Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

Holding the plate out to them, Yeliena observed how neither of the two men took more than a moment’s notice of her, so intent were they upon discussion of their cases. Just a sideways glance and a nod of thanks from Anton Ivanovich, a quizzical inspection of the plate over the top of his spectacles from her husband. Nothing could be allowed to stem the flow of words. Typhus at Belogoriya and Tsingalensk. Was that certain? Yes, it was certain. In some of the villages, as many as one in three had already died.

“Tea and typhus,” thought Yeliena bitterly as she carried the cake plate to the tea tray. “Nothing has changed. I could have given them anything and they would have taken it. ‘Here, dearest Vasili, take this dead toad. It was caught last year on the banks of the Sosva river and has been pickled in brine. Anton Ivanovich, do try one of these dainty horse’s hooves. I know that you would die rather than complain in my husband’s company. Or perhaps you would prefer one of my breasts? You would like them, they are very sweet…’”

The shock of this outrageous notion made Yeliena blush furiously. Taken aback by the sudden thought that had sprung unbidden to her mind she quickly turned away, covering her embarrassment. In her haste, the plate tilted in her hand so that the cakes came dangerously close to being tipped onto the floor. She realised that the two men had stopped talking and were watching her. Trembling, she wondered if she had actually spoken her thought aloud. Without thinking, she stammered an apology.

“I… I’m sorry!”

“Are you unwell, my dear?” asked Dr. Tortsov.

“Yes, I am quite well, thank you,” she replied with great effort, “I… I just felt a little faint, that is all. Forgive me. Please go on with what you were saying.”

Somehow, she managed to put the plate down next to the samovar. Picking up her own glass of tea, she took a deep breath and walked as steadily as she could back to her place on the sofa that was drawn up to form the third side of the square around the fire. Concerned, the doctor waited until she was seated. Once he was assured that her condition would not provide any further interruptions, he resumed outlining his plan to his assistant.

“What we must do is wait a week and see whether the outbreak dies down. If it doesn’t, then I shall begin taking steps towards declaring a quarantine zone of around the town.”

“Is that possible? I mean, can you do that?” asked Chevanin with a frown.

“Oh yes,” replied the doctor confidently. “The same thing happened four years ago. All it means is that nobody is allowed into town from the infected areas. People who are merely passing through are refused entry or, in extreme cases, put up in whichever building I designate as the interim sanatorium. It has to be somewhere that can be sterilised and disinfected afterwards.”

Chevanin nodded thoughtfully.

“I see. And does everyone cooperate? I mean, there must be loopholes that allow people out and the disease in.”

“Fortunately, with the river frozen and the hunters sleeping out in their yurts there is little travelling done at this time of year. If it was later, say in May or June, then I grant you there would be more of a problem. But Colonel Izorov was very helpful last time in enforcing the exclusion order and even if the town council gets up on its hind legs, you can usually rely on the police to do as they are bid. Once I have convinced the colonel of the seriousness of the situation, Berezovo will be sealed as tight as a drum; within a day or two at the latest.”

Listening to her husband sketch out the precautions that would have to be taken, Yeliena thought of what quarantine would mean to the citizens of the town. She could recall the last quarantine. It had been in August and the long days of enforced isolation had made the townsfolk restless; she remembered there had been a suicide. At the Church of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Father Arkady had held three services a day. The captain of the garrison, a fair-haired young man everyone had nicknamed ‘the German’, had ordered his company to parade twice a day down the main streets in full uniform. There had even been one or two impromptu band concerts by the tradesmen in the town which had met with some success until Colonel Izorov had banned them for playing unpatriotic airs. Despite these distractions, tempers in the town had frayed as the supply of food began to run short and the feeling of captivity had grown. Robbed of the summer’s quickening of life, the people had become frantic.