Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

Reaching the Hotel, he entered through the glass-fronted door and stood in the vestibule, listening. Somewhere towards the rear came the clatter of pans and the sound of a man whistling. Closing the door quietly behind him, he began moving silently past the foot of the staircase to the corridor that ran the length of the building. Halfway along the corridor, he found the door he had spotted from the street; the door that the staff used as they came and went from their place of work. It was unbolted. He tried the door and it opened easily. He edged out into the side street that ran alongside the Hotel, and at right angles to Alexei Street. For the second time in twenty-four hours, he had reached the point of no return.

Without hesitation, he pulled the door to behind him and set off northwards. Hurrying along the dark street, he came to the corner and stopped. The street that ran behind the hotel was full of prosperous looking houses. Looking to the left, all he could see were what appeared to be stables or outhouses; beyond that, the open countryside and the Highway. There was no street sign. He shivered, still undecided; if this was not Menshikov Street, he was lost. There was nothing for it, he told himself, but to push on.

Quickly crossing the anonymous street, he continued walking until the houses fell away revealing another street behind them. These new houses appeared to be of the same design as the first street, but smaller and less prosperous. He continued walking and was rewarded by the sight of more empty snowfields. He had reached the northernmost limits of Berezovo.

In the darkness, he worked his way around to the rear of the houses, moving carefully over the uneven ground. Almost immediately, high above him, a tiny pinpoint of light became visible. In the second house along a small flame was flickering behind an uncurtained window. Groping his way towards the house, his hand struck the side of a wooden fence and he used it to guide himself until he had found the flight of steps that led up to the back door. As quietly as he could, he began climbing.

If either Goat’s Foot or Roshkovsky had betrayed him, this would be the time that the police would spring their trap. He was well outside his permitted zone of movement. He had no excuse; no reason for being there.

Reaching the top step, he stood for a moment, straining his ears to catch the sound of voices. The house seemed to be in silence. Removing a glove, he tapped slowly four times on the back door and waited. Nothing happened for half a minute then, just as he was lifting his hand to knock again, he heard a key turn in the lock and the door was opened a few inches.

A woman’s voice whispered: “Who is it?”

“Trotsky.”

The door opened wide enough to show the woman’s face by the light of the candle; half in shadow, half in light.

“So,” she said gravely, “you’ve come at last.”

As she opened the door wider, he saw that the woman was leaning on the door handle for support.

“Come on in,” Nina Roshkovskaya told him. “Everything is prepared.”

Chapter Twenty Seven

Sunday 18th February 1907

Berezovo, Northern Siberia

Halfway home Yeliena announced that she had changed her mind, she would like to have a drink after all.

“Do you want to go back to the barracks?” asked Chevanin.

“No, all that noise has given me a headache. Why don’t we go somewhere quiet, where we can be alone?” she suggested, slipping her arm inside his. “I just want to sit and talk for a while.”

“We can talk in my rooms,” he offered. “They aren’t very far from here.”

“No, I think not, Anton,” she laughed lightly. “I had the hotel in mind. That’s where they go, isn’t it?”

“Who?”

“People like us. People who want to be alone.”

Chevanin stopped walking, and pulled her to him impatiently.

“There is no one else in the world like us, because there is no one else in the world like you,” he said. “Nothing would make me prouder than to be seen with you.”

She didn’t answer him. After a moment, they resumed their walk.

“Do you have any money with you?” she asked suddenly.

“A little. Why?”

“I would like to drink a lot of brandy tonight,” she said. “I didn’t bring my purse with me when I came out. I didn’t think it was safe backstage.”

“It will be my pleasure to treat you,” he replied with a bow. “You deserve it.”

“Do I?”

“Of course! You were magnificent tonight. It’s strange… When the play began, I was terrified. But watching you onstage from the wings, I suddenly knew everything was going to be alright and it was. Now, I feel as if I could jump over houses.”

“Then why don’t you?” she teased him. “I should like to see that.”

“Well I would, of course,” he admitted with a laugh, “if only to please you, but my medical training tells me that it could be dangerous to try.”

They were now opposite the hotel. He helped her down from the boardwalk and they began crossing the road.