Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

“Konstantin Illyich!” exclaimed the Mayor, shaken by the prospect of his triumph being cancelled. “Besides the fact that we have already agreed to hold a reception, and I myself have gone to a great deal of trouble and expense to make the necessary arrangements, it is our duty to the citizens of Berezovo to mark this historic occasion, however unsavoury it is. And we must impress upon these swine our undying loyalty to His Imperial Majesty the Tsar. Not have a reception? Pah!”

“It’s more than a matter of whether we hold the reception or not,” observed Skyralenko quietly. “There is also our legal responsibility concerning the freeing of the prisoners.”

“Temporary freeing,” Colonel Izorov corrected him.

“Yes, temporary freeing, of course,” said Skyralenko hastily. “But what happens if one of them commits a crime in the meantime? Would it not be better for the Town Council to at least be aware of this and give it their official approval?”

“What Skyralenko has said about his prisoners goes for everybody,” the young Captain joined in. “I have been puzzled about by what you, Colonel, intend to do if someone, anyone, actually commits a crime while they are here. You can’t put them in jail. You can’t spare the men to guard them. It occurs to me that your only alternative is to inform the Town Council and asked them to draw up a list of names of people prepared to become police auxiliaries for the duration.”

“My orders are quite definite,” said Colonel Izorov stubbornly. “This is a matter for total secrecy. No mention about swearing in special policemen; just that we have to keep our mouths shut as long as we can.”

“Your orders also said that forty sleighs were to be provided,” insisted Pobednyev. “Am I correct? But there’s no mention of who is meant to pay for them.”

“We have already discussed that,” said the Colonel.

“I know! And you said that the Town should cover the cost and I accepted that. But doesn’t that mean that at least Sergei Kuprin, as Revenue Officer, ought to know about this? After all, Leonid Kavelin already knows something’s up.”

“Where does Kavelin come into all this?” asked Captain Steklov.

Colonel Izorov, seeing his chance to return the Captain’s earlier fire, smiled.

“It’s quite simple if you think about it, Captain,” he explained. “Kavelin is a timber merchant, the sleighs are made of wood, and so on. Anyway, I wouldn’t be too concerned about Leonid Sergeivich Kavelin, if I were you. If the Mayor here chose to apply a little pressure, he would see the necessity of silence. He is not without certain unexplained patterns of behaviour of his own.”

The tacit threat of blackmail brought a pained expression to Mayor Pobednyev’s face.

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Colonel,” he murmured.

Colonel Izorov shrugged.

“Maybe, maybe not. However, I see that I am outnumbered, and Anatoli Mihailovich’s arguments are very persuasive,” he admitted. “The reception, the prisoners, the money… these are all things that the Council now should know about. But,” he added, “they will be informed on my terms. Is that acceptable to you?”

“That depends on the terms you have in mind, Colonel,” said Pobednyev guardedly.

“Firstly, that I shall tell them myself. Secondly, that the Council will meet in secret session to hear what I have to say. Thirdly, that they will sign a document to testify that they are in possession of highly secret information which they promise not to disclose or discuss with anyone else.”

The Mayor hesitated for a moment and then gave a cautious nod of agreement.

“These sound very reasonable conditions,” he agreed.

Inwardly, Pobednyev was relieved that the days of waiting were nearing an end. Mingled with his relief was a sense of surprise: he had not expected Kostya Izorov to capitulate so easily. Captain Steklov had assured him that it would take hard pounding to make him move his position an inch. Their only hope had been for them to work together, and launch a simultaneous attack on two different fronts. Yet barely had the battle begun than the Colonel had surrendered, and with some grace. It was typically contrary to their expectations.

Sitting beside him, Dimitri Skyralenko smiled contentedly, aware that the Mayor had that morning slung a noose, as yet still loose, around the Town Council’s collective neck. If anything went wrong with the arrangements, Colonel Izorov ran no risk of running short of people to blame.

“Good,” said Colonel Izorov as the conference began to break up. “Until I speak to the Council, I shall assume that only we four know what is happening next Sunday.”

“I’ve told my men that we are rehearsing for a surprise general inspection,” remarked Captain Steklov, walking over to where he had left his military greatcoat folded on a chair by the door. “They think the Provincial Governor is coming.”

Colonel Izorov nodded with approval and looked enquiringly at the other two men.

“I haven’t told anyone,” said Pobednyev quickly.

“Nor I,” said Skyralenko.