He smiled at her. “Talya, we need not leave it all to your young man. Why should he risk his life returning for you when we can escape ourselves and meet him?”
“But how could we find him?”
“He is an officer in the Air Force. Once we are in America it can be done, I think.”
They walked back to the cabin together. “I did not tell you before, but when we were in Olga to trade our furs I saw Evgeny Zhikarev.”
“Zhikarev? Here?”
“We talked a little. They came asking questions. Your friend handles his skins in a special way, and it was noticed. So they began asking questions, and Evgeny has been questioned before. He fled.
“I do not know, but I suspect from things he said that he had plans for escaping across the border that did not work out. We are old friends, you know. I guessed that was the case. I also feel that he still has hopes. He is marking time, waiting for something.
“He knows a good deal about China and has friends among the Chinese. Most of the Manchurians do not like the Russians. They live in expectation of border warfare.
“I asked him many questions, and to me he talked readily about China. He has a fixation on Hong Kong, and I believe that is where he intended to go. From there, it would not be hard to get to America if we could arrange it through the American consul. I have friends there who are scholars. They would aid me, I know.”
She walked ahead of him and opened the door to the cabin. It was a small place, out of the way and so not preferred. They had rented it for a small sum. It was a cozy, two-room cabin with a fireplace, and a forest crept down the gorge behind it to provide fuel. Each time they walked outside they brought back branches fallen from the trees. Heavier stuff they cut with an axe.
Fishing was easy in the little stream that came down from the mountains, and a walk of a few hundred yards brought them down to the bay.
Living in the little cabin was easy, and the weather was much warmer than at their former home, yet they had no friends here and rarely spoke to anyone except an occasional fisherman or hunter. “What do they think of us?” Talya asked.
He shrugged. “I have let them believe I have been retired because of illness. It will not be long until some official decides to make inquiries. It is you I am worried for.”
“Then let us make our plans. Let us approach Evgeny Zhikarev again, and let us buy that boat. I am sure we can find an old one, and we have money from the furs.
“I have set traps,” she said. “There are foxes here.”
It was warm inside the cabin. She made tea, wondering about him. Where was Joe Mack now? Did he fare well? Was he warm? Was he still free? The trouble was they would never know. Such news did not travel in Russia, although with this one, about whom so much stir had been made, they might learn something. When the hunt ceased they would know he had been captured.
A few days later three soldiers came down to the river’s mouth to fish. They were very young, scarcely more than boys, and she showed them the best place to fish. Later they came to the cabin for tea. They were very reserved, even shy.
“We have tea,” one of them said. “It is part of our ration. ”
“Thank you. We have to travel very far to get it. Sometimes there is none.”
“In the army we always have it,” one boy said proudly.
“But the only fish we get comes from cans,” another said. “And where I come from we always caught our own.”
They were friendly, and they soon got over their shyness. All three had not been long from home and were lonely. They were stationed at Iman, on the border.
Stephan Baronas talked to them and led them to speak of their families, their hopes. One intended to remain in the army; another planned on returning to civilian life and studying to be an engineer. He had been stationed along the new railroad that was being built and he had watched the work. He was good at mathematics, and one of the engineers had gotten him assigned to him, and he had helped while learning. His application had gone in, and his commanding officer had recommended him. His name was Bocharev, and he spoke of wanting to run the rapids on the Iman River.
“The Captain will not allow it,” one of the other boys said.
“We shall see,” Bocharev said. “I have run rapids before.”
“It is very dangerous. Only the native people do it.”
Two weeks later they came again, and this time they brought tea. Bocharev put it on the table. “You have been kind,” he said. “We have nobody to talk to.”
“Thank you,” Natalya said. They were very young, away from home for the first time.
“My father’s health is bad. He must live near the sea. He hopes one day to return to teaching. ”
“My father could help,” Bocharev said. “He is an official. He has much to do with appointments. Since I went into the army he has a different job, a more important one. I do not know exactly what it is he does.”
“I am content just to rest for a while,” Baronas said. “It is very easy here. But we thank you for the tea.”
“We will come again,” Bocharev said. “You are good people. ”
Two weeks later, he was dead, drowned in the rapids of the Iman.
The other boys brought them the news and more tea. “He had already gotten this for you.” He gave her a sly look. “From the commissary.”
“I am sorry,” Baronas said. “He was a fine young man.”
After they were gone, Stephan Baronas walked out on the slope to his favorite place. It was a large flat rock under some cedar with a fine view of the bay. Natalya walked out to join him.
“I could be content here,” he said, “if I could only stay, but sooner or later they will realize we do not belong here and they will send us away.”
“Can we not leave before then?”
He shook his head doubtfully. “We must try. I am going down to Olga Bay to see Evgeny again. He is a very shrewd old man and might be able to help us.”
“I wonder where he is,” Natalya said. “I fear for him.”
“He would not wish it. If anyone can survive in the taiga, it is Joe Mack.” He paused. “Talya, if we can escape we must get in touch with his unit, with his commanding officer, and tell them what has happened. In that way we will know if they learn anything, and believe me, they have ways of learning, perhaps even of helping him.”
Turning, she walked back to the cabin. There was work to do, and she welcomed it. The sea had become gray, and the wind was rising. Angry surf assailed the shore, and the wind whined in the ragged pines. A storm was coming up, and the winter storms could be long and bitter. Her father left his seat on the rock and came to gather wood for the fires they would need.
He walked out under the trees and picked up fallen branches and gathered great strips of bark hanging from deadfalls, bark he would need for kindling. He broke pieces from a pine stump that would be loaded with pitch.
For the time they would be snug and warm, and they had food enough. They had grown accustomed to subsisting on very little.
Her father came in with an armful of wood to dump in the wood box. For a moment then he stood in the door looking out on the bay where the battalions of the sea marched endlessly against the shore, attacking it in ranks of foam. The wind was rising. He closed the door and went to the fire.
“I have something on the fire,” Natalya said. “It will be ready soon.”
He stared into the flames. “I hunger for books, not food,” he said. “I have so few.” He gestured toward the door. “So much is happening out there of which I know nothing. Scholars are making discoveries, writing papers, lecturing. Here, I know nothing of it. Even we in Soviet Russia know so little and miss so much.
“Knowledge is meant to be shared, and much of it is being shared. There is so much to learn, and we have so little time. When I was a young man and lived in Paris for a year … how wonderful it was! We paced the floors and walked the streets, arguing, reciting poetry to each other, discussing all the ideas, all the things that were happening. We talked of Tolstoy and Balzac, of Fielding and Cervantes! It was wonderful! We drank gallons of coffee and sometimes wine when we could afford it, and we argued about everything! Those were marvelous times!