LIDIA STEPANOVA - PRINCESS OF ORENBURG
Stewart Sumner

The café was quiet. The short, plump, weather-beaten man at the counter trimmed his nails with his teeth then licked his hands with the relish of a thoroughbred. He rolled up his sleeve and examined the scar—the purple stamp of Lidia Stepanova, the Princess of Orenburg—a friend of Rasputin. He'd blessed her many times. He'd walked from a deep sleep into another life. She'd been in the camps. Couldn't straighten her hands. Cut a finger off so they wouldn't drive her out to work in the cold. Nearly died of typhoid. Couldn't see much anymore.

"Give me a beer," he said.

Sam the barman tugged at his long, bushy moustache as he slid a cloth along the counter. "Look, Ted, I don't make the rules. No food, no beer."

Ted stroked the half a dozen hairs on his shiny scalp then slapped himself on both sides of his head above the ears. "We're not onto this either/or thing again, are we?"

Sam tossed the cloth into a bucket under the till. "I want you out, now."

"It's cold outside."

"I'm closing in five minutes."

He grumbled under his breath, pulled himself out of the chair and hobbled to the door. "Are they really to blame?"

"Just piss off, will you?"

"But I'm waiting for Lidia."

"She's not coming."

"She'll be here."

"Don't waste my time."

"I'm just going for a piss. If she comes..."

"I'll send her in."

The toilet door swung open. His left leg gave way. He lunged at the door and grabbed hold. As he straightened his leg, his knee cracked. He thumped it then pulled himself up. The pain was like a drill, burrowing into his skull. He propped himself against the urinal. The wall was cold. Water dripped from a toilet behind him, as if it were inside his head.

He nibbled his black, frost-bitten fingers. The skin on his hook-like hands was shriveled and split. He zipped himself up then staggered to the washbasin. He turned on the tap—the water gushed out and he watched it swirl. The cut above his left eye looked better. The bruising had gone. He pressed his nose against the mirror and muttered, "Today me, tomorrow you."

Lidia waddled into the café, shocked. "What happened to your eye?" she said in her usual thick, melodic Russian accent.

"I don't remember."

Sam smirked. "We had a disagreement."

"Are you mad, really?" she growled.

"Not yet," Ted said softly.

"Let me see," she said.

She yanked his head up and examined the wound. "Ted, don't be stupid!"

He braced himself for a slap. She gave his nose a quick squeeze instead.

"Was it a woman?" she asked.

"No, of course not," Ted replied.

"Ted, Ted, Ted—when will this end?"

Ted smothered her with his arms. "Lidia, let me live with you."

"Really, Ted! You are half my age. It will end in tears."

"It's that or the morgue," Sam said.

"But you have room already, no?"

"Had. They threw me out."

She licked her left thumb and held it to the light. "Tak, tak, tak. Hmm, it might be fun. I must consult the cats. Alyosha and Dmitry won't mind, but Ivan—Ivan is another pair of shoes. Let's go ask them, hm?"

He first encountered Lidia, a squat, spidery old woman with long scraggly gray hair and beady eyes, at a poetry reading at St James' on Piccadilly. She was in search of Pushkin, Lermontov and Mayakovsky. What she got was half a dozen aspiring London poets whose combined efforts were so bereft of passion they would have had trouble making the Poems on the Underground. She drank four pints of London Pride and ended up in Ted's bed. Ted slept on the couch. The next morning she told him the story of her life: about being married to a count who was shot in the purges; about being declared 'an enemy of the people' in 1945 and spending eight years in Siberia; about her escape to the West in the seventies when she married an English businessman who promised to show her the world but took her to Bethnal Green instead.

Alyosha, Dmitry and Ivan—three proud tabbies. His future depended upon them—Alyosha, the spiritual one; Dmitry, the cunning one; and Ivan, the rebel. Ivan was fond of digging his claws into him and hissing if he came anywhere near Lidia.

Ted flopped down on Lidia's sofa and sighed deeply.

Lidia handed him a can of Tetley's. "Forgive me, it is warm."

"That's OK," Ted said.

"I have a problem with fridge." She pulled the ring on the can. The beer squirted out. She guzzled it down. "Pish! Pish! Pish! Such is the sound of heaven!"

"You're dribbling it everywhere. I'll get you a towel."

"No, Ted!" She clapped her hands. "Ivan!"

Ivan trotted into the kitchen and returned with a hand towel. "Good boy, Ivan." Ivan leapt on her lap and licked the beer off the side of the can.

"It would just be for a few days, until I find somewhere," Ted said.

"Ai, ai, ai! What is to be done?" She let out a contented burp. "Sorry, Ted. You know, I will not leave this flat alive."

Ted chuckled. "Oh, Lidia, you are a tease."

"You will save the cats when I die, no? The cold wind of death is blowing from Siberia." She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. "The sweet nausea has returned."

Her eyelids blinked rapidly. Her mouth flapped up and down.

"Lidia, are you all right?"

Her eyes popped open. A smile beamed across her face. "Ted, my dear, get me another Tetley's, hmm?"

Alyosha followed him into the kitchen and stood by his bowl. Ted opened the fridge and took out a can of Tetley's. Alyosha meowed. Dmitry scampered in from outside and rubbed himself against Ted's leg. As Ted shut the fridge, Ivan pried a cupboard door open with his paw. Ted jumped. Ivan hissed then tipped a tin of Kattomeat onto the linoleum.

Ted froze. Ivan jumped to the counter and nudged the can opener towards Ted. "You want me to open it?" Dmitry rolled over and lifted his front paws. Ted stroked him. Ivan hissed. Ted fumbled with the can opener.

"What's wrong, Ted?" Lidia shouted, "Can't you find the beer?"

"Coming."

He made a jagged line with the can opener, groped around for a spoon then slopped it into the three bowls on the floor. He gave Ivan the most.

Lidia held the beer can to her chin. "What else is there to live for?"

Ted watched her go through the dribbling ceremony again.

"When I was in the camp in Kolyma, I got syphilis. I was a beauty then. It was the commandant. He turned me into a nurse at the hospital, and so I was saved. But before that, many raped me. Ugly, disgusting animals."

Ted shook his head. "You never told me."

"I will never forget the smell. Like rotting flesh. Not every man escaped. Ilyinsky I killed. With a pickaxe. He raped me every night for a week. I waited for him by the bathhouse. One blow, through the head. Are you shocked, my dear Ted?"

Ted almost choked on his beer. "No. No, Lidia."

"Did I tell you about Seryozha?"

"No."

"The camp doctor. Dear, sweet Seryozha. He was in love with me. He brought me lots of chocolate. And stockings. He never touched me. He wanted my love. But I had none to give."

Ivan stuck out his paw and prodded her arm. She tickled his belly.

"He was a good man." A tear came to her eye. "After 1953 I never saw him again. They say he died in an old people's home in Novosibirsk."

She swallowed the last drops of beer and put the can on the table. "Ted, my dear..."

"Another beer?"

"Mmm. And one more for you. I insist."

Ted opened the cans in the kitchen, to avoid the pish.

She raised the can into the air. "Spasibo, Ted. Ted, spasibo."

Ted sat down again. "Sorry?"

"Spasibo. It means thank you in Russian."

"Oh."

"Is it too hot, Ted? I can turn the fire down."

"It's fine."

"I can't feel it. My bones always shiver. Brrrrrrrrr. Do you know how old I am?"

He shook his head.

"85. I shall be 86 on October 31st at 7.32pm, and at 7.33pm precisely I shall be dead."

Ted gritted his teeth. "Tomorrow's the 31st."

"I want my ashes to go back to the motherland. Will you do that for me, Ted, my dear?"

He pretended not to hear.

"Ted, promise."

"You'll live to be a hundred."

"Dear Ted, the eternal optimist." She swigged some more beer. "Do you believe in God?"

"Not anymore."

"He came to me in a dream. As a big golden fish. He swam into my ear then flew out of my nose. I grabbed his tail and an egg appeared. He said 'When the egg is open we shall talk.' I waited and waited, then suddenly a big black eagle flew down, grabbed the egg and flew away. And then there was darkness. I am moving towards the darkness, Ted."

She leaned back against the chair. Her head drooped to the side. Her eyes closed. Her jaw dropped. The can fell from her hand. "In the arms of Morpheus," she babbled.

He woke up in the armchair to the smell of bacon. He scratched himself then wandered into the kitchen.

"English breakfast is best, you know?" Lidia said. She cracked another egg into the frying pan. "Ah, perfect!"

Dmitry, Ivan and Alyosha were stooped over their respective bowls, noshing away. Ted crept by them and sat down at the table.

"You know, Ted, I dreamt I am on precipice of a great valley. Below is a river of chocolate. Before I jump I shout 'To die proudly when it is no longer possible to live proudly!' Then I eat chocolate until it is pouring from my ears. What does it mean?"

Ted scratched his forehead. "Well, chocolate symbolizes—it means you ain't ready to go yet."

"Do you like chocolate mousse?"

"I love chocolate mousse."

She plopped the bacon and eggs onto two plates and joined Ted at the table. "We stop it there."

"Stop what?"

"No more chocolate. My bottom is like a mushroom. Look."

She got up and bent over.

"As bottoms go, Lidia, yours is one of the best."

Lidia blushed. "Oh, Ted." She shoved an egg yolk into her mouth. "When I look into human being's eyes I know if it will be flowers or chocolates. With you it is flowers. Is your bacon good, Ted?"

Ted had a mouth full of egg and bacon and sausage and tomato. He slurped his approval.

"What happened yesterday, Ted? You were so sad."

Ted crammed another sausage into his mouth.

"Ted, speak."

He wiped his mouth with his sleeve then gulped down some tea. "It was raining. I fell over."

"What you need is a good book. I gave you so many. Did you read them?"

"They were in Russian."

"Ah, yes. But why did you fall over?"

And then he remembered. "Happy birthday, Lidia."

She smiled. "Spasibo, Ted. Ted, spasibo."

She leaned over him and offered her cheek. He kissed it. It was dry, caked in powder.

"My money is in my armchair. It will make it better."

He wiped his plate with some toast and slotted it into his mouth. "What money? Make what better?"

She tutted. "When I am gone."

"Don't start that again. You're not going anywhere."

"The big fish is coming for me."

He strolled aimlessly by Waterloo station. It was icy cold. At least it wasn't raining. Lidia had some shopping to do. She told him she'd be back at about seven. He felt his forehead. It was wet with sweat. He felt dizzy again. There was a ringing in his head. He sat down on the pavement, closed his eyes and waited for it to pass.

Somewhere it had gone badly wrong. He'd had a wife, a child, a house, a good job. And then, one by one, he'd lost them all. The job first, followed by the wife, the house, the child. Soon after, the dizzy spells began. They wanted to treat him, then they didn't. He stopped caring, started drinking. And then Lidia came. If only he'd met her 30 years earlier.

A drunk came up behind him, hesitated, pushed his trolley in front of him, sat down and began to draw. Ted told him to bugger off. The drunk spat on the paper and rubbed hard. He drew a girl with long brown hair and rosy cheeks, on a bright green background. It was like the work of a five-year-old. Simple, innocent. He added a bright yellow smiling sun in the left-hand corner, plopped the picture in Ted's lap then went back to his supermarket trolley. Ted looked at the picture and laughed. The drunk laughed too. Then the nausea returned.

Ted let himself in. Ivan hissed, Dmitry rolled over, Alyosha stood aloof. He sat in the armchair and waited. Ivan strolled over and sat at his feet, his right paw poised to dig into his leg. Dmitry leapt into his lap and demanded instant attention. He tickled his belly. Dmitry purred in delight. Ivan tapped Dmitry on the head with his paw and then turned his gaze quickly to the corner of the room. Dmitry scuttled off. Ivan jumped into the vacant spot on Ted's lap and proudly bared his belly. At first, Ted was cautious, expecting a trap, but then he relaxed and tickled him. Ivan tittered.

Lidia entered the flat in a low-cut scarlet evening dress. She had a diamond necklace on and large diamond earrings. She was clutching two bottles of champagne.

"Lidia, you look wonderful!"

"Oh, Ted. Spasibo, Ted. Ted, spasibo. Now you and I shall wine and dine for the last supper."

"Don't say that."

She gave him a slow twirl then blew him a kiss. "I want you to remember me this way." She began to lay the table. "You like caviar, no?"

"Well, I—I've never tried it."

"The golden eggs. These will not fly away. And borscht, my beetroot soup. We shall drink and be happy, then tomorrow—Mother will be glad to see me again." She clapped her hands. "Be seated, young Ted."

She grabbed Ivan by the collar and wrestled him away from Ted's lap. "I will serve soup, you open champagne."

Ted took hold of the bottle.

"Shake it up, so it goes pish, pish, pish!"

Ted shook it. "It'll go all over the ceiling."

"Hurry, open it."

Ted slowly undid the wire on the cork. "Perhaps when we open the next one we could actually drink it?"

"Pish, pish, pish, Ted."

He shook the bottle one last time. The cork flew off and took a chunk out of the plaster on the ceiling. Ivan and Dmitry ran for cover from the shower of champagne.

Lidia thrust two glasses below the bottle and filled them with froth. She handed him a glass. "To the motherland!"

"To the motherland!" Ted echoed.

She drank the champagne greedily. Ted sipped his. The bubbles went up his nose. He pinched it to stop him from sneezing.

Lidia snatched the other bottle of champagne and tore off the cork as if it were a lid on a jam jar. No pish, pish, pish this time. She filled their glasses. "You know, Ted, I have often thought about the meaning of life, what was my purpose. Now that I am coming to the end I have to give some conclusion. I believe that I was here to witness human suffering. Not to do anything about it, not to help, not to, how do you say, lessen it? No, just to see it, to tremble at its power. I knew it would crush me in the end."

"Don't leave me, Lidia."

Lidia got up from her chair and squeezed his hand. "I looked at my face this morning as I put lipstick on. My skin, it peels off. My eyes are dull and my neck is like very sad turkey. I'm tired, Ted."

"I need you."

"I want red roses. Thousands of them. Enough to fill the ocean." She stroked his face. Her hand was cold. "No more tears, Ted. The money is in the armchair."

She clapped her hands. The cats came running. She raised her glass. "There are no crimes without witnesses. A lost world. Dearer to me than sleep. Back to the hunger and the cold. Goodbye, Ted, my dear."

Ted woke up with a thumping headache. Lidia was lying on the sofa, motionless. She was gone. He held her in his arms. Her body was nothing more than a wafer-thin shell inside the dress. Her face glowed. Ted closed her eyes, laid her down on the sofa and wept. Ivan went up to her and stroked her eyelid with his paw as if he were trying to wake her up. Dmitry leapt up and lay still by her side. Alyosha perched himself on the armrest by her feet and gazed, first at Lidia, then at Ted, then at Lidia again.

back to the front page