Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

“Later they did. Much later. While I was rotting in prison, the seasons were changing. In the spring the snows melted, revealing the brief case. Tall green grass grew, hiding it again. Then comes summer. A workman on the estate is told to cut the grass down. He takes his two boys with him. While he works, they are playing in the long grass. They find the briefcase and take it to him. ‘What is this, Dad? Is it valuable?’ The workman can’t read and, reckoning that it probably belongs to his master anyhow, he hands it in. The trouble is, the landowner Sokonin can read. Terrified at what has landed in his lap, he rushes off to Nikolayev and hands it in at the police station. Nine months after arresting us, the O. finally gets its proof.”

Sitting back, Trotsky took another sip of his tea as his fellow prisoners broke into a babble of comment. Slipping from his knee, the boy regarded him seriously.

“There weren’t any wolves, were there?”

“No,” admitted Trotsky, “but the policeman in cemetery at midnight was very like a wolf.”

“Really?”

“Well, he had yellow eyes and walked silently in the snow,” Trotsky assured him.

Seemingly satisfied, the boy nodded his approval and ran back to his mother.

Still smiling, Trotsky sniffed the mug of tea that was warming his hands. Unless he was mistaken, a compromise had been reached in the other room. A strong taste of vodka was discernible, mixed in with the melted snow and the floating tea leaves.

“What happened next?” asked the little girl.

“What happened next?” he mused. “Well now, let me see. Nearly all of the Union members were let off with a caution. The leaders, that is Grigory, Ziv, Alexandra and myself, were sentenced to four years’ exile. And that was that.”

The girl remained by his side, holding his hand. The appearance of a woman in the story for the first time had reawakened her curiosity.

“Alexandra? Was she very beautiful?”

Trotsky thought for a while.

“Yes, very.”

“Were you sweethearts?”

“That’s enough now, Sophiya,” her mother called out from the other side of the room.

“No, I don’t mind,” Trotsky said slowly. “Yes, we were sweethearts. In fact, while we were in prison we got the warden to marry us because we wanted to spend our exile together.”

“It must have been a very romantic honeymoon, Lev Davidovich,” one of exiles remarked. “Why don’t you tell us about that?”

Gently shooing the girl away, Trotsky smiled at his comrade.

“I’m sure none of it would interest a man of your experience,” he said, “but all right. About six months after the trial, we were shipped off to our allotted places of exile. It was the first time that Alexandra and I had been together as actual man and wife.”

“Oh aye?”

“Well, as I say, we were shipped off and I mean literally shipped. All the prisoners were loaded onto rafts and floated down the River Lena. Every now and again, one of the rafts would put into the bank where a few prisoners would be taken off and left to fend for themselves. Only, the thing was, on our raft Alexandra and I found ourselves packed in with no less than one hundred and fifty Skaptsy…”

Trotsky paused. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the women grin broadly then cover her mouth and whisper to the woman beside her, who began to laugh. Then several of the men also began to chuckle. Looking expectantly at the Deputy, he realised that he had not understood the joke.

“Let me tell you,” he explained, “as keen as my appetite was to ‘get down to business’ and ‘celebrate’ our marriage, I did find it a little difficult in the company of a hundred and fifty shaven headed Christian eunuchs, forever chanting hosannas every hour of the day and night!”

There was more laughter.

“Needless to say,” he concluded modestly, “I persisted and at last matters reached a successful outcome.”

The laughter rose again and a few of the deputies clapped their hands in applause.

“At least he knew where she was at night,” someone called out.

“They say that a one eyed man is Tsar in the empire of the blind,” observed Dr. Feit jovially. “Well, in Lev Davidovich’s case…”

Trotsky smiled bashfully as someone began to slap his back in congratulation. One of the exiles who had been standing against the wall spat meaningfully on the hard earthen floor.

“Is that how you see yourself now, comrade?” he asked. “A Tsar among eunuchs?”

Trotsky looked up at him in surprise. Other men began quickly to get up from the floor as Dr. Feit stepped between the two men.

“Now, now!” he warned the Deputy. “Stop it. It was just a bit of fun, that’s all.”

Pushing Dr. Feit away, the man was still waiting for an answer. Certain that the Doctor would stop any violence before it started, Trotsky slowly got to his feet.

“No, Comrade,” he replied quietly. “But it is how I see the difference between me and you.”

The man charged, swinging a fist. One of the women screamed and the nearest Deputies scrambled out of the way. Ready for the attack Trotsky backed away, letting Dr. Feit catch the Deputy’s arm and pull it down to his side.