Fall of Giants

“Never mind,” said Maud. “Perhaps it’s a new beginning.”

Ethel and Bernie were in Aberowen. It was a sort of honeymoon. Ethel was enjoying showing Bernie the places of her childhood: the pithead, the chapel, the school. She even showed him around Tŷ Gwyn-Fitz and Bea were not in residence-though she did not take him to the Gardenia Suite.

They were staying with the Griffiths family, who had again offered Ethel Tommy’s room, which saved disturbing Gramper. They were in Mrs. Griffiths’s kitchen when her husband, Len, atheist and revolutionary socialist, burst in waving a newspaper. “The tsar have abdicated!” he said.

They all cheered and clapped. For a week they had been hearing of riots in Petrograd, and Ethel had been wondering how it would end.

Bernie asked: “Who’s took over?”

“Provisional government under Prince Lvov,” said Len.

“Not quite a triumph for socialism, then,” said Bernie.

“No.”

Ethel said: “Cheer up, you men-one thing at a time! Let’s go to the Two Crowns and celebrate. I’ll leave Lloyd with Mrs. Ponti for a while.”

The women put on their hats and they all went to the pub. Within an hour the place was crammed. Ethel was astonished to see her mother and father come in. Mrs. Griffiths saw them too, and said: “What the ’ell are they doing here?”

A few minutes later, Ethel’s da stood on a chair and called for quiet. “I know some of you are surprised to see me here, but special occasions call for special actions.” He showed them a pint glass. “I haven’t changed my habits of a lifetime, but the landlord has been kind enough to give me a glass of tap water.” They all laughed. “I’m here to share with my neighbors the triumph that have took place in Russia.” He held up his glass. “A toast-to the revolution!”

They all cheered and drank.

“Well!” said Ethel. “Da in the Two Crowns! I never thought I’d see the day.”

In Josef Vyalov’s ultramodern prairie house in Buffalo, Lev Peshkov helped himself to a drink from the cocktail cabinet. He no longer drank vodka. Living with his wealthy father-in-law, he had developed a taste for Scotch whisky. He liked it the way Americans drank it, with lumps of ice.

Lev did not like living with his in-laws. He would have preferred for him and Olga to have a place of their own. But Olga preferred it this way, and her father paid for everything. Until Lev could build up a stash of his own he was stuck.

Josef was reading the paper and Lena was sewing. Lev raised his glass to them. “Long live the revolution!” he said exuberantly.

“Watch your words,” said Josef. “It’s going to be bad for business.”

Olga came in. “Pour me a little glass of sherry, please, darling,” she said.

Lev suppressed a sigh. She loved to ask him to perfom little services, and in front of her parents he could not refuse. He poured sweet sherry into a small glass and handed it to her, bowing like a waiter. She smiled prettily, missing the irony.

He drank a mouthful of Scotch and savored the taste and the burn of it.

Mrs. Vyalov said: “I feel sorry for the poor tsaritsa and her children. What will they do?”

Josef said: “They’ll all be killed by the mob, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“Poor things. What did the tsar ever do to those revolutionaries, to deserve this?”

“I can answer that question,” Lev said. He knew he should shut up, but he could not, especially with whisky warming his guts. “When I was eleven years old, the factory where my mother worked went on strike.”

Mrs. Vyalov tutted. She did not believe in strikes.

“The police rounded up all the children of the strikers. I’ll never forget it. I was terrified.”

“Why would they do a thing like that?” said Mrs. Vyalov.

“The police flogged us all,” Lev said. “On our bottoms, with canes. To teach our parents a lesson.”

Mrs. Vyalov had gone white. She could not bear cruelty to children or animals.

“That’s what the tsar and his regime did to me, Mother,” said Lev. He clinked ice in his glass. “That’s why I toast the revolution.”

“What do you think, Gus?” said President Wilson. “You’re the only person around here who’s actually been to Petrograd. What’s going to happen?”

“I hate to sound like a State Department official, but it could go either way,” said Gus.

The president laughed. They were in the Oval Office, Wilson behind the desk, Gus standing in front of it. “Come on,” Wilson said. “Take a guess. Will the Russians pull out of the war or not? It’s the most important question of the year.”