Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

Colonel Izorov fought down the rage he felt building up within him. The idea that he could be messed around by some obnoxious loud mouth Jew was not enjoyable, he told himself, but anger would only cloud his judgement and obscure the true purpose of Trotsky delaying his departure.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Why was Trotsky still here? What did he think about as he lay in his hospital room? What was he waiting for? Who was he waiting for? The road had been empty for days; few people risked travelling in such treacherous weather. He made a mental note to ask Captain Steklov whether his soldiers had seen anyone new while they were out on patrol or on fire watch duty. The mail sleigh, the only public means of carriage, was not due for another four days. Was it carrying instructions for the prisoner Trotsky?

The hospital was becoming a storehouse of unfathomable problems, for Trotsky was not its only inhabitant that concerned him. He had not been surprised by the news that its Administrator Modest Tolkach had been elected to the Town Council. His sources had reported the whispered conversations, the chance meetings, the private suppers which had disguised the Mayor’s clumsy lobbying. Now that he had become Councillor Tolkach, he had achieved a certain sense of immunity, and that irked Colonel Izorov.

There is no doubt that Tolkach is a crook, he thought sourly. His elevation to the Town Council proves it. But what are they up to?

He shook his head at the folly of the Mayor’s choice. Was Trotsky’s presence at the hospital somehow all wrapped up in this? For the life of him, he could not see how. No matter at which end of town he looked, there was criminality. Already the relief of being on what he felt to be safe ground had faded; his morning had been ruined by doubts. Instead of going home or visiting the hotel for a pleasant drink, he had no choice but to go to the hospital and see for things for himself. Getting up from his desk he called out to the duty officer ordering him to arrange a carriage to drive him to the hospital; he did not feel like walking today.

As things turned out the Chief of Police was to be disappointed in the purpose of his visit, for his prisoner was not at the hospital. At that time, the dvornik explained, the special prisoner would be taking his morning coffee at the Hotel New Century. He could be expected to return within the hour, the man added nervously, if the Colonel should care to wait.

* * *

Trotsky had taken pains to establish a daily routine in full view of the town that provided him both with exercise and an excuse to reconnoitre his escape route. Sitting at what had become his usual table by the wall of the dining room he was at that moment drinking his coffee and reviewing the arrangements that had been made for his escape that night. Everything, he felt, depended on when the dvornik left his post at the end of the day and at what time the hospital’s attendants fell asleep. These were unknowns, but the known problems – the stairs that creaked and the noise he would make opening the hospital’s heavy outer door – were equally challenging. And once he was outside, he would still have to evade passing patrols and be watchful for honest citizens that might raise the alarm as he made his way towards the church. The rendezvous was fixed: the south wall of the church at midnight. The rascally peasant Goat’s Foot would meet him there and he would be taken by sleigh to an outlying izba where his driver, this “Nikivor” would be waiting with the team of reindeer he had paid for.

The bastard had better be there, he thought. Leaving the hospital, waiting at the church and meeting this Nikivor character – those are the danger points. If all goes well at those times I stand a chance. If they don’t, I am finished.

A feeling of faintness swept over him and he quickly took another sip of his coffee, the lukewarm liquid tasting brackish on his tongue. Beside his cup the newspaper that he had not yet returned to the library lay folded on the table. Picking it up, he stared unseeing at its columns.