Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

Yes, he told himself, I have lost Yeliena, but not suddenly.

Despite what they told each other he had always known that the difference in their ages would matter. And how long had Tolkach been waging his campaign of seduction? Whatever his opinion of the Hospital Director, he was no Tartar. He didn’t just ride in and grab a woman; he would wait and plot and scheme. It was probable that this situation had not arisen with the play at all but long before. If Yeliena had not somehow attracted Tolkach’s attention, if Tolkach’s persistence had been wholly unwelcome to her, then surely she would never have considered leaving their home? Surely she would have come to him and said, “Vasili, you must do something about this.” But she hadn’t. Prompted by the last shreds of loyalty and decency in her, she had chosen to run away. Had she tried to escape from the inevitable because she knew that, if she stayed, she might succumb? All that time and she had said nothing to him. Nothing!

“Doctor?”

Dr. Tortsov opened his eyes and attempted a reassuring smile. The towel had become a tightly twisted coil in his hands. Unravelling it, he slowly rubbed it against his face, hiding his grief from Chevanin’s gaze.

If only he could stop crying…

“I’m all right, Anton,” he said through his tears. “What you’ve told me… it’s been a shock, that’s all.”

He pressed the towel more firmly to his face and let out a shuddering sigh. His household had become the subject of scandal and speculation. The whole town knew that his wife was being stolen from behind his back like a lump of meat. Chevanin had told him that he had even heard the affaire being openly discussed in the waiting room.

Wiping his eyes, he placed the towel neatly beside the small hand basin and turned to face his assistant standing in the dispensary’s doorway. He walked over to Chevanin and put his hands on the young man’s shoulders.

“Look at me, Anton.”

Too embarrassed, the Doctor assumed, to witness his grief, his assistant refused to meet his gaze.

Dr. Tortsov shook him gently.

“Look at me,” he demanded softly.

Chevanin’s blue eyes, troubled and full of pain, found his.

“You’re a good boy, Anton Ivanovich. A good boy, for telling me this. It was a kindness, you see; no matter how much it has wounded me.”

“Doctor…” Chevanin began in a faltering voice, but the Doctor hushed him.

“Ssh! You know,” he continued, “I think of you almost as my son. If Sasha had lived, I would have wanted him to grow up to be a man much like you. Instead…”

He sighed and shook his head as he felt the words begin to slip away from him.

“And I am lucky to have you as my helper and as, I hope, my friend,” he finished haltingly.

He watched as, red faced and too full of his own emotions to speak, the young man swallowed and nodded.

“Good. Then as a friend, you will do this for me? You won’t tell anyone what you have just told me? Nobody, especially not Yeliena.”

Chevanin nodded again.

“Do you promise me that?” insisted Dr. Tortsov.

“I promise,” whispered Chevanin.

Drawing his young assistant towards him, Dr. Tortsov embraced him and planted a paternal kiss on both of his cheeks. Then, stepping back, he reached for his outer coat.

“What are you going to do?” asked Chevanin as he helped him on with his coat.

“I’m going to speak to Tolkach.”

“No! You mustn’t!” said Chevanin hurriedly.

“Don’t worry. I won’t do anything rash. A moment ago, I wanted to kill him,” he confided grimly. “I would have too if he had been here. But now, I will just tell him that I know what he is up to and warn him to keep away from Yeliena.”

“But what about your play?”

The doctor looked at him blankly.

“Oh, that? Well… I will just have to find someone else for her part.”

“But don’t you see? That won’t stop people talking,” argued Chevanin, stepping between the Doctor and the doorway to the empty waiting room. “On the contrary, it will only confirm the rumours. Yeliena Mihailovna has done nothing wrong. She shouldn’t be blamed. She dislikes Tolkach as much as you do.”

“Surely you aren’t suggesting that I let him play opposite her?”

“No, of course not! But if you start looking for a substitute female, people will start thinking that you don’t trust your wife. She’ll be no better thought of than Irena Kuibysheva, only she won’t have Kuibyshev’s money to protect her.”

The Doctor paused and then motioned Chevanin to follow him through to the consulting room. He could not understand his assistant’s thinking but one thing was clear. He had two problems to deal with: the first was Tolkach; the second Yeliena. Taking a tin of cigarettes from his desk drawer, he offered one to Chevanin.

“What do you suggest I should do?” he asked. “I can’t just ignore this.”