Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

As for the Mayor, there at least Tolkach had no worries. that the favour that Pobednyev required of him was that he would propose the motion calling for a public subscription fund to be opened and speak warmly in favour of it. His Excellency’s grandiose desire to have a monument erected in his honour had not diminished one iota, despite the shambles of the convoy’s arrival and departure. The Hospital Administrator allowed himself the luxury of a moment of self-congratulation. His rehabilitation was nearing completion: within hours, perhaps even minutes, he could take his rightful place amongst the Men of Note in the town.

This cheerful speculation was brought to a close by a knock at his office door. Scurrying behind his desk, he picked up the play script and, assuming an air of annoyance at the interruption, bade the caller enter. The door opened and revealed, to his dismay, not the Mayor’s secretary but the peasant Goat’s Foot clutching a large parcel untidily wrapped in newspapers.

“Good morning, your Honour. I hope I find you well?”

Tolkach glared at his visitor and then at the bundle he was carrying.

“What is it, Goat’s Foot? I am very busy.”

Entering the office, Goat’s Foot deposited the parcel on his desk and gave a wide grin.

“I have brought the blankets you ordered off me, your Excellency, just as you asked. The ones we spoke about last Wednesday.”

Tolkach winced. The fool had left the door ajar: suppose The Call came in the next few seconds and caught him with what were, in all likelihood, stolen goods on his desk? Pointing to the door, he nodded sharply to his visitor. When the door had been closed, he said:

“This is all very inconvenient. Let’s have a look at them.”

From some hidden pocket within the lining of his shaggy coat, the peasant produced a knife and with a deft stroke cut the string that held the parcel together.

Wishing Goat’s Foot would fly to the Devil, Tolkach fingered the coarse wool of the top blanket and then began to count them. It did not take long.

“There are only two here! Where are the others? We agreed six blankets, remember?”

Still smiling, Goat’s Foot bobbed his head apologetically. Three of the four remaining blankets were not yet dry. On the fourth, the dye had run and would have to be applied again if the blanket’s origin was to remain obscure.

“I am expecting them to arrive any hour, your Honour,” he lied. “Tomorrow at the latest.”

“Well, see that they do arrive then. I hate everything coming in dribs and drabs. You never know where you are. In the meantime,” he added with a gesture, “you can put them in there.”

He pointed dismissively towards a cupboard that stood against the back wall of his office. Returning to his seat behind the desk he picked up his script again and resumed his reading, signalling that their conversation was at an end. But his visitor was not to be fobbed off so easily. If anything, Goat’s Foot’s smile grew broader. He remained standing beside the desk.

“Perhaps your Honour would care to pay for these now, and a little something on account, maybe? My expenses have been higher than I thought.”

Laying down the script, the Hospital Administrator regarded him sternly.

“That is quite out of the question. I’ll pay you when all six are here and not before.”

“Perhaps just for one blanket then?” wheedled Goat’s Foot. “As a measure of good faith? Four roubles is neither here nor there to your Honour, after all.”

“Four roubles?” exclaimed Tolkach, “This is outrageous. We never agreed more than two roubles apiece: twelve for the lot.”

The peasant scratched his head, as if perplexed. Gradually a light dawned in his face.

“Now that I think about it, Your Honour, I meant to say three roubles. That,” he added firmly, “was the price we shook on. I’m losing money as it is.”

“Three roubles it was,” admitted Tolkach. “But you shall still have to wait until you bring the rest before you get the money.”

Goat’s Foot’s face fell.

“But my poor wife!” he began to protest. “She needs her medicine again and special foods… And the roof is leaking and has to be repaired…”

Just as the peasant was warming to his theme of how many of his earthly troubles could be resolved by the application of six roubles, or at the very least three roubles, Tolkach heard the sound of a footstep outside his door. He held up his hand for silence. The next instant there came another knock on the door. Struggling to his feet, the Hospital Administrator pushed the blankets back into Goat’s Foot’s arms.

“Get rid of them!” he hissed. “Come back tomorrow and I shall pay you in full.”

“But your Honour,” protested Goat’s Foot, dropping the two blankets onto his desk, “what shall I do with them? Do you want me to take them back through the town like this? Shall I tell everybody that they came from the hospital?”

“No, no! Just put them in the cupboard and get out of here.”

Goat’s Foot did not move.