Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

“If I am to leave them here, then it is only right that I receive some payment for them,” he argued stubbornly. “Six roubles to be precise!”

“Tomorrow!” said Tolkach. “I’ve told you, I’ll pay you tomorrow.”

Goat’s Foot shook his head.

“Not tomorrow. Today. Now.”

The knock sounded for a second time.

“Wait a minute please!” cried out Tolkach.

Digging deep in to his pocket, he produced two worn three-rouble notes and thrust them into Goat’s Foot’s outstretched palm.

“Here you are, damn you! Six roubles. Take it or leave it.”

Goat’s Foot winked and hoisting up the blankets, he carried them to the cupboard. As he was doing so the Hospital Administrator strode to the door. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw that the peasant was still trying to stow the blankets away in shelves already full with unused bandages.

“Hurry up,” he hissed.

As soon as the cupboard door was closed, Tolkach briskly opened the door to his office, to reveal the crooked figure of the Mayor’s Secretary standing on the threshold.

“Good Morning, Modest Andreyevich Tolkach,” the man intoned. “His Excellency the Mayor presents his compliments and requests your attendance before the Council.”

Curious to know whether Tolkach had already found another woman to fill his bed, the secretary peered over Tolkach’s shoulder, trying to catch sight of the identity of the visitor who had caused such a delay in opening the door.

“Present my compliments to His Excellency,” Tolkach instructed him, “and inform him that I shall be with him as soon as I can.”

The secretary’s smile deepened into a grimace indicating that this was clearly an inauspicious beginning to their official relationship.

“As your Honour commands,” he croaked malevolently. “I shall tell him that you are delayed on urgent medical business.”

“But that I shall be with him as soon as I can,” repeated Tolkach.

“As you wish, Sir,” the secretary responded, backing away from the doorway.

As soon as he had gone, Tolkach bundled Goat’s Foot out of his office and locked his door.

This is a fine way to start my Council career! he fretted.

Pushing the peasant to one side, he set off in pursuit of the secretary, who was at that moment trotting in an ungainly fashion down Hospital Street, accompanied, as ever, by a crowd of mocking children dogging his footsteps. So comic did the two men look, the Hospital Administrator already puffing from the exertion of his efforts to catch up with the council functionary and the secretary’s graceless loping gait, which was punctuated by his occasional impulse to kick out at his young tormentors, that the spectacle even distracted the attention of the dvornik and the sentry posted at the door. They momentarily deserted their posts and followed the two men out into the street to watch the fun.

Chapter Fourteen

Thursday 15th February 1907

Berezovo, Northern Siberia

Lying fully dressed upon his bed in the upstairs private ward Trotsky threw down the newspaper he had borrowed from the library in disgust. The article he had been reading had suggested that the first action of the new Duma would be to call for an amnesty for all political prisoners gaoled since the beginning of the Troubles.

What imbeciles these Constitutional Democrats are! he thought.

The chances of such a motion being accepted by the Tsar’s ministers were so unlikely as to be unbelievable; the Tsar himself could not be so stupid as to allow such a thing, even if he wanted. It wasn’t like October 1905; then the Autocracy had acted from a position of weakness; now it had the whip hand. The Tsar and his ministers had regained their political strength and the Reaction had begun. The Kadets’ capacity for self-delusion was beyond belief; they had no power, not even the illusion of power. Their precious Duma would last six weeks: eight at the most.

Reaching for the notepad and pencil he had purchased after his visit to Roshkovsky’s office, he began to write furiously, his hand flying backward and forwards across the pages as it tried to keep up with the flow of his ideas.