Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

“Then it’s up to him to say whether you go or stay. Well, David?”

“Please, Hannah,” Landemann said, “don’t make a fuss. We can’t start until you have gone. Go home and wait for me there. This won’t take long and when it is finished I shall come straight back, I promise.”

“‘It won’t take long’,” she mimicked him. “Who are you trying to fool? You will still be arguing when the police break down the doors.”

“That’s enough,” her brother said angrily.

The sound of a single knock on the outer door silenced them. The knock was repeated and then twice more in quick succession. It was the agreed signal, but delivered too rapidly to be identical to the one they had arranged. For a second none of them moved. Then Landemann left them in the counting house and padded quietly across the outer office to open the outer door. As soon as he had done so, two shadowy figures pushed roughly past him.

“Shut the door,” a man’s voice said urgently. “There’s a patrol at the bottom of the Alley.”

“Troops?” asked Landemann nervously.

“No,” the man said. “Izorov’s men. One on horseback, two on foot. They are making their way down the street, trying all the doors.”

“We should move to the back of the shop,” his companion said calmly.

It was the voice of a woman. She spoke unhurriedly, as if their predicament was of little consequence.

Bolting the door, Landemann led them through to the counting house where they greeted Abram Usov and his sister.

“David, you stay here in the back,” said Usov, turning to his brother-in-law. “Hannah and I will be by the door.”

Taking his sister by the arm he guided her into the outer office, shutting the door behind them so that they would not be overheard.

“Abram, let go!” complained Hannah, trying to free herself from his grip. “Oh! You’re hurting me.”

“Sshh!” he warned her. “Now listen, little sister. The moment the patrol has passed, you are going straight out into the street and then home. This is no place for a woman, do you understand?”

Rising on tip toe, she tried again to pull away, but he held her fast.

“Do you understand?” he repeated menacingly, increasing the pressure on her arm.

She shook her head angrily.

“Let me go, you bully!” she whispered loudly. “Why can’t I stay? She’s here.”

“Shhh!” Usov warned her again. Together they moved closer to the outer door and stood listening as the sound of boots approached and stopped. A bright light shone under the door and one of the patrol tried the door handle. They heard a horse snort outside in the dark street and stomp its hooves. Apparently satisfied, the boots moved on and a moment later they heard the patrol repeat its inspection at the shop next door.

Relaxing his grip a fraction, Usov sighed.

“Tamara Karseneva is present as a representative of the RSDLP,” he said. “Both she and Oleg have taken the risk of coming here because they are responsible to their people. You, on the other hand, are responsible to no one but your children. Your place is at home with them.”

“What about David?” she whispered back angrily. “He’s their father.”

“The only reason David is here is because he has the keys. I will look after him. Now get out of here before that patrol decides to come back.”

Letting go of his sister’s arm he stepped back and smiled apologetically at her.

“I’m sorry, Hannah. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he told her softly. “But you must go now. Go on.”

Rubbing her arm, Hannah moved reluctantly towards the door.

“All right,” she said. “Just don’t make me a widow.”

During their struggle, her shawl had fallen from her. Picking it up off the floor, she shook it then wrapped it tightly around her head and shoulders. At her signal that she was ready, Usov pulled the door open and stepped silently out into the street. The dim light from the patrol’s lamp was making its way northwards along the Alley. Beckoning his sister to join him, he pushed her in the opposite direction and stepped back into the office, pulling the door to until it was almost closed. Pressing his eye to the crack in the door, Usov watched her cross the Alley and move out of his range of vision. Instinct told him that there was someone else out there. He remained where he was; waiting for the spy to reveal himself. Sure enough, after a minute had passed, a figure detached itself from the shadows of a doorway further up the street: a darker darkness in the shape of a man. But instead of following his sister, he seemed to be making his way towards where Usov stood. With a frown, Usov reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his heavy iron bar. He waited for the figure to draw nearer, watching him move cautiously along the street, wherever possible still keeping to the cover of the shadows. Only when the man had nearly reached the door did Usov recognise him. Opening the door wider, he drew the newcomer in.

“Welcome, Fatiev,” he said quietly.

“Who was that?” demanded the leader of Berezovo’s bolshevicki exiles as he edged past him.

“Only my sister,” Usov said, with relief, closing the door.

Fatiev grunted.