Red Dusk and the Morrow · Chapter 4 (1/2)

IV

Meshes

“Why, yes, Maria!” I exclaimed, “the way Mrs. Marsh bore up was just wonderful to see! Twelve miles in deep snow, heavy marching through thickets and scrub, over ditches and dykes, stumps and pitfalls, with never a word of complaint, as though it were a picnic! You’d never have dreamt she was just out of prison.”

“Yes, of course,” said Maria, proudly, “that would be just like her. And where is she now, Ivan Ilitch?”

“On the way to England, I guess.”

I was back again in Red Petrograd after a brief stay in Finland. That little country was supposed to be the headquarters of the Russian counterrevolution, which meant that everyone who had a plan to overthrow the Bolsheviks (and there were almost as many plans as there were patriots) conspired with as much noise as possible to push it through to the detriment of everybody else’s. So tongues wagged fast and viciously, and any old cock-and-bull story about anybody else was readily believed, circulated, and shouted abroad. You got it published if you could, and if you couldn’t (the papers, after all, had to draw the line somewhere), then you printed it yourself in the form of a libellous pamphlet. I felt a good deal safer in Petrograd, where I was thrown entirely on my own resources, than in Helsingfors, where the appearance of a stranger in a café or restaurant in almost anybody’s company was sufficient to set the puppets of a rival faction in commotion, like an ant-nest when a stone is dropped on it.

So I hid, stayed at a room in a private house, bought my own food or frequented insignificant restaurants, and was glad when I was given some money for expenses and could return to my friends Maria, Stepanovna, the Journalist, and others in Petrograd.

“How did you get back here, Ivan Ilitch?”

“Same old way, Maria. Black night. Frozen river. Deep snow. Everything around⁠—bushes, trees, meadows⁠—still and grey-blue in the starlight. Finnish patrols kept guard as before⁠—lent me a white sheet, too, to wrap myself up in. Sort of cloak of invisibility, like in the fairy tales. So while the Finns watched through the bushes, I shuffled across the river, looking like Caesar’s ghost.”

Maria was fascinated. “And did nobody see you?”

“Nobody, Maria. To make a good story I should have knocked at the door of the Red patrol and announced myself as the spirit of His Late Imperial Majesty, returned to wreak vengeance, shouldn’t I? But I didn’t. Instead of that I threw away the sheet and took a ticket to Petrograd. Very prosaic, wasn’t it? I’ll have some more tea, please.”

I found a new atmosphere developing in the city which is proudly entitled the “Metropolis of the World Revolution.” Simultaneously with the increasing shortage of food and fuel and the growing embitterment of the masses, new tendencies were observable on the part of the ruling Communist Party. Roughly, these tendencies might be classed as political or administrative, social, and militarist.

Politically, the Communist Party was being driven in view of popular discontent to tighten its control by every means on all branches of administrative activity in the country. Thus the people’s cooperative societies and trade unions were gradually being deprived of their liberties and independence, and the “boss” system under Communist bosses was being introduced. At the same time elections had to be strictly “controlled,” that is, manipulated in such a way that only Communists got elected.

As an offset to this, it was evident the Communists were beginning to realize that political “soundness” (that is, public confession of the Communist creed) was a bad substitute for administrative ability. The premium on ignorance was being replaced by a premium on intelligence and training, and bourgeois “specialists” of every calling, subject to rigid Communist control, were being encouraged to resume their avocations or accept posts with remunerative pay under the Soviet Government. Only two conditions were required, namely, that the individual renounce all claim to former property and all participation in politics. These overtures were made particularly to members of the liberal professions, doctors, nurses, matrons, teachers, actors, and artists, but also to industrial and commercial experts, and even landlords who were trained agriculturists. Thus was established a compromise with the bourgeoisie.

No people in the world are so capable of heroic and self-sacrificing labour for purely altruistic motives as a certain type of Russian. I remember in the summer of 1918, when the persecution of the intelligentsia was at its height, drawing attention in an official report to the remarkable fact of the large number of educated Russians who had heroically stuck to their posts and were struggling in the face of adversity to save at least something from the general wreck. Such individuals might be found at times even within the ranks of “the party,” but they cared little for the silly politics of Bolshevism and nothing whatever for the world revolution. Credit is due to the Communists at least to this extent, that they realized ultimately the value of such service to humanity, and, when they discovered it, encouraged it, especially if the credit for it accrued to themselves. The work done by heroic individuals of this type served largely to counterbalance the psychological effect of ever-increasing political and industrial slavery, and it has therefore been denounced as “treacherous” by some counterrevolutionary émigrés, and especially by those in whose eyes the alleviation of the bitter lot of the Russian people was a minor detail compared with the restoration of themselves to power.

The third growing tendency, the militarist, was the most interesting, and, incidentally, to me the most embarrassing. The stimulus to build a mighty Red army for world-revolutionary purposes was accentuated by the pressing need of mobilizing forces to beat off the counterrevolutionary, or “White,” armies gathering on the outskirts of Russia, particularly in the south and east. The call for volunteers was a complete failure from the start, except in so far as people joined the Red army with the object of getting bigger rations until being sent to the front, and then deserting at the first opportunity. So mobilization orders increased in frequency and stringency and until I got some settled occupation I had to invent expedients to keep my passport papers up to date.

My friends, the Finnish patrols, had furnished me with a renewed document better worded than the last and with a later date, so I left the old one in Finland and now keep it as a treasured relic. As a precautionary measure I changed my name to Joseph Krylenko. But the time was coming when even those employees of the Extraordinary Commission who were not indispensable might be subject to mobilization. The Tsarist police agents, of course, and Chinese and other foreign hirelings, who eavesdropped and spied in the factories and public places, were indispensable, but the staff of clerical employees, one of whom I purported to be, might be cut down. So I had somehow to get a document showing I was exempt from military service.

It was Zorinsky who helped me out. I called him up the day after my return, eager to have news of Melnikoff. He asked me to come round to dinner and I deliberated with myself whether, having told him I expected to go to Moscow, I should let him know I had been to Finland. I decided to avoid the subject and say nothing at all.

Zorinsky greeted me warmly. So did his wife. As we seated ourselves at the dinner-table I noticed there was still no lack of good food, though Elena Ivanovna, of course, complained.

“Your health, Pavel Ivanitch,” exclaimed Zorinsky as usual; “glad to see you back. How are things over there?”

“Over where?” I queried.

“Why, in Finland, of course.”

So he knew already! It was a good thing for me that I had devoted a deal of thought to the enigmatical personality of my companion. I could not make him out. Personally, I disliked him intensely, yet he had already been of considerable service and in any case I needed his assistance to effect Melnikoff’s release. On one occasion he had mentioned, in passing, that he knew Melnikoff’s friend Ivan Sergeievitch, so it had been my intention to question the latter on the subject while in Finland, but he was away and I had seen no one else to ask. The upshot of my deliberations was that I resolved to cultivate Zorinsky’s acquaintance for my own ends, but until I knew him better never to betray any true feelings of surprise, fear, or satisfaction.

Disconcerted, therefore, as I was by his knowledge of my movements, I managed to divert my undeniable confusion into an expression of disgust.

“Rotten,” I replied with a good deal of emphasis, and, incidentally, of truth. “Absolutely rotten. If people here think Finland is going to do anything against the Bolsheviks they are mistaken. I never in my life saw such a mess-up of factions and feuds.”

“But is there plenty to eat there?” put in Elena Ivanovna, this being the sole subject that interested her.

“Oh, yes, there is plenty to eat,” and to her delight and envy I detailed a comprehensive list of delicacies unobtainable in Russia, even by the theatrical world.

“It is a pity you did not let me put you across the bridge at Bielo’ostrof,” observed Zorinsky, referring to his offer to assist me in getting across the frontier.

“Oh, it was all right,” I said. “I had to leave at a moment’s notice. It was a long and difficult walk, but not unpleasant.”

“I could have put you across quite simply,” he said, “⁠—both of you.”

“Who, ‘both of us’?”

“Why, you and Mrs. Marsh, of course.”

Phew! So he knew that, too!

“You seem to know a lot of things,” I remarked, as casually as I could.

“It is my hobby,” he replied, with his crooked, cynical smile. “You are to be congratulated, I must say, on Mrs. Marsh’s escape. It was, I believe, very neatly executed. You didn’t do it yourself, I suppose?”

“No,” I said, “and, to tell the truth, I have no idea how it was done.” I was prepared to swear by all the gods that I knew nothing of the affair.

“Nor have they any idea at No. 2 Gorokhovaya,” he said. “At least, so I am told.” He appeared not to attach importance to the matter. “By the way,” he continued a moment later, “I want to warn you against a fellow I have heard Marsh was in touch with. Alexei⁠—Alexei⁠—what’s his name?⁠—Alexei Fomitch something-or-other⁠—I’ve forgotten the surname.”

The Policeman!

“Ever met him?”

“Never heard of him,” I said, indifferently.

“Look out if you do,” said Zorinsky, “he is a German spy.”

“Any idea where he lives?” I inquired, in the same tone.

“No; he is registered under a pseudonym, of course. But he doesn’t interest me. I chanced to hear of him the other day and thought I would caution you.”

Was it mere coincidence that Zorinsky mentioned the Policeman? I resolved to venture a query.

“Any connection between Mrs. Marsh and this⁠—er⁠—German spy?” I asked, casually.

“Not that I know of.” For a moment a transitory flash appeared in his eyes. “You really think Mrs. Marsh was ignorant of how she escaped?” he added.

“I am positive. She hadn’t the faintest notion.”

Zorinsky was thoughtful. We changed the subject, but after a while he approached it again.

“It is impertinent of me to ask questions,” he said, courteously, “but I cannot help being abstractly interested in your chivalrous rescue of Mrs. Marsh. I scarcely expect you to answer, but I should, indeed, be interested to know how you learned she was free.”

“Why, very simply,” I replied. “I met her quite by chance at a friend’s house and offered to escort her across the frontier.”

Zorinsky collapsed and the subject was not mentioned again. Though it was clear he had somehow established a connection in his mind between the Policeman’s name and that of Mrs. Marsh, my relief was intense to find him now on the wrong tack and apparently indifferent to the subject.

As on the occasion of my first visit to this interesting personage, I became so engrossed in subjects he introduced that I completely forgot Melnikoff, although the latter had been uppermost in my thoughts since I successfully landed Mrs. Marsh in Finland. Nor did the subject recur to mind until Zorinsky himself broached it.

“Well, I have lots of news for you,” he said as we moved into the drawing-room for coffee. “In the first place, Vera Alexandrovna’s café is rounded up and she’s under lock and key.”

He imparted this information in an indifferent tone.

“Are you not sorry for Vera Alexandrovna?” I said.

“Sorry? Why should one be? She was a nice girl, but foolish to keep a place like that, with all those stupid old fogeys babbling aloud like chatterboxes. It was bound to be found out.”

I recalled that this was exactly what I had thought about the place myself.

“What induced you to frequent it?” I asked.

“Oh, just for company,” he replied. “Sometimes one found someone to talk to. Lucky I was not there. The Bolsheviks got quite a haul, I am told, something like twenty people. I just happened to miss, and should have walked right into the trap next day had I not chanced to find out just in time.”

My misgivings, then, regarding Vera’s secret café had been correct, and I was thankful I had fought shy of the place after my one visit. But I felt very sorry for poor Vera Alexandrovna. I was still thinking of her when Zorinsky thrust a big blue sheet of oil paper into my hands.

“What do you think of that?” he asked.

The paper was a pen-sketch of the Finnish Gulf, but for some time I could make neither head nor tail of the geometrical designs which covered it. Only when I read in the corner the words “Fortress of Kronstadt, Distribution of Mines,” did I realize what the map really was.

“Plan of the minefields around Kronstadt and in the Finnish Gulf,” explained Zorinsky. The mines lay in inner and outer fields and the course was shown which a vessel would have to take to pass through safely. The plan proved subsequently to be quite correct.

“How did you get hold of it?” I asked, interested and amused.

“Does it matter?” he said. “There is generally a way to do these things. That is the original. If you would like to make a copy of it, you must do so tonight. It must be returned to its locked drawer in the Admiralty not later than half-past nine tomorrow morning.”

A few days later I secured through my regular Admiralty connections, whom I met at the Journalist’s, confirmation of this distribution of mines. They could not procure me the map, but they gave a list of the latitudes and longitudes, which tallied precisely with those shown on Zorinsky’s plan.

While I was still examining the scheme of minefields my companion produced two further papers and asked me to glance at them. I found them to be official certificates of exemption from military service on the ground of heart trouble, filled up with details, date of examination (two days previously), signatures of the officiating doctor, who was known to me by name, the doctor’s assistant, and the proxy of the controlling commissar. One was filled out in the name of Zorinsky. The other was complete⁠—except for the name of the holder! A close examination and comparison of the signatures convinced me they were genuine. This was exactly the certificate I so much needed to avoid mobilization and I began to think Zorinsky a genius⁠—an evil genius, perhaps, but still a genius!