Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

“They say that in the wilder parts,” she confided across the table, “some of the Ostyak shamans worship him as a deity, who appears every now and again to bestow his blessing and heal the sick.”

“Only a minor god, my dear,” protested the Doctor, joining in the joke.

“Is this true?” Chevanin asked.

“Oh yes,” Yeliena assured him gravely. “As soon as he arrives they all dress up in their animal skins, bang drums and young virgins are brought in his honour. Hundreds of them gather as soon as they see his sleigh, each dragging their daughters behind them, roped together like goats. The feasting goes on for days.”

Chevanin looked from one to the other, unsure whether they were jesting or not.

“And do you carry a gun when you go?” he asked the Doctor.

“Oh yes, most certainly,” replied the Doctor truthfully. “Once you have been pursued by a pack of wolves, your pistol never leaves your side.”

“I think Anton Ivanovich had better take one as well, don’t you dearest?” suggested Yeliena. “If only to protect him from the virgins.”

“He would need a cannon to protect himself from those devils,” said her husband with a knowing laugh.

Chevanin smiled weakly and resumed eating his meal. He felt embarrassed by their indelicate humour and excluded from what seemed like a companionable conspiracy.

“Speaking of cannons, when will we be able to rehearse at the barracks?” Yeliena asked her husband. “The performance is in a week’s time, remember.”

“Don’t worry, my dear. Captain Steklov said that we can move in as soon as the troops guarding these prisoners have left. Of course, the first day, Wednesday, is out of the question, because Belinsky should be putting up the scenery then. We wouldn’t be able to hear ourselves think with all that hammering and scraping.”

“So, Thursday at the earliest?” asked Chevanin.

Swallowing his last mouthful of food, the Doctor pushed his plate away from him and nodded.

“Plenty of time before then for you to learn your words. That is what you should be concentrating on now. As long as you know your lines, the movements should take care of themselves,” he declared optimistically.

“‘Speak up and don’t bump into the furniture,’” quoted Chevanin. “That is what Maslov told me.”

Dr. Tortsov shot him a look, as much as to say, “Oh him! Don’t listen what he has to say.”

“Vasili is right, Anton Ivanovich,” Madame Tortsova said. “We must concentrate on the script for the moment. Why don’t we have another rehearsal after lunch?”

“By all means,” the Doctor agreed. “The more often the better. But I am afraid, my dear, that you shall have to do so without me. I told Colonel Izorov that I would go over to Police Headquarters to take a look at the prisoners when they arrive. We cannot afford to take any risks.”

“Oh really, Vasili!” his wife exclaimed petulantly. “Must you go? It’s beginning to snow again and I’m sure that the Colonel will keep them well out of the way of the townspeople. Even if they are infected, they won’t be a threat to anyone, except to you if you go and inspect them.”

“I wish that was the case, Lenochka,” he replied. “But it is not. It appears that, for political reasons, they are to be allowed to have a certain freedom of movement outside the prison, so they really do have to be examined at the earliest opportunity. I shouldn’t be too long, not unless they’ve been delayed on the road.”

“Oh well, my dear, if you must go, you must,” Yeliena said with a sigh of resignation. “Anton Ivanovich, you and I shall just have to manage as best we can.”

Picking up the tiny hand bell that sat beside her plate, she rang it briskly, summoning Katya to clear away the plates.

Chapter Twenty

Sunday 11th February 1907

Berezovo

Boarding their carriage, Tatyana sat in the far corner of its cushioned seat, determined to keep her distance from her husband. Olga Nadnikova had been correct: their urgent discussion had been completed in time for her to return to the service and leave the church beside Leonid. She was not on trial, Olga had insisted, but they had to know certain facts before they could determine the best course of action. Her examination – for that is what it had felt like – had taken the form of a series of probing questions.

Did she now believe them when they said that Irena Kuibysheva had designs upon her husband?

Yes.

Did she have proof of their betrayal?

Yes, his soiled laundry.

Had she (Tatyana) challenged her husband about his betrayal?

Yes.

What had been his reaction?

He had denied it completely and had said that she was imagining things.

“Men are such cowards!” sighed Lidiya. “They throw a rock through a window and then deny doing it even though the dirt is still on their hands.”