Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

“You mean you haven’t heard?”

Dr. Feit shook his head.

Glancing furtively at the women and children, Ziborov leant forward. Turning his face away from the others so that they could not read his lips, he silently mouthed the word “typhus”.

Trotsky watched the Doctor’s face blanch.

“Where?” he whispered back.

Ziborov shrugged and mouthed “everywhere”.

“How many dead so far?” asked Trotsky quietly.

Holding up one hand, Ziborov extended four fingers.

“That’s in Belogoryia alone and it’s only a small place,” he said. “It’s far worse up north. You’ll see that for yourself. If you’re going all the way to Obdorsk, you’ll be travelling through about the worst of it.”

“It is no wonder that we are travelling so fast,” mused Dr. Feit. “A minimum of fifty versts a day. They are trying to outrun the epidemic.”

The questions continued for another ten minutes, then the group broke up. Catching the Doctor’s eye, Trotsky beckoned him over to where Sverchkov lay. Squatting down beside him, the two men examined the feverish figure.

“You don’t think…?” Trotsky began fearfully.

“No!” the Doctor interrupted him. “It’s very unlikely. We’ve seen no sickness yet, whatever our friend might say. There is no way your friend could have come into contact with the infected population without the rest of us doing so as well.”

“Perhaps we have, and Sverchkov is just the first to fall sick?”

Dr. Feit stood up and ran a hand through his thinning hair.

“Granted he has the beginnings of a fever but he hasn’t reported headache, nausea, or diarrhoea, and there are no signs of rash.”

The two men looked steadily at each other.

“For God’s sake, Lev Davidovich,” Dr. Feit hissed, “don’t let’s have any of this talk. Can you imagine what they will do if they think we have become infected?”

Standing side by side they listened to the sound of rattling dice in the room next door and the occasional shouts of the drivers.

“They’ll cut us down like dogs,” muttered the Doctor, “men, women and children. We can’t risk that. Sverchkov’s got a bad chill, that’s all. And that’s official.”

Chapter Nine

Thursday 9th February

Berezovo

Knowledge, reflected Dr. Tortsov as he ate his supper besides a silent Yeliena, did not bring happiness. Happiness was not a function of knowledge. What knowledge brought, in compensation, was power; in his case, the power to effect change and prevent disgrace.

It had come as a great surprise and a cause of deep unhappiness to him to have learned from his assistant that his wife had been on the point of leaving him because of the business of the casting of Modest Tolkach. It had been even more of a surprise to discover that the Hospital Administrator had carnal designs on his wife. Once he had recovered from his shock and dismay he had moved as swiftly as he could to scotch his superior’s plans. That very morning, accompanied by his assistant Anton Ivanovich Chevanin, he had had a meeting with their boss at the hospital during which his primary problem had been skilfully resolved. As young Chevanin had predicted, Tolkach had fallen for Anton Ivanovich’s ruse; he had agreed to accept the central role of Tolkachov in the second play, A Tragedian In Spite Of Himself. Now the Doctor was engaged upon what he regarded as the critically important and less straightforward task of repairing his marriage.

The atmosphere at No 8 Ostermann Street had become increasingly strained. He had first noticed it on the Tuesday morning when Yeliena had not appeared at the breakfast table. Katya had tremulously informed him that her mistress was feeling unwell and had asked not to be disturbed. The following morning Katya had reported that Yeliena was feeling a little better but was insisting on taking her breakfast in her room. He had since realised, with a sense of irritation, that on both occasions the maid had been covering for his wife.

Chevanin’s revelations in the clinic may have provided a compelling explanation for her melancholia but they cast no light on the strategy that would provide the most efficacious solution. The previous evening, sitting by himself after dinner, Dr. Tortsov had reasoned that Yeliena must have felt both shaken and frightened by the news that she would have to act opposite the man who had been pursuing her in her husband’s absence. Why else would she have contemplated such desperate measures? Not for one moment did he countenance the possibility that she had encouraged the Hospital Administrator’s attentions. She was, he was certain, completely innocent in the affair and her behaviour above reproach.