In the afternoon, Nicole played with Li Suran or helped her to prepare the main meal, while Val sat by Ha Suran’s bedside. Evenings were spent eating dinner with any members of the extended family who dropped by, making conversation that was stilted because of the language barrier. The mats proved comfortable enough to sleep on, but Val found the hole-in-the-ground toilet and hosepipe shower more challenging.

The days flew past in a blur: one moment they had most of the three weeks in front of them, then somehow it was the final few days.

It was hard to contemplate leaving, but Val comforted herself that Ha Suran seemed better than when she had arrived. The sickly yellow of her skin and eyes was less intense; she could sit up for short periods, and talk for longer without getting tired. Val took photographs of everyone and showed Li Suran how to use the camera so she could take some of the three generations together: mother, daughter, and granddaughter.

“I’ll send you copies as soon as I get back,” she promised.

On the last day, she felt like crying every time she looked at Ha Suran. She mourned for all the years they had lost. How different her life would have been if she’d had a mother when she was a teenager.

“Do you remember the song about the two tigers, Mom?” she asked, the memory coming back to her.

Ha Suran began to sing in a pure voice that made her seem twenty years younger, and suddenly Val felt as though she was Nicole’s age again. Tears pricked her eyes. All the love Ha Suran had given her as a child was still there. She’d gotten her mom back.

When the song ended, Ha Suran clutched Val’s hand. “I wish I could make you happy,” she said. “All I ever wanted was for you to be happy, but I can tell you’re not.”

Val felt choked and couldn’t speak for a few moments. “I’ll get there,” she said at last. “It’s going to be a long haul, but I’ll get there.”

Chapter 32

Leningrad, March 1937

PETER’S OFF-DUTY HOURS WERE OFTEN CONSUMED BY MEETINGS: Communist Party meetings, trade-union meetings, and—worst of all—Komsomol meetings when workers were invited to speak out against their coworkers and a commission decided on their guilt or innocence.

“Grigory Yezhov was summoned today,” he told Maria one evening, after checking that none of the children were in earshot. “If they can accuse him, none of us are safe.”

“What is he accused of?” Maria knew the man and had always thought him a drearily staunch Communist.

“Yuri Yermilov overheard him saying he doubts we can achieve the targets in the new Five Year Plan. Now, he might well have said that; we all know they are absurd. But it’s hardly treason, is it?” He looked gray and exhausted.

“What did the committee decide?”