Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

“Thank you,” said Tatyana uncertainly, “but I am really not sure I feel well enough…”

“Nonsense! Call the maid for two glasses and we will both have a taste while I bring you up to date with all the news.”

“The news?”

“Yes, of course,” said Olga Nadnikova, adding with characteristic bluntness, “You don’t think that the world stops turning just because you are hiding away, do you? The town is in an uproar.”

Although she flinched at this careless reminder of her recent troubles, on a deeper level Tatyana enjoyed a sense of profound relief. It was now clear that, despite her bossiness, her hitherto unwelcome guest had chosen to come to her not as a judge but as a friend. By employing her natural predilection for “plain speaking” Olga was offering, in crude terms, to lance the boil of her scandal in private and let the matter rest.

“Is everyone very angry with me?” she said mournfully as she rang for her maid.

“With you?” repeated Olga Nadnikova. “Oh my dear, I can assure no one is thinking of you and your trouble now. That whole sad business has paled into insignificance compared to what has happened since.”

“But what has happened?” asked Tatyana as her maid entered the room.

Olga Nadnikova waited for the maid to leave before beginning her summary of the most recent events.

“After you left the hotel on Sunday everybody went into lunch as if everything was normal. The lunch – which was mostly spoiled by the time it reached the table – went on for far too long because the Mayor told us that we all had to stay there until the convoy of prisoners arrived. As a result, most of the Council and their wives became beastly drunk and were almost incapable of walking by the time it was reported that the convoy had been sighted.”

Olga Nadnikova paused while the maid reappeared carrying a tray bearing two small glasses. Taking the whisky bottle from Tatyana she expertly broke the wax seal and unwrapped the paper that protected the neck of the bottle. Drawing the cork with a small pop she poured out two small measures of the amber liquid in the glasses and handed one to her hostess.

Tatyana took an experimental sip from her glass as her visitor continued her account.

“When the signal came we were all meant to leave the hotel and form up on that ridiculous stage that Pobednyev had constructed. It was at that point that Matriona Pobednyeva insisted, if you please, that the stage was for the Councillors only and that she, as the wife of the Mayor, should be the only woman allowed there.”

“How ridiculous!” offered Tatyana, in an attempt to disguise her dislike of the Scotch’s bitter taste.

“Quite ridiculous,” agreed Olga Nadnikova. “Of course nobody listened to her and we all piled on regardless, only to be greeted by the sight of Illya Kuibyshev being escorted into town as if he was under arrest.”

“Illya Moiseyevich is back?” exclaimed Tatyana.

“Oh yes, and no doubt there will be a reckoning there. It seems that his carriage lights were mistaken for those of the lead sleigh of the prison convoy. Although how anyone could make that mistake defeats me. He was absolutely furious and called the Mayor and Captain Steklov all sorts of names. But that is not the main story.”

Appearing not to notice that Tatyana was leaving her glass untouched, Olga Nadnikova paused in her narration, took a sip of her whisky and licked her lips appreciatively.

“When the convoy finally did arrive,” she continued, “we learned that it had travelled through a belt of typhus villages.”

“Dear God!”

“Quite, my dear,” observed Madame Nadnikova. “Of course, that would not matter if the traitors were to be kept locked up in the jail house while they were here but that is not the case. Instead Colonel Izorov has allowed them to wander around the centre of town completely unguarded.”

“No!”

“Not only that, he is allowing them to meet with our exiles and the Jews who, of course, are all over them like flies.”

“That will cause trouble,” prophesied Tatyana. “What does the Colonel think he is doing?”

“Ach! Kostya Izorov has always been too soft on the Socialists and the Jews,” said Olga Nadnikova severely, adding, “But you haven’t heard the worst of it. These traitors have also been allowed to use the hotel rooms. Yesterday they were spread out in the lounge on the mezzanine floor with their banners on display, and not just their banners.”

“What do you mean?” asked Tatyana.

“The men were sitting round dressed only in their overcoats, completely naked underneath. No trousers or anything. Lidiya Stepanovna witnessed them herself and Alexander Maslov actually had to share the same lunch table in the dining room with them. Not that he minded, of course,” she added archly.

“But why weren’t they arrested?” Tatyana wanted to know.

“They told the police that their clothes were at the laundry,” replied Olga Nadnikova drolly. “Fyodor Gregorivich had arranged it, if you please!”

“It sounds as if everyone has gone mad.”