Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

“Now, take yourself, for instance,” continued Tolkach smoothly. “What right has anyone to criticise you after all you have done for the town? Who do they think they are? Let’s take this question of diet, for example. Would they rather that you were as thin as a broom and living only on black bread and water? No man would last long as Mayor like that.”

“He wouldn’t?”

“Of course not! People trust officials who are well fed and handsomely built, like yourself. They prefer their Mayor to be a man of the world, a man who knows what’s what. And do you know why?”

Intrigued, Mayor Pobednyev shook his head.

“It’s because when they are in trouble, when they need to ask a favour, they want to deal with a man who they feel comfortable with. They don’t want some skeleton who looks as if he grubs along on five copecks a day. Those kinds of people are the very devil to deal with, I can assure you. They pride themselves on doing everything by the book, right down to the last detail. They never make jokes, or laugh like you or I do. I don’t even think they know how to.”

His eyes fixed on his host’s face, Tolkach paused to take another sip of his brandy.

“Now civic affairs, matters that arise between men, Anatoli Mikhailovich,” he went on, “these are delicate things. Tact is called for. A sense of discretion. A willingness to compromise. Sometimes following the rules too rigidly can actually stop you from solving a problem. I’m sure you agree with me.”

“Certainly, Modest Andreyevich,” the Mayor said solemnly. “I agree with every word you say. A man in my position must be firm, but fair. He must be prepared, if necessary and when all else fails, to bend the rules a little for the common good.”

Tolkach held up his hands in warning.

“But not break them!” he insisted.

“Good grief, I should think not!” exclaimed the Mayor warmly. “That would never do. No, not break them but just… you know… bend them. For the common good.”

“Precisely.”

“Otherwise,” continued the Mayor, warming to his theme, “how would man progress? If he stuck to the rules all the time, there would be no inventions or anything. The trick is,” he added, narrowing his eyes as he took another pull at his cigar, “to have both order and progress.”

“Order and progress,” repeated Tolkach. “Those are the most important things.”

They raised their glasses to each other and drained them.

“I’m glad we have had this opportunity to talk, Modest Andreyeivich,” said the Mayor as he poured them both another drink and then placed the bottle between them. “An intelligent man like yourself shouldn’t shut himself up in his office all day. You should try to get out more. Mix with the right people.”

“Since the death of my wife,” began Tolkach falteringly, “somehow…”

He let the rest of the sentence trail away into silence, conveying the impression that the subject was still too painful for him to discuss freely.

“Oh yes, a sad loss,” Pobednyev responded softly. “Forgive me if I spoke too soon. But life must go on, you know. There is still so much good that you can do here.”

At the mention of his wife, Tolkach had lowered his head in an attitude of sorrow. Now he slowly raised it, all his instincts alert to the turn the conversation had taken.

“How do you mean exactly?”

“Well, for instance,” mused the Mayor, “I see no reason why a man of your calibre shouldn’t be thinking of a seat on the town council.”

“The town council?”

His host nodded meaningfully. Tolkach considered the suggestion.

“I don’t know if the other councillors would think me worthy of the post.”

“They would if they knew you had my support. My personal support.”

“I have often felt,” admitted Tolkach, “that I could make a useful contribution to the welfare of the town, if ever I had the honour of being called to serve in some capacity.”

“Naturally,” said the Mayor silkily, “besides fulfilling your duties as hospital administrator and town councillor – assuming that you were elected, of course – you would be called upon, from time to time, to deal with matters of a confidential nature. Matters concerning the security of the town, for example.”

“I trust my record as a loyal soldier of his Imperial Majesty the Tsar speaks for itself.”

“Say no more, Modest Andreyeivich!” cried Pobednyev. “The very idea that anyone could doubt your trustworthiness is ridiculous. I’m sure that nobody, not even your enemies, could find the slightest reason to impugn your reputation as a public servant, no matter how hard they tried.”

“My enemies?” queried Tolkach with a tight smile.

The Mayor waved his half smoked cigar dismissively.

“It’s the kind of cross we in public life have to bear,” he explained. “As I said earlier, less talented people always tend to become envious when someone they know suddenly achieves promotion or advancement. They try to dig up all sorts of unsavoury episodes in his past, just so as to embarrass him. In some cases it can seriously compromise a man, and even lead to a police investigation.”

“A police investigation?” echoed Tolkach.