Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

“We now move to the main business of the evening, namely the casting of the roles. I shall follow the usual procedure of first asking for volunteers and then, if I fail, Nikolai Alexeyevich here will press unwilling volunteers into service.”

Dr. Tortsov waited until the crowd’s nervous laughter had subsided before dropping his bombshell.

“However, I shall depart from tradition in one instance. As I have said, there are two plays. They have a total of five speaking parts and five walk-on parts. Only one of these is a female role. Not wishing to cause dissent, I have therefore taken the precaution of already casting this part.”

He paused again and then, raising his voice above the expectant buzz, he announced:

“My wife, Yeliena Mihailovna, has graciously agreed to play the part of…”

The rest of his words were lost in the outbreak of outraged comment. Maslov glanced first at the drama committee’s chairman, trying to gauge his reaction, and was rewarded by a look of amusement as Dresnyakov puffed contentedly on his pipe. The land surveyor Roshkovsky, who had come to stand beside the librarian during the doctor’s opening remarks, said admiringly, “Well, he’s a cool one, I must say.”

“Did you know about this?” whispered Maslov.

“No,” the land surveyor admitted, “but it’s a good idea.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Don’t you see? A little controversy like this can’t fail to help our box office.”

The noise showed little sign of abating. Calmly removing his pipe from his mouth, Nikolai Dresnyakov called for order. As the crowd fell quiet again, the Mayor thrust himself forward to the front, bringing Tolkach with him.

“Personally,” he remarked loudly,” I think that the doctor has made an excellent choice.”

“I agree!” a female voice out from the middle of the crowd. The cry was taken up.

“The following roles, therefore, remain unfilled,” continued the doctor. “First, the speaking parts…”

Again the crowd fell silent, hushing those who still were murmuring their dissent.

“Gregory Stepanivich Smirnov, better known as ‘The Bear’. Luka, an aged footman. Ivan Ivanivich Tolkachov, a professional gentleman; and his friend, Alexey Alexeyevich Murashkin. The remaining five non-speaking parts include a gardener, a coachman, a workman, a secretary and a maid. Now,” he said, regarding the crowd with a wintry smile,” do I have any brave volunteers? First of all, for the speaking parts?”

Despite much good natured nudging and winking, no hand was raised.

“Remember,” threatened the doctor, “if nobody comes forward, Nikolai Alexeyevich here will pick who he chooses.”

The silence was broken by a familiar voice.

“I should like to volunteer our good friend Modest Tolkach for the role of ‘The Bear’,” cried Pobednyev, adding, with a leer, “because when we are in his clutches, we are quite defenceless. So now it is our opportunity to get our own back!”

Although the Mayor’s heavy pun was intended as a reference to the town’s hospital over which his protégé had sovereign control, it had precisely the opposite effect to that which its author intended. His words were widely interpreted by the assembled company as a reference in the worst possible taste to the fate of the late Madame Tolkacha. For the first time, the crowded room was shocked into a complete silence.

Taken aback by his sudden proposal, the hospital administrator stared open-mouthed at his ‘patron’. Other than vague hints throughout the afternoon that it might help his candidacy for the council if he was to court popularity more assiduously, Modest Tolkach had received no warning of the Mayor’s intentions. The realisation began to dawn upon him that Pobednyev had engineered his presence there that evening specifically to thrust him clumsily into the public gaze. As the silence lengthened, he prayed that the ground beneath his feet would open up and swallow him whole. When no such salvation offered itself, he seemed to lose his wits. Turning on his heel, he lowered his head and tried to charge through the crowd towards the exit.

“I second the Mayor!” bellowed Belinsky tipsily from the back of the room.

Uncertain, Dr. Tortsov looked quickly at Dresnyakov, who shrugged helplessly.

“Accepted,” noted the doctor grimly, and pencilled the name ‘Tolkach’ against the role of ‘Gregory Stepanivich Smirnov’.

With an outburst of angry protest from some of the crowd, the hospital administrator’s progress towards the door was checked. As he was being pushed back into the centre of the room, it became clear that a few of the wives were preparing to leave the proceedings in protest.

Maslov turned to Roshkovsky. “Is that controversial enough for you?”

The land surveyor gave a rueful smile.

“Once is genius. Twice could be a disaster,” he agreed.

Facing the truculent crowd, Dr. Tortsov licked his lips nervously.

“Anyone else?”

Noting the hostile expressions on the faces of the people closest to him, he appealed to Pobednyev to step forward.

“Come on, Your Excellency. What about you?”