Elvira Baryakina - The Prince of the Soviets

“I won’t have you telling me what to do!” she said through her teeth, walking away. “I’m leaving!”

Oscar caught up with her and shoved her so hard in the back that she fell forward, knocking her head on a marble sill.

For two weeks, she was forced to lie in bed, recovering. The doctor announced that she had received a linear fracture to her skull and a cerebral contusion.

“What a maniac!” grumbled Theresa as she applied homemade poultices to Nina’s forehead. “And what were you thinking of? Why did you set him off like that?”

Oscar apologized to Nina once again, swearing undying love.

“I’ll never let anyone else have you,” he said, putting yet another bunch of flowers on her bedside table. “And if any other man so much as looks at you, I’ll break his neck.”

Whenever Oscar came in to see Nina, she would tense as if expecting to be hit. He would put his hand under the blanket to touch her, and she would go cold all over with helpless fury. This man had her completely in his power. He could rape her, beat her, even cut her throat, and he would get off scot-free. And she had no way of getting away from him.

Every day, Nina meant to find out what had happened to Elkin but could not bring herself to call the bookstore. While she was afraid of angering Oscar, she was still more afraid of what she might find out—that something terrible had happened to her friend, and all because of her.

4

A month had passed by the time Nina had plucked up the courage to leave the house and make her way to Chistye Prudy, taking great care not to be seen.

The snow had begun to melt, muddy water lay in the deep ruts in the road, and the rooks were clamoring in the ancient birches.

Nina went around to the back gate that led into the yard of the Moscow Savannah and bent down to look through the hole in the fence.

In the yard stood a truck spattered with mud. On its side, in crooked letters was written “Workers’ and Peasants’ Inspectorate.” A group of youths, overseen by a woman in a red headscarf, were throwing bundles of books tied together with twine onto a bonfire.

“Why have you put Burroughs in the truck?” the woman shouted. “This lot’s going to the Presnya library—they don’t want any foreign dirt in translation there. And Locke can go on the bonfire too. I told you to burn anything we don’t need.”

In a minute, a large bonfire was blazing merrily in the center of the yard. The young men kept piling more books onto it, and the woman hit at them with a broom handle, knocking out sparks and cinders.

A gust of wind blew a page over the fence, black and charred, like a bat with lacerated wings. Nina caught it with the toe of her boot, and it collapsed into ashes.

The gate swung open, and Afrikan came out into the alley carrying a trash pail.

“Excuse me,” Nina said, approaching him, “do you know where Elkin is?”

Afrikan knitted his shaggy brows and sniffed loudly. “He’s not here. He’s left, and they’ve closed down his shop. They said he was opening at hours forbidden to private businesses and creating competition with state stores.”

“So, what’s going to happen now?”

“It’s a mess,” said Afrikan with conviction. “The whole of the ground floor has been taken over by the state. God knows who they’ll put there. It’s a good thing though that the gentleman upstairs took Mashka away. Elkin gave him the keys to the garage.”

Afrikan went off to take out the trash, and Nina stood for a long time in the middle of the alley, overwhelmed by feelings of guilt and helplessness. She was certain it was Yefim who had called in the Workers’ and Peasants’ Inspectorate, following Oscar’s order.

Nina looked up at the windows of the upper story, but she could see nothing through the colored panes of glass.

I don’t have any right to try to meet Klim, she thought desperately. No matter where I go, I bring nothing but bad luck.

1

Galina spent a week repairing everything that Tata had destroyed but could do nothing about the net curtains her daughter had ripped clean out of Klim’s wall. It was impossible to get ahold of curtain rods in Moscow.

Meanwhile, Klim kept his word: Kitty was no longer allowed to play with Tata.

“You have to understand,” he said to Galina, “that my daughter will be going to a European school. She’ll already face problems because of her appearance. If she starts a campaign against ‘bourgeois values,’ they’ll single her out immediately.”

These were painful words for Galina to hear. Clearly, it had never crossed Klim’s mind to adopt Tata and help her get a place in a good school.

In a fit of desperation, Galina told Tata what her actions had cost them. “Now he’ll never take us with him to Europe,” she lamented.

“Why on earth would he take us to Europe?” asked Tata in alarm.

Suddenly, it dawned on her. “Have you lost your mind?” she yelled at her mother. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with him of all people! It was all thanks to him I didn’t finish the poster. Now the Young Pioneers won’t have me in their organization.”

Tata is just a little version of her father, Galina thought. With all those phony values and her hysterical hatred of anything she did not understand, Tata had no wish to know what lay beyond her own familiar world.

What could Galina do about her daughter? She racked her brain and at last came up with an idea.

“How would you like to go to the special school for artists in Leningrad?” Galina suggested. “It’s a boarding school; children with a talent for drawing come from all over the Soviet Union to study there. And once you complete your final project, you can go straight to the Higher Art and Technical Institute.”

To her amazement, Tata liked the idea. Now, whenever Galina thought about the future, her heart began to beat faster. If she could get Tata settled in some line of work, nothing would stand in the way of her own personal happiness.

I know I’m a bad mother, she thought without any particular regret. But what else can I do for Tata?

Klim was due a short period of leave from work, and Galina was already dreaming of how they would rent a dacha outside Moscow and live there together, far away from work, politics, and wayward children.

She was hoping that by that time, Klim might recover slightly from the loss of his wife. Things were starting to look up for him. Weinstein had indicated that he was prepared to bury the hatchet, Elkin had given Klim his car without demanding payment upfront, and the finance department in London had already agreed to fund this purchase later in the summer.

Things were starting to happen in the Soviet Union that could make front-page news in the world’s newspapers, and the trial of the Shakhty saboteurs might bring Klim fame and money. The case would involve forty-two public prosecutors, fifteen defense lawyers, and fifty defendants, and the trial was to take place in the legendary Pillar Hall of the House of the Unions, formerly the Assembly of the Nobility, which was the setting for the balls in War and Peace.

Long before the proceedings were due to start, the Soviet press had begun to prepare the public for the trial. There was talk in the papers about the catastrophic situation in the coal industry and of how “bourgeois experts” had played a role in its collapse. The government had decided to keep even illiterate Soviet citizens informed about the trial by broadcasting radio reports through loudspeakers put up on the streets of Moscow.

The Bolsheviks were preparing the trial of the century, and Klim ought to have been pleased to have such an opportunity fall into his hands, but he seemed discontented.

Galina tried probing him gently. “What’s the matter?”

In answer, Klim handed her a paper dated April 14, 1928, with a transcript of a speech by Stalin.

The facts tell us that the Shakhty affair is an economic counter-revolution plotted by bourgeois experts. Moreover, the facts state that these experts, who have formed a secret cell, have been receiving money for sabotage from their former masters, who are now in emigration, and from counter-revolutionary anti-Soviet organizations in the West.

“They’ve already made up their minds before the trial,” said Klim. “Nobody has any doubt that the defendants are guilty.”

“You mean to say you don’t think they’re guilty?” Galina stared at him, amazed.

“I’d just like to know…”

But Klim did not finish what he had begun to say. No matter what Galina did, Klim still saw her as a potential informer, and when he was with her, he was careful what he said. Galina suspected that this was why he seemed unable to love her.

But if she resigned her position at the OGPU, Klim would have had to find a new assistant. Galina was stuck in a vicious circle. She could not leave the OGPU until Klim married her, but he would never marry her because of the nature of her work.

2

To get Tata a place in the art school, Galina needed a recommendation from her employers. She set off to OGPU headquarters straight away, but nobody could tell her who was responsible for what.

The Lubyanka was in a state of confusion. An order had come from the Kremlin bosses stating that a purge was imminent and employees showing insufficient zeal in the fight against counter-revolution were to be flushed out.

Something similar was taking place across all the organizations in the country. Every sector of the economy was failing, and directors, rather than waiting for a Shakhty Trail of their own, were taking things into their own hands. If they too were not achieving, it must mean there was sabotage in the workplace.

The purge at the OGPU had not yet been scheduled, but Galina’s friends from the administrative department were making haste to throw out all the fashion journals they had confiscated from Nepmen and to hide anything that might reveal a hankering for a bourgeois lifestyle. No longer could they collect pictures of foreign movie stars, bring knitting to work, or discuss how to do a permanent wave at home. Now, everyone was coming into work looking brisk and business-like and talking of nothing but the enemies of the state and support for the Party line.

Eteri Bagratovna, the secretary, whispered to Galina that Drachenblut had been receiving piles of anonymous denunciations every day. Alarmed at the prospect of dismissal, OGPU workers were starting to rat on any colleagues who might potentially cause problems for them during the purge. The personal files on staff members were growing fatter by the day. Everybody had some offence to their name. One had stolen rulers from work, another had arranged an unnecessary business trip for himself, and yet another had been heard to say something in favor of the opposition.

Galina went to see Alov in his office. She found him sitting on a windowsill and painting a lightbulb with nail varnish, the room full of the suffocating smell of solvent.

Alov looked at Galina with irritation. “What are you staring at? I’m marking the lightbulbs for our corridor. Somebody keeps unscrewing them and replacing them with burned-out ones. The supply manager is threatening to report us.”

Galina squinted at the cluster of lightbulbs on the table, bearing the bloodred inscription, “Stolen from the OGPU.”

“Where did you get the nail varnish?”

“Diana Mikhailovna gave it to me. ‘Their Royal Highnesses’ called a meeting and passed a resolution: they have decided not to paint their nails from now on. So, how about you? Any news?”

Galina told Alov that the building that had once housed the Moscow Savannah was now occupied by the League of Time. Its members were underfed, overworked students dedicated to the “scientific organization of labor,” including their own. Everywhere they went, they carried little notebooks in which they wrote down exactly what they did.

“Has Rogov mentioned Kupina again?” Alov interrupted.

Galina shook her head. “No, not once.”

“That’s a shame. You need to uncover a plot, Pidge, or you’ll have nothing to show for yourself when they start the purge. Keep a closer eye on those foreigners of yours, all right?”

Galina felt alarmed. Was Alov going to force her to make up some story about Klim? That was all she needed.

Alov studied her closely. “Why the long face? Has Mr. Rogov hurt your feelings?”