A Bad Situation Becomes Worse

May 1936

My parents needed to discuss our next step. I knew I wouldn’t have a say and so I wandered into my room. From my window I saw Katya standing among some other passengers gathering for the sightseeing tour. I was wretched at the thought of missing the excursion. Shrugging my shoulders, I dug into my pocket to find another piece of bread. At least I wouldn’t be hungry for a while.

I could hear my parents talking in their room. I assumed that a long discussion meant that they already had decided to forgo the sightseeing tour and were now preparing their rebuttal remarks to my expected complaining. I was resigned to the fact that I would miss my chance to see a magnificent city, the grand Moscow, its treasures once so close but now so far away.

The next time I looked out Katya and the group had moved further along the platform. In the distance I could see a water fountain that previously had been blocked from my view. My throat was dry and my stomach bloated from the bread.

“May I get some water?” I asked Paps, pointing to the window of their room from which Paps could now see the fountain.

He stopped talking. “Yes, but I’ll come with you. I don’t want you out there by yourself.”

We walked to the fountain. By this time Katya and the others were nowhere to be seen. She must’ve assumed we wouldn’t be joining her.

“I’ll hold the spigot,” Paps said. “Take a drink but don’t touch the nozzle with your lips.”

Leaning over I had the strangest sensation. I wasn’t dizzy but I thought the platform was moving. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the train, which looked stationary. And yet I still felt as if I were moving.

And then it occurred to me.

“Father!” I shouted, “The train is leaving!”

His head whipped around so forcefully to look that I thought he had broken his neck.

“Quickly,” he yelled dragging me by my arm, “we must get back on the train!”

We ran toward the train but by then it was propelling itself along the platform’s edge. The locomotive and the next few coaches, one of them ours, already had gone by. The train was rapidly gathering speed. We were screaming and waving at the passing cars, none of which, incredibly, had their windows open. Then we saw the dining car go by and then more coaches. With a final torrent of dust the last car passed. We saw the tail end of our train disappear in the distance around a curve. It was gone.

I broke down, tears streaming down my face like rain.

“There’s no time for crying,” Paps said, “we must think.”

“Paps,” I sobbed, “should we wait here by ourselves? How will we catch the train? What’ll happen to Mutsch? She’s all alone?”

Everything was tragically clear. Paps and I spoke no Russian. We had no papers and no money. Katya had already gone. Mutsch, alone on the train, had no papers and no money.

For the second time in a matter of hours we were lost inside Russia.

We stood motionless on the deserted concrete platform for what seemed like an eternity. I looked to Paps expecting that by now he had come up with a plan. Instead I saw the marks of pain on his face, his right eye nearly closed, the furrows of his brow pronounced, his eyelid fluttering like a leaf.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“No, Lorechen, I’m not,” he replied, massaging his temples with his ring finger and thumb. He pulled me toward the station’s entry doors. “Perhaps someone in here will be able to help,” he said.

The station was quiet. Only a few people wandered about. Four men were seated at a table, their chessboards between them, their eyes riveted on the pieces. One of them rose and began walking toward us. He was older than Paps, not as tall, and as wide as two of Paps put together. His gait was uneven, leaning to the right every time he lifted his left leg. He had a greasy complexion and a greasy smile. I didn’t like the looks of him. When he approached us Paps tried to communicate in three different languages but the man understood none of them. He looked at his watch and then motioned for us to follow him.

My father hesitated. “Supposing the train backtracks?” His mind raced with the different options. Should we stay here? Should we go with this man? Should we search the station for police? Should we wait for Katya to return?

Finally, Paps said, “We can’t wait here. Our train’s left and I suppose there must be another station in Moscow. Perhaps that’s where Mutsch is. Let’s follow this man and hope he’ll understand the nature of our distress. Maybe he’ll know what to do.”

The man led us out of the station onto a busy street to a bus stop. He tried hard to communicate with gestures. I didn’t understand him at all but Paps must have caught some meaning because just as a rickety old bus pulled up Paps said, “We’ll board this bus now, Lorechen.”

Looking forlornly at the man, my father pulled out his empty pockets and held them while shaking his head from side to side. The bus came to rest in front of us. Our mysterious benefactor stepped onto the bus, reached into his own pocket, and paid not only his fare but ours as well. As Paps and I boarded, the man spoke with the driver who kept looking over his shoulder at us.

We made our way down the aisle. A thin, kind-looking woman smiled at me as I passed by. I was still so upset that I just looked away. The bus jerked forward. The man joined us at the rear of the bus. I noticed several workmen, their front teeth sparkling with gold fillings, pointing at us and talking rapidly. I saw a little girl, seated on her mother’s lap cradling a ragdoll, staring open-mouthed at me.

After a short while the man touched my arm and then pointed out the window. The bus slowed as it came upon a square similar to the piazzas we had seen in Merano but this one was incredibly vast, breathtaking in scope, and wondrous in its seemingly endless panorama. I marvelled at the massive buildings and the majestic onion-shaped domes, some gilded others decorated with stone carvings. I saw a magnificent church and what I thought to be a stately museum. Hundreds of people were bustling by.

Paps said, “This is Red Square, dear, you’ve seen pictures of it.”

We exited the bus. Children gaped at us while their mothers, dressed in drab and shabby clothes, tried to hurry their charges along. I saw stern soldiers standing at attention, guarding the entrances to government and municipal buildings. The man with us stopped, letting us look around for a few moments then he gently urged us to follow him. He led us through several side streets where I saw beggars and skinny, scantily clad women huddled in doorways.

As we walked, Paps said, “Let’s keep pace, Lorechen, our friend here is moving faster now. We can’t afford to lose him.” It was surprising, the old man was moving quickly, limping and leaning, swinging like the pendulum of a clock.

We came to another square, a much smaller one, and stopped in front of a flight of stairs that disappeared into the ground. Our benefactor turned to face us, smiled and said, “Yes!”

Father was astonished. “You speak English?”

The man shook his head and said, “No.”

Apparently that was the extent of his foreign language capabilities.

My nerves were brittle. “Paps, I’m worried about Mutsch. Where is she? When will we see her? What are we doing here? Where are we going?”

I could see my father was also worried. “We must stay with this man. I have a feeling he knows what he’s doing. In an hour, if we’re not reunited, then we’ll go back to Red Square to find the British or American Embassy.”

The man gently pushed us in the direction of the stairs. When he descended Paps and I looked at each other before following him into the bowels of the earth.

By this time I had reconsidered my initial impression of the man who was no doubt our benefactor, patron, and guide.

At the bottom of the white stone stairs was the Metro platform. I’d never been in an underground railway station before. I wasn’t sure what to expect. But then I remembered the descriptions I had read of the Moscow subway system. The few pictures I’d seen of it were breathtaking.

I was awestruck as we emerged from the stairwell. Fine oil paintings of Russian folk in native costumes, powerful land and seascapes, still lifes, and beautiful children’s scenes were displayed along the white stucco walls of the platform, each of them illuminated by glowing chandeliers suspended from the cavernous ceilings.

“I see you’re quite enchanted,” Paps said, “so take a good look because I doubt we’ll see another subway station like this anywhere in the world.”

I stood open-mouthed, craning my neck up and down from left to right, oblivious to the passersby. I was trying my best to absorb the wondrous art and amazing architecture of the station.

Suddenly, our benefactor pulled us along. At the ticket booth he paid for our fares again and then urged us to the edge of the platform. Within minutes a train charged into the station and came to an almost silent halt. The doors opened, we boarded, and the doors slinked closed behind us.

The train left the station and entered a tunnel. At each subsequent station we waited to see what our patron would do because we didn’t know how long we’d be on this train. Three or four stops later our angel of an associate yanked his head as if to say the next one would be ours. Sure enough, when the train pulled into the station he quickly disembarked taking care to look over his shoulder to confirm that we were following him. He burrowed his way through the crowded platform with Paps and me trailing behind in his wake.

We came to a flight of stairs. When we reached the top we were in another station above ground. The man motioned toward a bench. Paps and I sat down. For a short time, our guide took a few steps away and as the people passed by he was out of our line of vision. I panicked at the thought of him disappearing into the crowds.

When he came back Paps pointed to a clock on the wall, looked at the man to engage him, and then made train-like puffing noises. “Soon?” he asked.

The man smiled and shook his head no.

“I wonder if that means he didn’t understand me. Or maybe the train Mutsch is on won’t arrive at this station,” Paps sadly mused.

When I saw the worry on my father’s face, his brow still creased, his right eye nearly shut, I couldn’t help myself. I started to cry.

“Don’t cry, Lorechen,” he said, “this station looks like a major terminal. I suspect our train will arrive momentarily.”

I didn’t believe him and I wasn’t convinced that Paps believed himself. He sounded more cheerful than he looked. But I was grateful that he was attempting to calm my fears.

Father tried again, waving his hands, making all kinds of shapes, trying desperately to communicate. Will the train come into this station?

The man replied, “No.”

Then a train pulled in. “Ours?” Paps asked. The man said, “Yes.” But it wasn’t. Another, and then a third and a fourth arrived. Each time the man nodded in the affirmative but not one of the trains was ours.

By then we had been at the station for almost three hours. I was thinking at any moment Paps would grab my hand and we would return to Red Square so that we might find a friendly embassy.

More trains arrived. Paps and I sat as disconsolate and despondent as either of us has ever been. Then another train came puffing into the station, this one much larger than the others. We looked at the man—his face was without expression.

We stared into the passing windows of the slowing train. It came to a screeching halt.

“There’s Mutsch!” I shrieked.

Standing at the doorway of the railcar, Mutsch was frantically looking about the station. Then she saw us. She nearly fell down the steps in her haste to rush to us. We ran to her and then hugged and kissed. It was another blessed reunion.

For the moment, all our worries were forgotten because our family was together once again.

Our guide, the man whom I originally thought to be an errant dullard and totally unaware of both our dilemma and danger, was the one who had taken us from utter desperation to the sweetest reunion of all. He watched us embrace from a few feet away, a look of satisfaction on his face. Without hesitating, Paps motioned for him to join us while he rattled on to Mutsch about our benefactor, giving a brief summary of our travels in our quest to find her. After hearing how he had helped, Mutsch hugged him. He blushed the colour of crimson.

Amid the commotion and din of passing travellers, baggage being dragged along, and crying children, we heard someone yell, “There they are!” Katya and her sightseers were coming our way. Everyone was smiling and some even applauded. It was a heartening spectacle.

Paps again recounted what had happened and then asked Katya to convey our deepest appreciation to our guide for his assistance and generous kindness.

“And now,” Paps said to the group, “may I ask someone to help me reimburse and reward this man for all his trouble. As you know, I’ve lost my wallet and I’m without papers and money but I don’t want to let this opportunity for reward slip by.” Promptly, everyone reached into pockets, opened handbags, and took out wallets.

While Paps was talking to the group, Katya had been speaking to the man. Hearing the last few words of what Paps said, she held up her hand to signal for attention. Then she placed her arm around the man’s shoulder. “Everyone, that is not necessary. This is Zurinoff. I’ve known him for a long time. He’s a former railway employee, retired these past three years, and he’s pleased to have been of help. Our laws require all present and former government representatives to aid and assist foreigners especially when they are in distress. It’s our way, the Russian way. He would be punished severely should he accept any kind of payment for what we all understand to be the call of duty. Look at him,” she said turning toward him, “and you’ll see how happy he is to have ended the separation of the Völker family. This proves again how much pride Gospodin,” she stopped, realizing she had momentarily switched languages, “rather, I should say Herr Zurinoff, and all of us employed by the railway service take in our duties and obligations to tourists in our beloved country.”

“Well,” Paps said, “it’s too bad he can’t be rewarded for his civic and patriotic pride! Please, thank him most sincerely and tell him that as far as my daughter and I are concerned, he is our saviour.” For the next few minutes, Zurinoff spoke rapidly to Katya, gesturing for emphasis. He had a look of embarrassment about him and then one of marked contrition. It seemed as if he was apologizing for something. When he finished, Katya replied to him, her voice stern, as if she was reprimanding him. For the life of me I couldn’t fathom why.

“Herr Zurinoff wishes to apologize to the Völker family for his ignorance.”

“Ignorance?” Paps asked. “What ignorance? It’s because of him that my daughter is reunited with her mother and me with my wife!”

Katya pointed her finger at Zurinoff. “As I mentioned before, he’s been retired for a few years. He and his fellow retirees come by the station a few days a week to maintain their friendships. However, he failed to note that several weeks ago the master schedules for the incoming and outgoing trains have been changed. It’s no wonder he escorted you from there to the bus, then to the subway, and finally, to here. When he saw the Express moving out of the station he wrongly assumed it was beginning its last passage through the remaining Moscow stations before departing for the Orient. He was unaware that the train merely was being moved into the rail yard onto a different set of tracks.”

“Nonetheless,” father piped up, “if it wasn’t for his efforts, my daughter and I would’ve had no idea of what to do or where to go to rendezvous with Mutsch.”

“Yes, of course,” Katya said, “and that’s why no disciplinary action will be taken against him. In fact, it’s fortunate he knew to escort you to this last city station to meet the Express. If he had chosen any of the ones in between I’m quite sure you would have been late at every one.”

“In any case,” Mutsch said extending her hand to Zurinoff, “it’s because of this man that I’m with my family now.” Katya then said something to Zurinoff. He smiled in his awkward way, bowed before us, waved his hand, and then disappeared into the crowds.

Katya said, “You’ll want to talk for a few moments. I’ll return to the train. We leave in thirty-five minutes from now. I’ll watch you from the railcar. We needn’t be separated again, yes?” We all laughed!

It’s the strangest thing. When terror or fright is relieved humour manages to take over so quickly.

Several people from the sightseeing group stayed back, eager to hear of our adventures.

Paps asked Mutsch, “What happened while we were separated?”

We returned to the bench. The group huddled around. As if on cue, we all turned to make sure Katya would still be able to see us. I saw her watching from the railcar, waved my hand to her, and she acknowledged by waving back and smiling brightly. Everyone else waved back as well.

Mutsch told us, “When the train began moving I ran from our compartment into the corridor and toward the exit door but by then it had been closed. I screamed! Then I ran through the adjoining cars looking for someone who could help me. There was no one! When I reached the dining car I saw a waiter and the sous-chef leaving the kitchen. I cried out to them.”

“Didn’t you see the maître’d’? He understands German.”

“No, Lorechen. And then the train seemed to stumble on its tracks jerking to a halt. I thought it had crashed into something. Then it started to creep backward, then forward, then backward again and with another jolt it picked up speed. Within a few minutes I was back at the station only this time on the opposite side of the platform.”

Paps was staring at her. “But how’s that possible?”

Mutsch flapped her hand. “The train was being pushed and pulled into the rail yard. It was switching to another track and then reversing into the station!”

“So it was gone only for a short time!” Paps said in wonderment.

“Anyway,” she continued, “you can imagine my terror when I realized you and Lorechen weren’t on the platform. I was distraught. So I remained by the exit door of our railcar the entire time. Hours went by and then I saw Katya returning with the sightseeing group. As soon as she boarded I ran to her to tell her of our misfortune. She calmed me down and told me you and Lorechen would be found and that I wasn’t to worry.”

Paps reasoned, “So when we saw the train pulling away it would have been only a little while until it came back on the other side of the platform?”

“Yes,” Mutsch said, “and when Katya and I realized that you both had left the station she said it was likely that one of the railway personnel had come to your assistance. She told me all the employees know the timetables and where the trains go. Even though Herr Zurinoff didn’t know of the revised schedules he correctly anticipated with time to spare how long it would take to catch this train based on the old schedule and obviously he managed to coordinate its arrival here with your arrival as well before it would leave Moscow for good.” Mother was breathing quite rapidly now.

“All right,” Paps said reaching to clasp our hands, “the ordeal is over. Come, hug me now so you will be calm for me.”

We overheard a few of the people from the group talking. Some were saying that compared to the tale of our exploits their sightseeing excursion had been dull!

A loud whistle shot through the station. Everyone froze. We turned as one to look at the railcar. We saw Katya waving her arms, beckoning us to return to the train. We ran to her.

As the door of our railcar closed behind us, Paps, Mutsch, and I stood still, then embraced each other, a cluster of happiness and gratitude.

The train gathered speed as it made its way out of the station away from the city of Moscow beginning the long trip across the vast Russian landscape to the Far East.