Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

“Your wife? Good God, man, she’s as strong as a horse!” the physician told him brusquely as he opened the door. “Why? She hasn’t been bleeding or complaining of any pain, has she?”

“No, but…”

“Well then, there’s nothing to worry about. Keep the baby warm and dry and well fed. And don’t forget to collect those blankets from the Roshkovskys.”

Stepping out into the snow, Dr. Tortsov hurried towards his sleigh. When he reached it, he turned and called back to the carpenter.

“And remember to tell your wife to air the blankets, like Nina Vassileyevna said. And don’t worry about the money. Goodbye Pirogov!”

Gleb Pirogov raised his hand in a gesture of farewell, but the doctor was already whipping his pony. Upstairs, the carpenter’s newborn son, woken by the doctor’s raised voice, began to cry.

At the Kuibyshev’s grand residence in Menshikov Street, Irena Kuibysheva and Tatyana Kavelina were lunching a deux on salmon and strawberries. It was, they agreed, very pleasant to be without their husbands for a spell. Tatyana confided that her Leonid was quite content to stay at home and pore over his order book, he was so tremendously busy. But what, she asked, about M. Kuibyshev? Where was he?

“Oh, Illya?” said Irena with a laugh as she picked up the small gold hand bell that lay beside her plate. “God knows where he is! Paris? Moscow? Baku? Wherever he is, I am sure that he is enjoying himself.”

Tatyana sat back contentedly in her seat. “But surely you must worry about him being away all the time,” she enquired as the maid appeared in answer to the bell’s summons and began clearing away their dishes. “You hear of so many bad things happening nowadays on the road. And there seems nowhere that is safe anymore, either in the cities or the countryside.”

“Illya tells me that things aren’t so bad as they were a couple of years ago but, yes, I do worry sometimes,” Irena admitted. “Although I know that he can look after himself perfectly well. He’s much stronger than he looks.”

She paused and then added happily, “The funny thing is, he says that all he does when he is away is worry about me!”

“About you? But why?”

“Am I feeling bored?” declared Irena, mimicking her husband’s deep tones. “Are the servants behaving themselves and showing me respect? Are people in the town being nice to me? Am I feeling lonely? Do I have enough money to spend?”

Tatyana felt flattered by her hostess’s decision to share this intimate revelation with her.

“Illya sounds like the perfect husband,” she exclaimed. “You are so very lucky.”

“But your Leonid is a good man too,” said Irena earnestly, “and you have the advantage that he is with you at home.”

“Oh yes, Lyonya is a dear, bless him, but all he thinks about is himself and his wretched stock levels. Do you know what he said to me when I told him that you and I were having lunch together?”

Leaning forward, Irena shook her head and smiled impishly.

“No, what did he say?”

“He said, ‘Now don’t you spend the whole time gossiping about men like you women always like to do. Her husband and I have our reputations to consider’.”

Irena threw back her head and laughed in delight.

“Ha! Men, they have no idea, do they?” she crowed. “We are far more likely to be gossiping about our women friends. Which reminds me, you have not seen my new boudoir yet, have you?”

“Your boodwah?”

“Yes, Illya promised me a room of my own when he came back from Paris last year. He said that a boudoir was the thing to have.” She paused and added knowingly, “I never asked him who had given him that idea. Would you like to see it?”

“Yes please,” agreed Tatyana quickly. “That would be lovely.”

After giving instructions to her maid to bring them a small pot of drinking chocolate, Irena led the way out of the dining room and up the staircase that led to the upper floor.

She really hasn’t a clue, thought Irena as she climbed the stairs, not the faintest suspicion. I can tell Leonid to stop worrying. We can still go on meeting at the library. What a boring little woman she is. No wonder he is so interested in me.

Following behind her, Tatyana marvelled at the silk wall hangings that decorated the staircase. She could recall only having been invited to the house once before, on the occasion of a small reception attended by the other councillors and their wives to celebrate her husband’s election to the town council. She could still recall vividly her astonishment at the unexpected opulence of the decorations. That had been before Illya Kuibyshev had scandalised the town by bringing his young bride back with him from one of his trips. From what she had so far been able to see, the décor and furnishings on the ground floor had taken on a more modern style, their French refinements mixing uneasily with the older Central Asian trappings.