Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

“Yes!” he confirmed with a laugh. “We could go to the opera there and take mass at St Panteleimon, and I could see if there was a city practice looking for a senior partner.”

Smiling now, Yeliena settled back down beside him and lay her head on his chest.

“Do they have a beach at Odessa?” she wondered aloud.

“Yes, they do. And a grand promenade.”

“Is it easy to walk to?”

“I believe that there are steps down to it,” he said quietly.

“I would love to see Odessa,” she sighed. Moving her head, she gazed up at him intently. “Oh Vasya, I do so hate feeling this way. I don’t mean to hurt you.”

Dr. Tortsov looked down at her and gently stroked her hair.

“And I don’t mean to hurt you and I have and I am so sorry,” he apologised. “You are my darling Lenochka. You are the most precious thing in my life.”

“We must take more care of each other,” she said with feeling.

“And of ourselves. We deserve to be happier. You deserve to be happier.”

“Yes I do,” Yeliena agreed, “but, oh, this town!”

“Never mind the town, or the silly people in it. Go a little crazy if you must, I will stand by you. And remember in the summer we will fly south.”

Smiling happily, she nestled her cheek upon his chest.

“Like two white sparrows,” she said.

“And we shall sing magical songs as we fly,” Dr. Tortsov added, closing his eyes.

“Sparrows can’t sing.”

“Oh yes they can,” he said firmly, “at least white sparrows can. And they can fly as high as any other bird, even eagles.”

“How can we fly so high, Vasya,” she murmured, “when we have such small wings?”

Reopening his eyes, he looked down and regarded her seriously.

“Our wings may be small but they are mighty,” he said with fierce deliberation. “I do love you so, Lienochka, and I am sorry if I have disappointed you.”

“Yes, I know,” she said.

The two of them lay there for a while, holding each other close, their passions spent having reached a new level of misunderstanding.

Chapter Ten

Friday 9th February

Berezovo

The Town Council was sitting in secret session in the Mayor’s parlour. Colonel Izorov had kept his word: he had told them everything.

As the echoes of the police chief’s iron shod heels receded down the corridor outside the council chamber, the five Councillors sat in stony silence, their eyes fixed upon the portly figure of His Excellency the Mayor. With the exception of Councillor Kuibyshev and the Mayor’s hunchbacked secretary (whom Izorov had ordered from the room before dropping his bombshell) they were all there: Pavel Nadnikov, grain merchant; Leonid Kavelin, timber merchant; Nikita Shiminski, general merchant; and the Two Thieves, the banker Fyodor Izminski and Sergei Kuprin, the town’s Revenue Officer. Collectively, the self-elected representatives of Trade, Capital and the Crown.

Mayor Pobednyev shifted uncomfortably in his seat under their gaze. Was it possible that they were going to attack him physically? He considered making an excuse and leaving the room, but could not think of a good enough reason. Downstairs, the door to the street slammed shut. Colonel Izorov had left the building.

Best to face them standing up, thought the Mayor, and started to lumber to his feet.

“Sit down, Anatoli Mihailovich,” commanded Kuprin. “You have some questions to answer.”

The Mayor resumed his seat and bowed his head as the storm cloud of angry demands rose and broke over him. How long had he known about this matter? Why had he kept the news of such a disaster from the Council? Did he think they were traitors? How much of the Town’s annual budget had he already squandered on these sleighs, reindeer and God knows what else? With what authority had he done this thing? What guarantee could they give the town that the criminals being released from custody would return willingly to the prison? What assurances were there that law abiding citizens of Berezovo weren’t about to be murdered in their beds by these swine, these insurrectionists and assassins from Petersburg? How would the town cope with the riots their presence was bound to cause? Above all, who was going to pay for the convoy while they were here? It was a scandal, an outrage, a bezobrazie! He was guilty of criminal negligence, dereliction of duty, and bad faith to his friends. He was, in short, finished as Mayor of Berezovo.

“There was nothing else I could do,” he said quietly as they paused for breath. “Colonel Izorov swore me to secrecy, just like he has sworn you.”

“In God’s name, man,” Kuprin hissed. “That is no excuse to start pillaging the Council funds without consulting us first.”

“But I haven’t!” insisted Pobednyev. “I haven’t spent a single copeck yet. Ask Fyodor Fyodorovich here.”

Fyodor Izminsky gravely shook his head in disagreement.

“Maybe you haven’t drawn any cash, but you have still spent the money, Anatoli Mihailovich. You have committed the Council to paying out a small fortune. We are liable for the costs.”