand went to her mouth. ‘Oh, my God, I’m a grandmother.’ She did not know whether to be shocked or pleased.

Greg leaned forward. ‘I don’t want Father to reject him. Please!’

Before she could reply, Lev came into the room.

Marga said: ‘Hello, darling, how was your evening?’

He sat at the table looking grumpy. ‘Well, I’ve had my shortcomings explained to me in full detail, so I guess I had a great time.’

‘You poor thing. Did you get enough to eat? I can make you an omelette in a minute.’

‘The food was fine.’

The photographs were on the table, but Lev had not noticed them yet.

The maid came in and said: ‘Would you like coffee, Mr Peshkov?’

‘No, thank you.’

Marga said: ‘Bring the vodka, in case Mr Peshkov would like a drink later.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

Greg noticed how solicitous Marga was about Lev’s comfort and pleasure. He guessed that was why Lev was here, not at Olga’s, for the night.

The maid brought a bottle and three small glasses on a silver tray. Lev still drank vodka the Russian way, warm and neat.

Greg said: ‘Father, you know Jacky Jakes—’

‘Her again?’ Lev said irritably.

‘Yes, because there’s something you don’t know about her.’

That got his attention. He hated to think other people knew things he did not. ‘What?’

‘She has a child.’ He pushed the photographs across the polished table.

‘It it yours?’

‘He’s six years old. What do you think?’

‘She kept this pretty damned quiet.’

‘She was scared of you.’

‘What did she think I might do, cook the baby and eat it?’

‘I don’t know, Father – you’re the expert at scaring people.’

Lev gave him a hard look. ‘You’re learning, though.’

He was talking about the scene with the razor. Maybe I am learning to scare people, Greg thought.

Lev said: ‘Why are you showing me these photos?’

‘I thought you might like to know that you have a grandson.’

‘By a goddamn two-bit actress who was hoping to snag herself a rich man!’

Marga said: ‘Darling! Please remember that I was a two-bit nightclub singer hoping to snag myself a rich man.’

He looked furious. For a moment he glared at Marga. Then his expression changed. ‘You know what?’ he said. ‘You’re right. Who am I to judge Jacky Jakes?’

Greg and Marga stared at him, astonished at this sudden humility.

He said: ‘I’m just like her. I was a two-kopek hoodlum from the slums of St Petersburg until I married Olga Vyalov, my boss’s daughter.’