Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

“Only, the Mayor said that if anybody asked any questions about them,” Ovseenko went on, “I was to tell him and he would get old Izorov to sort them out.”

Turning round to face him, the doctor gave him a long, cool look.

“Colonel Izorov knows about this? Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” replied Ovseenko with more confidence. “It stands to reason, considering what they are for.”

Dr. Tortsov took a step towards the carpenter, who began backing away uncertainly.

“And what exactly are they for?”

“Now, now, Doctor! Don’t start all that again.”

Seeing the doctor take another step towards him, Ovseenko raised his fists in warning. Thrusting his own hands deep into the pockets of his overcoat, the doctor looked resignedly down at the floor.

“All right, Ovseenko,” he replied. “Have it your own way. I only hope you live long enough to spend the money. Assuming, that is, the Mayor will ever get round to paying you.”

With a sad shake of his head, he turned to go, but the carpenter quickly barred his way.

“What are you talking about?” he demanded. “Are you threatening me again?”

Dr. Tortsov regarded him sadly.

“No, Irkaly Gregorivich,” he replied. “You are threatening yourself, and perhaps every man, woman and child in this town. Just as surely as if you were holding a pistol to their heads.”

“What are you talking about? Tell me!” slurred Ovseenko.

“Do you remember the last serious outbreak of the typhus four years ago? When I had to declare the town in quarantine?”

“Yes. It was awful. So what?”

“Well, it’s beginning again.”

There was no urgency in the doctor’s voice, just a weary sense of defeat that immediately convinced the carpenter that he was telling him the truth. Dropping his fists, he swore softly to himself.

“For most of last week,” Dr. Tortsov informed him, “I have done little else but tour the villages, seeing what can be done to stop a new outbreak. But it’s got out of hand already. I’m afraid that I may have to seal the town off again.”

“Holy Father!” breathed Ovseenko, crossing himself.

“Do you remember how bad it was for business, Irkaly? Quarantine was an unpopular but necessary precaution, but we were all in it together. Do you remember the Mayor saying that?”

“Yeah, I remember,” confirmed Ovseenko. “What is going on?”

“Well, perhaps this time they have decided to forestall my decision,” suggested the doctor. “I am only guessing, of course, but is seems to me that the Mayor is planning a fleet of sleighs to guarantee that at least some people can avoid the risk of danger.”

“Who?” asked the carpenter.

“Who do you think? It won’t be you or me. The town council with their families and friends, I expect.”

“But if what you say is true, Doctor,” objected Ovseenko, “they are going to need a damned sight more than twelve sleighs, aren’t they?”

“Oh yes,” Dr. Tortsov agreed grimly. “That is why they have ordered another ten sleighs off Gleb Pirogov and who knows how many from Averbuch.”

“You’re joking!”

“Go and see for yourself!” the doctor urged him. “I was at Pirogov’s shop not more than three hours ago and it was packed to the roof with timber, just like yours. And for exactly the same purpose.”

“And all bought from Kavelin, I’ll bet,” said Ovseenko sourly. “Why, the swines! The money they are paying us is going straight back into their own pockets.”

The doctor stared sourly up at the pair of sleighs that hung in the shadows above their heads.

“Isn’t that always the way?” he murmured.

Following his gaze, the carpenter swore again.

“Honestly, Doctor,” he insisted. “I didn’t know anything about this at all. His Excellency told me that they were to bring a party of politicians up here on a tour of the province. Really important people, he said. Maybe even the Governor General himself.”

“The Governor General? Here? In February?” retorted the doctor scornfully. “Did he really say that?”

“Well, I don’t know now…” Ovseenko admitted. “You’ve got me all confused. Maybe he didn’t actually mention the Governor by name, but he definitely said that they were very important people. Real barines, you know? That’s what all the secrecy is about.”

“And he said that Colonel Izorov knew all about this?”

“Definitely,” replied Ovseenko with an emphatic nod. “But what shall I do now? If I don’t finish the job, I’ll be ruined. They’ll never give me any more work.”

“Ovseenko, you must do what you think is right. But let me tell you this. From what I have seen of this epidemic, if ever it reaches Berezovo, the consequences will be too horrible to imagine. I’ve been in villages where more than three fifths of the population are either dead or dying. Think of it, no organisation and three fifths of the town dead.”

Walking to the door, he opened it, letting the cold air cool his heated brow.

“Now I am going to visit Isaac Averbuch,” he announced. “And, if my theory is correct, he too will be busy building sleighs. Only they won’t be sleighs, but death carts.”