Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

It had been Mukhin who had suggested that they should disguise the meeting as a party, so that if they received an unwelcome visit from the police, the tables should bear adequate witness of their peaceful intentions. Consequently wine had been purchased, cakes baked and fruit brought in from Shvigorsky’s orchard. By the time Shrentzel arrived, at about six in the evening, accompanied by the carpenter Nesterenko, there was a genuine party in progress. The alcohol had excited the anxieties of the founder members of the union, making them artificially jovial and loud. Even Alexandra was cheerful, though, like the others, she was ignorant of his plan. Although Shrentzel had undoubtedly already betrayed them, the danger posed by her brothers had still felt genuine. It was necessary that an example should be set on how he might deal with traitors in the future, and for that lesson to be learned, surprise was essential. Alexandra had to content herself with having wrung from him a promise that no blood would be spilt while they were in Mukhin’s apartment. Further than that he would not go.

The capacity to use, and to react to, surprise is a hallmark of tactical ability. The arrival of Nesterenko accompanying Shrentzel had been a surprise, but it was easy to turn his presence to their advantage. The red-headed young carpenter had brought his balalaika and was easily persuaded to perform some of his own compositions with the unsuspecting Shrentzel joining in the chorus. Nesterenko had a good voice and for nearly an hour he had entertained them with his music. Just as he had finished his most popular song, a ballad dedicated to Marx himself (“Lo, a great Prophet comes”), Mukhin hammered for silence and demanded that Lev Davidovich now entertain them with a story. Ziv, Grigori, Illya and Alexandra had all jokingly applauded the suggestion, believing that their leader had perhaps changed his mind, unwilling to take action in such convivial company. But as soon as he had begun, it became evident that Trotsky had resolved to bring the matter to a head.

At first, he had been deliberately vague: “Once, not very far from Nikolayev, there had been a group of socialists…” and so on. But as the theme of treachery was introduced and coincidence began to pile upon coincidence, he had watched Shrentzel’s features at first flush red then blanch as he realised that the party he had been enjoying so much had taken a sinister turn. At one point, Shrentzel tried to rise from his chair, pleading that the wine and the closeness of the room had made him feel sick, but the heavy palms of Mukhin pressed him back into his seat. As he developed his story and watched the frightened man squirm and look about him in vain for help, Trotsky discovered with a thrill that not only was he terrifying the man, but also that he was getting satisfaction from doing so.

Forcing himself to keep his voice level, he had continued the macabre show, telling how the leader of the socialists had confronted the traitor after inviting him to a bogus party, had taken a revolver from his pocket and shot him through the mouth in order that he could not betray more comrades. In front of the horrified gaze of Ziv, Alexandra, Illya, Grigori and Nesterenko, he had suited his action to his word, reaching inside the rough working man’s jacket that he had worn throughout the party (even though Shrentzel was right, it was unbearably hot in the room) and producing a revolver. Weighing it in the palm of his hand, he regarded it thoughtfully, affecting not to notice as Shrentzel began to blubber and plead for his life; preferring instead to wait until the spy was silent before he began the next phase of his destruction.

Breaking the revolver, so that its empty magazine was visible to his cowering victim, he began to explain what fate lay in store for those who betrayed the union. It was, he explained, merely a matter of mathematical probability. If the spy had betrayed the whole organisation, how many of them would have escaped punishment? Possibly one, maybe two; probably none. That, he reminded him, was why they had all sworn – Shrentzel included – to die if necessary in order to protect their comrades. However, because Shrentzel had not been too great an inconvenience – he had in fact helped them mislead the O. several times without suspicion – he was to be allowed a safe passage out of the town on the condition that he told them everything that he had done. To ensure that he should not make the error of mistaking magnanimity for weakness, every time he hesitated in his confession, the magazine, loaded with one round, would be spun and the gun fired into the back of his head.