Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

Holding up four fingers, he ticked off the points one by one.

“Firstly, that some of the defendants of the Petersburg trial will be passing through here on their way to their place of exile. Secondly, that if they don’t arrive tomorrow, then we can expect them on Sunday. Thirdly, that there will be at least twelve of them and that they will be heavily guarded. Lastly, that they will probably be situated at the prison, perhaps the hospital, for the duration of their stay. Now, the next question is: for how long?”

“They’ve come a long way,” said Fatiev. “Given that they’ve changed horses at every available stop and that they might – I say might – be transferred onto these sleighs of Averbuch’s, then they need only stay one night.”

“But won’t their guards be as exhausted as they are by the journey?” argued Usov. “This is the last town on the Highway; the last chance for them to pick up supplies. Surely they will take the opportunity to rest up for a couple of days at least?”

“If Shiminski was at the meeting,” said Tamara Karseneva, “it’s possible that the supplies are all ready and waiting for them. All they need do is replace the escort with some of Steklov’s men and they could be on their way the next morning. Izorov won’t want to keep them hanging around the town any longer than is necessary.”

“No, Abram Usov is correct,” argued Fatiev. “Think of the drivers. You can change the teams but the drivers will probably need a rest for a day or so. Besides, Steklov won’t fancy letting go of some of his own troops and having to rely upon strangers still weary from their journey. He’ll want to be ready to meet any challenge we might present him with. That must be why he’s been parading them like peacocks for the past week. He’s trying to provoke us.”

“It’s not provocation,” scoffed Usov. “It’s a rehearsal. He’s planning to meet them down the road and bring them into town under his command. We’ve been watching them: they always take the same route. They come up from the South, up Alexei Street then stop by the police headquarters. Then back down Alexei Street, down Well Lane, across Market Square and straight into the barracks.”

“Or the prison?” suggested Tamara Karseneva.

There was a moment’s silence. Her husband spoke for them all when he said:

“Damn it! And all the time we didn’t see it. We must be getting slow.”

“Well, we know now,” said Usov glumly.

“So that only leaves one question unanswered,” mused David Landemann, squinting through narrowed eyes at one of the candles that was about to expire. “You still don’t know who exactly is coming.”

“Does that matter?” asked Oleg Karseneva.

“Of course it does,” said Usov and Fatiev together.

“I don’t see why,” said the Menshivik leader. “They are exiles just like us. In fact, assuming they are SPs, they are worse off. They’ll still be freezing out in whatever God forsaken spot they are dumped in when we are safely back in our hometowns. If they are still alive, that is. So what does it matter who they are?”

“Ask Usov,” suggested Fatiev cryptically. “He knows.”

Surprised, Oleg Karsenev turned to the head of the Jewish Bund. “Abram?”

Usov massaged the flesh on the back of his hand.

“It matters,” he said.

“But why?”

“Because it dictates how we respond to them. That much, I am in agreement with Fatiev, though it pains me to say so.”

Fatiev gave the ghost of a smile.

“With one exception,” Usov continued, drawing himself up, “the Jewish Socialist Bund is prepared to extend every hospitality and comfort. That exception is the man who calls himself Leon Trotsky. If Trotsky is amongst their number, then we cannot support any general motion of welcome.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” muttered Tamara Karseneva.

“God has nothing to do with it,” snapped David Landemann.

“No, David, you’re wrong,” Usov corrected him. “God has everything to do with it. We remember that of all the voices that were raised against us at the Second Congress, both in Brussels and in London, it was Trotsky’s that was the loudest and the most insistent; much louder than Lenin’s. We came expecting to be greeted in the spirit of fraternity and instead we were vilified and shut out because we insisted on following our beliefs. Trotsky made it quite plain: even though the Bund represents by far the largest membership of politically active workers, our faith barred us from participation in the Socialist struggle. Of course, it is a baseless claim, and all the more unforgiveable when it comes from one of your own race. For that, for continuing to divide Jew from gentile even within the movement that preaches the Brotherhood of Man, we can never forgive him.”

Usov’s voice had sunk to a whisper. Conscious of their gaze, he roused himself.