Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

“Hah! That is just what Illya Kuibyshev said when he thought that he had been put under arrest!” recalled Olga Nadnikova with a mirthless laugh. “But just you wait until after the traitors have left us and life returns to normal. There will be a few reckonings made in this town, I can tell you.”

Picking up her glass of whisky, Tatyana tried another sip. It still tasted foul and burned her tongue.

“Reckonings?” she said nervously. “What sort of reckonings?”

“Well, your sometime friend Irena Kuibysheva, for one. She has to go, I think that you see that now. And Fyodor Gregorovich will have to be made to understand that the women of Berezovo expect him to run a hotel and not a brothel. Do you agree?”

“Yes,” said Tatyana quietly, “I agree.”

“And Matriona Pobednyeva needs taking down a peg or two. The way she bosses everyone around, it’s insupportable. And she took far, far too much pleasure in spreading news of your trouble.”

“Did she?”

“Oh yes.”

Tatyana nodded thoughtfully.

“It sounds as if you have a list,” she said.

“I do have a list,” admitted Olga Nadnikova cheerfully. “Very useful things, lists. They stop you losing your temper in public. If anyone really annoys you, you just add their name to your list in the sure knowledge that, in the end, all accounts will be settled.”

“What about Leonid and myself? Are we on your list?” asked Tatyana.

If she expected her guest to hesitate or demur, Tatyana was mistaken.

“No, of course not!” insisted Olga Nadnikova breezily. “You are not wicked. You have both acted stupidly, that is all, and life is punishing you accordingly. Leonid Sergeivich for allowing himself to be seduced by a young tart and you for not seeing what was going on in front of your eyes, and for not listening to your friends when they tried to warn you. Raisa was very hurt by what you said to her, you know.”

“I should apologise to her,” said Tatyana sadly.

“Yes, you should!”

“What else should I do, do you think?”

Olga Nadnikova shrugged and pulled a face.

“Get up, and dust yourself down,” she suggested. “Give your face a good wash, as my mother would say, and come to my house for tea tomorrow afternoon.”

“That would be nice,” Tatyana confessed.

“And remember,” Madame Nadnikova added as she drained her glass, “nothing in life will be solved by staying at home and not seeing your friends. In marriage and war, unity is strength.”

Chapter Eight

Tuesday 13th February 1907

Berezovo, Northern Siberia

Despite his failings in the eyes of the world – and they were many – Illya Kuibyshev liked to consider himself a moral man. If challenged he would say that he appreciated the value of other people, believed that they should act more kindly to one another, he was an inveterate romantic at heart and had little time for revenge or cruelty. In commerce he preferred honesty and straight dealing; he respected contracts and had never knowingly done anyone harm unless it had become strictly necessary. He considered this world a sad old place which would be greatly improved by a hefty dose of gaiety and he preached that although life was indeed a serious business, it should not be taken too seriously. On the possibilities of an afterlife he kept his own counsel, only maintaining that a lifetime dedicated to generosity, fun and the accumulation of profit was not a wasted existence.

That being said, Kuibyshev did have numerous failings in the eyes of the world, the most weighty of which was his carnal predilection for members of his own sex. Wealth and distance bought the discretion of others and the protection from prosecution. Without this protection of his wealth his fellow citizens of Berezovo, the capital of what he liked to think of his “Empire of Fur”, would long ago have fallen on him and burned his house to the ground. Their incendiary temper would have been directed against not just his sexual orientation but also his enjoyment of beauty and fine culture, which they could not share, and his ability to distinguish between principles and scruples, which they could not comprehend. It was this last talent, not his pleasures, that truly lay at the source of his fortune and stood him apart from the morose, backward and blinkered population of the town.