Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

Of scruples he owned that he had but few, particularly in business, but he did hold a firm adherence to a set of principles whose worth had been proven by experience. One of these principles was that while speed was often the essence of good decision-making in commerce, decisions born out of anger were nearly always harmful to one’s interests, and doubly so when they involved one’s personal affairs. Anger was a sin just as much as lust, greed or pride; indulgence in which could lead to one ‘s destruction. It had, therefore, long been a guiding rule of his always to wait at least twenty-four hours before moving to address any issue that had provoked his ire; a day and a night being sufficient time for more information to be gathered and cooler reflection to prevail. It was for this reason that he had not so far raised with his purchased wife the matter of her adultery with the timber merchant Leonid Kavelin.

If the truth be told, this matter was not the most pressing on his mind as he took his place at the supper table opposite Irena. The problem of how he would report the disappointing performance of the monies he had invested on the stock market on the Town Council’s behalf, and the mystery of the Mayor’s unexplained move to appoint Modest Tolkach to the aforesaid Council, were of deeper concern to him. However, the fact of Irena’s tryst with Kavelin and the damage it might have inflicted on his own standing in the town could not be discounted. There was one bright star on the horizon: in all likelihood the exposure of her indiscreet behaviour would reduce his wife’s incessant demands to be allowed to accompany him on his travels. This was an inconvenience to be avoided at all costs.

The two Kuibyshevs regarded each other coolly across the round table they shared when only the two of them were dining at home. They waited in silence while the maid brought in their supper and Irena was pleased to notice Illya’s nod of approval as the maid uncovered the serving dish to reveal a whole sturgeon baked in cheese. She knew it to be one of Illya’s favourite dishes, and that he would recognise her hand in its preparation.

Signalling the maid to retire she began serve her husband, saying casually as she handed him his plate, “I haven’t seen much of you since your return. Were your travels productive and safe? Did they go well?”

“I have been busy since I got back,” replied Illya. “There has been so much to catch up with. So many new developments, you understand.”

Helping herself to the fish, Irena considered whether she should rise to this challenge and decided that attack was the best policy.

“Of course, there must be,” she replied. “Two months is such a long time to be away, especially over the Christmas season and the New Year. But how were your travels? Tell me, did you see Cesar when you were in Moscow?”

Illya looked at her sharply.

Very well, Madame, he thought. Two can play at this game.

“Yes, I did. He sends his regards to you.” He paused and then continued in an offhand manner, “I also had a meeting with our mutual friend in Tobolsk.”

Irena grew pale.

“Oh yes?”

“Karol Domic. You remember him? He wanted to know if you were still giving satisfaction.”

He put a forkful of the sturgeon into his mouth and chewed ruminatively. It really was very good.

“Of course,” he went on, “I told him that you were but frankly, Irena, now I don’t know what to think.”

Irena stared at him.

“Why do you do this?” asked Illya. “Every time I have to leave town, why do you betray me with other men?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” she demanded angrily. “I don’t ask what you get up to when you are away, do I? And let us be honest… we both like the same thing. Are you jealous, is that it?”

“Why, you insolent little slut,” he exclaimed.

Incensed by her defiance he slammed his knife and fork down onto his plate. Rising from his chair he rushed around the table towards her, fully intending to box her ears, but his wife was quicker. Acting on instinct Irena flung her own fork away across the table and pushed her chair away. Adopting a crouching position, she held out the blade of her knife towards him and began making short stabbing lunges towards his face. Illya stopped and, taking two steps backward, regarded her warily, his eyes flicking between her face and the knife she held.

Despite her aggressive stance Irena felt her heart beating wildly.

“Listen,” she said, as evenly as she could. “I promised to be your wife and maintain this fiction for as long as you wanted, but I never, ever promised to be faithful to you. That was never mentioned in the contract.”

“It was assumed!” he shouted angrily.

“Only by you, not by me or by Karol,” she retorted. “Now, like you, I do keep my promises, and I promise you this. If you try to beat me tonight, or any other time, you will have to sleep with your door locked because one night I will come into your room and I will sit on your chest and I will stab your eyes out.”