Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

The truth is, I have kept my honour, she thought, although at times I have felt that I wanted to throw it away. I can look Vasili in the eye and tell him that I have been faithful. And my home, his income and pension, my reputation – these are all real things and important. It is my feelings for Anton that are fevered imaginings. The feel of his body as he presses the length of it against me; his readiness to do my least bidding; his solicitous care and attention – what husband can match that, especially one as old and as preoccupied as Vasili. All the same, I must give Anton up tonight and for all time, because he is not real. He offers me no opportunity except to become a town scandal, a bezobrazie, a tart like Irena Kuibysheva. Anastasia Christianovna is right – I have acted wickedly. Think of the difference in our ages. He is a baby now but when he is in his thirties I will be nearing fifty. What sort of life can I expect then? And what sort of a man is he anyway? He is too emotional, too highly strung – I need someone who is solid and dependable, like Vasili, and who does not indulge his feelings or rush to judgement so readily. Someone who is willing to put up with my moodiness and who can provide a stable income.

“No choice, really,” she told her reflection in the mirror. Her mind made up at last, she lay down her hairbrush and began to expertly pin up her hair.

She had spoken the truth at lunchtime: it was time to bring their affaire – if that was what it was – to an end. She was aware that doing so might prove difficult, especially if Anton was determined to make a scene. If it had to happen, she did not want it to happen in her home. And what of after tonight? With Modest Tolkach now a Town Councillor, she and Vasili could already expect life to become difficult without having to contend with Anton Ivanovich’s hurt feelings in addition. She could not afford for him to take his misery and bitterness out on Vasili. And Vasili had promised her that they would travel south that summer. This would be impossible if Anton resigned from the practice. Neither would Vasili expect to lose him as an assistant without a good reason. She wasn’t sure how she would achieve it but it would be far better if Anton felt that he had ended their relationship of his own accord. How she longed for the summer! Perhaps somewhere in the south she would find the door to the new world she was looking for.

Reaching behind her, she began to undo the hooks that fastened her widow’s costume.

Chapter Twenty Six

Sunday 18th February 1907

Berezovo, Northern Siberia

Trotsky walked quickly past the empty guard post at the barracks gate and headed towards the market square. The sound of raucous singing reached him from the interior of the Black Cock.

“The more the merrier,” he told himself, increasing his pace. “If they are all in there, the less chance of running into any of them out here in the street.”

He reckoned that he had another hour before the guard set out on its night patrol, assuming that their Captain could find anyone sober enough to mount a horse. Most of the soldiers he had seen inside were already the worse for drink. But he had counted no more than thirty-four of them standing around the walls of the auditorium. Assuming that there were another four or five behind the scenes helping with the production – and it was only an assumption – that left between ten and fifteen troops unaccounted for. As for the empty guard post, it could mean nothing more than a tired soldier needing to relieve himself in the shadows behind the barracks wall. At that very moment, the patrol could be leading its horses out of their stalls and fastening on their saddles.