The Russian Tapestry

by Banafsheh Serov

  ‘My father used to say, “Living life is not like crossing a meadow.” Your family knows you have done your best for them, despite the difficulties.’

  Alexei let out a sigh. ‘If I am ever lucky enough to have another woman love me,’ he said, his thoughts wandering to Marie, ‘I swear to love her for all my remaining days.’ He waved a dismissive hand and reached for the bottle again. ‘Don’t let me bore you with my talk. Have one last drink with me before bed.’ He refilled both their glasses.

  ‘Za zdorovie.’ He raised his glass. ‘To your health.’

  In the inky darkness of pre-dawn, Alexei woke to the sound of loud knocking at the door. Groggily, he picked up his watch from the nightstand. Four o’clock. The knocking became more urgent before abruptly stopping, followed by the sound of many men talking at once. Among the voices he recognised Grigory’s, but could not make out what he was saying. Opening the drawer of his nightstand, he reached for the silver Luger and managed to conceal it beneath the covers a split-second before the door flew open. Soldiers barged in, followed by an ashen-faced Grigory carrying a candelabra.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ Alexei demanded. He reached for his dressing gown at the foot of his bed.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry, Your Excellency,’ Grigory said. ‘I tried to convince them to come back later in the morning but they insisted …’

  ‘Be quiet,’ one of the men barked at Grigory. Stepping forward, he announced, ‘We are here to search the premises and confiscate all weapons.’

  ‘On whose authority?’

  ‘On behalf of the Soviet citizens.’

  The man motioned to one of the other soldiers, who moved swiftly to where Alexei’s sabre hung from the wall. Pulling it out of its sheath, the soldier grinned as he took in the quality of the craftsmanship. Close to the sabre, Grigory had hung Alexei’s uniform. In a swift move, the soldier ripped the epaulets from the shoulders.

  Grigory jumped forward but was beaten back by the butt of another soldier’s rifle. Winded, he fell to the floor, gasping for breath.

  Under the bedsheets, Alexei’s fingers tightened over the gun. Getting up slowly, he hid the gun in the folds of his dressing gown.

  The search took just over an hour and as well as Alexei’s two rifles and a handgun, the soldiers took several bottles of wine and vodka. While they searched the apartment, their leader – a wiry man with black curly hair and a beard trimmed to a point – remained in Alexei’s room, helping himself to cigarettes.

  ‘You’ve heard of Lenin?’ he asked casually, in between blowing smoke rings.

  ‘I’ve heard of him,’ Alexei replied coolly.

  ‘He’s a great man.’

  Alexei said nothing.

  The soldier looked over at Grigory who, having recovered, was sitting by Alexei’s side.

  ‘You, comrade – have you heard of Lenin?’

  ‘I’ve heard he’s a German spy,’ Grigory said defiantly.

  ‘Vicious lies spread by the puppet bourgeois government. Mark my words –’ the soldier pointed his cigarette at Grigory ‘– the Bolshevik Party will one day rule the country. And when they do there’ll be no more war, or hunger, or shortages. We shall live in Utopia. The peasants will no longer have to pay taxes to rich landlords.’ He leant back in the chair. ‘The people who work on the land will have full ownership of it.’

  Grigory glared at the soldier.

  ‘What is it, comrade? Cat got your tongue?’ With a satisfied smile, the soldier placed his boots on Alexei’s desk.

  When the search was over, the leader turned to Alexei. ‘Now I must ask you to accompany us to the garrison, where you’ll be held for questioning.’

  Alexei kept his expression neutral even as his stomach dropped like a stone. His grip tightened around the gun still concealed by the dressing gown.

  ‘I need a moment to dress.’

  ‘Be quick about it.’ The soldier was unsteady on his legs. ‘I don’t have all morning to wait for you.’

  When the soldier had left the room, Alexei hid the Luger under the mattress.

  ‘As soon as the soldiers leave, take my gun,’ he told Grigory, ‘and return to Uglich.’

  ‘I can’t leave Petrograd without you,’ Grigory protested as he helped Alexei into civilian clothes. ‘Where do you suppose they will take you, Excellency?’

  ‘I don’t know. Most likely, the Peter and Paul Fortress.’ He placed a hand on Grigory’s shoulder. ‘There’s little you can do for me here. You must return to Emily and the girls. Find a safe place you can take them at the first sign of danger.’

  A heavy hand rapped loudly on the door. ‘Hurry up in there.’

  ‘I am trusting you with my family,’ Alexei said, and for the first time the two men embraced.

  42

  Petrograd, October 1917

  The cold spoke of more snow to come. And although the wind had died down, the icy air bit into the men’s toes and fingers, and burnt the exposed skin of their faces. Kneeling on the ground behind the pedestal of Alexander Column, Ivanov had his gun levelled at the walls of the Winter Palace. Next to him, Dmitry blew on his hands, curling and uncurling his fingers around his rifle.

  ‘God help us,’ Dmitry groaned. ‘We’ll freeze before this siege is over.’

  From the River Neva, the guns of battleship Aurora faced the palace, trapping Kerensky and several of his ministers inside the palace walls. With the sky fading, triangles of light streamed from the gilded windows over the snow.

  Since moving to Petrograd and joining the Red Guards, Ivanov had attended many Bolshevik meetings, where increasingly the talk had turned to seizing power from the Provisional Government. People continued to suffer as inflation bit into their meagre wages. Shortages in raw materials and fuel, transport difficulties and falling demand had forced many factories to close down. Finding cheap accommodation was almost impossible. Only through their Red Guards connections had Dmitry and Ivanov found a three-room apartment which they shared with their families.

  Meeting at the back of factories, Ivanov and Dmitry joined hundreds of workers to hear delegates speak. Many workers, angry at losing their jobs, blamed the government. Marina and her sister rarely attended the meetings but tonight, at their husbands’ beckoning, they had agreed to join them at one of Lenin’s appearances.

  ‘The March revolution is not finished,’ Lenin bellowed from his lectern. ‘The Bolshevik Party, not the Provisional Government, is the true representative of the Russian people. Kerensky and his ministers have been ineffective in putting bread on the plates of the people. They continue to support this imperialist war. And meanwhile, our men are still dying, our children are still hungry and with winter almost upon us there is not sufficient fuel to warm our stoves.’

  The room smelt of the cheap tobacco the workers smoked. The hazy yellow lighting made the faces appear slightly jaundiced. Ivanov stole a look at his wife. The printed dress she wore was frayed at the hem, and her hair was tied back in a faded kerchief. Leaning against the wall, she had her arms crossed over her chest and was staring intently at the stage. Sensing his eyes on her she turned, fixing him a look that made him drop his gaze.

  Meanwhile, Lenin was reaching the end of his speech. ‘We, the Bolshevik Party, will fight to ensure the ordinary families take back what is rightfully theirs.’

  The room erupted in an ovation that went on for several minutes. Ivanov joined in the applause, cheering enthusiastically. When he turned to look for Marina, she had gone.

  He found her outside, sitting on a bench. ‘Why did you leave?’

  ‘I had heard enough.’

  He sat down beside her. ‘Comrade Lenin makes a lot of sense.’

  The lines around her eyes creased with tension. ‘You think so? You think his policies are going to put bread on our table?’

  ‘Yes I do. He listens to the people. He is demanding change. You heard what he said, the revolution is not over.’

  ‘There’s been enough blood shed
in the trenches, Lyova.’

  ‘Who’s talking about bloodshed?’

  She levelled him a look. ‘How do you think your comrade Lenin and his Bolshevik Party are going to seize power? Do you think the Provisional Government would just hand over power to the Bolsheviks?’

  ‘If that’s what the people are demanding, then –’

  ‘Don’t be naïve!’ she snapped. Looking over her shoulder, she lowered her voice. ‘There’s only one way the Bolsheviks can take power, and that’s through armed uprisings.’

  Ivanov stared at his hands. ‘It might not come to that.’

  Marina touched his forearm. ‘You know I am right, Lyova. There will be an uprising. And it will not be bloodless.’

  They did not have to wait long for Marina’s words to be proved right. A few weeks later, a demonstration erupted into riots that came close to resulting in a coup. Soldiers loyal to Kerensky dispersed the crowd with machine-gun fire. Ivanov and Dmitry narrowly escaped by hiding under a bridge, listening to the chaos of the crowd scattering in terror. They emerged from hiding only once the streets had grown quiet. With the white summer nights, it was difficult to keep to the shadows. Ducking between side alleys, they made their way back to their apartment.

  Marina and Tamara greeted them at the door. ‘Where have you been?’ Marina threw her arms around Ivanov’s neck. ‘We were worried sick.’ Pulling back, she studied him for signs of injury.

  ‘I am fine.’ He kissed her brow. ‘Just tired.’

  Stoking the fire in the stove, Marina brewed tea and served it to them with bread. Ivanov sat down to eat, but Dmitry and Tamara took their supper to their bedroom.

  Sitting by Ivanov’s feet, Marina rested her head against his legs. ‘Some of the men from the party came looking for you. They wanted to know if you made it.’ She spoke softly, her voice rasping. ‘I don’t know what I would have done if you had not made it home tonight.’

  Finishing his supper, Ivanov put down his cup. ‘I’m here now.’

  She nuzzled closer. ‘Maybe now we can go back to our village.’

  ‘That’s not possible.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Our job here is not done.’

  ‘But the party is finished. And so are the Red Guards.’

  Ivanov gave her a confused look.

  Marina tilted her head to one side. ‘You have not heard?’

  Ivanov felt his bowels liquefy. ‘Heard what?’

  ‘Lenin,’ she said. ‘He’s fled the capital.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘The men from the party told me. They think he’s heading for Finland. The afternoon papers are calling him a traitor, a German spy.’

  A lump hardened in Ivanov’s throat. ‘They’re just vicious lies.’

  Marina threaded her fingers through his. ‘That’s not all. Trotsky is under arrest.’

  ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘Treason.’

  Despite the arrest of the Bolshevik leaders, disillusionment with the Provisional Government to bring an end to the war led more Russians to join the party. Reports filtered through from the trenches, bringing news of men deserting the front in droves.

  ‘Troops openly refuse to participate in offensives,’ a soldier, recently defected, told the group of Bolsheviks who had gathered at Ivanov’s apartment. ‘Skirmishes planned by those still loyal to Kerensky sometimes manage to cut through enemy lines. But without the rest of the men willing to follow, any territory gained is quickly lost to counter-offensives.’

  Dmitry handed the soldier a glass of vodka.

  The soldier raised his glass. He was missing half his index finger. ‘Za vas.’

  Around the room the men emptied their glasses.

  Dmitry refilled them. ‘Is it true Kerensky has reintroduced capital punishment for men who refuse to join the offensives?’ he asked.

  The soldier nodded. ‘That son of a viper! Kerensky has ordered the officers to turn their guns on us if we refuse to fight. But it’s no use. We’re still refusing. I saw three men shoot an officer after he pulled his gun at one of the soldiers.’

  A murmur rippled through the group.

  ‘The army can’t continue like this,’ Ivanov said. His speech had started to slur.

  The soldier held out his glass to be refilled. ‘Change is on the horizon, comrade. It will come.’

  ‘The question is, what is Kerensky planning to do?’

  ‘Word is, he is blaming the generals for their failure to assert discipline. He’s already replaced General Brusilov with General Kornilov as Commander-in-Chief.’

  Ivanov shook his head. ‘Kerensky has made a mistake replacing Brusilov. He was a great general.’

  ‘His decision might yet backfire on him.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Kornilov is an ambitious man. He was overheard at the front boasting about plans to overthrow Kerensky.’

  ‘Could he do that?’

  The soldier shrugged and downed his glass. ‘Anything is possible.’

  At the end of August, troops under the command of General Kornilov marched on Petrograd to call for the resignation of the government and the handover of power to the Commander-in-Chief. Having heard of Kornilov’s plans, Kerensky turned to the Red Guards to help protect the city.

  On the morning of the coup, Ivanov and Dmitry were woken by knocking at the door.

  ‘What is the meaning of waking us at this hour?’ Ivanov asked the messenger.

  The boy handed him an envelope. ‘It’s a message from the Petrograd Soviets, comrade. You are to meet at the Palace Square.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He rocked impatiently on his heels. ‘I have to go. I have many of these messages still to hand out.’

  Ivanov followed the boy out to the top of the stairs. ‘Who gave this to you?’

  ‘A man at the Smolny Institute,’ the boy said, looking back over his shoulder. ‘The order has come overnight from Lenin.’

  ‘You think it’s a trap?’ Ivanov later asked Dmitry.

  Dmitry shrugged. ‘I’m not sure, but I think we should be careful entering the square.’

  ‘The boy said the order has come from Lenin.’

  ‘Do you think it could have something to do with Kornilov’s threats to overthrow Kerensky?’

  Ivanov scratched the back of his head. ‘Why would Lenin want to support Kerensky?’

  ‘I guess we’ll know soon enough.’ Dmitry checked his watch. ‘We are expected there in an hour.’

  At the Palace Square, Ivanov and Dmitry were surprised to find thousands of men already there. Troops stood shoulder to shoulder with workers. Ivanov spied groups of young cadets and women dressed in military uniforms, all of whom were armed with rifles.

  Standing on an upturned box, Kerensky’s skin appeared sallow. When it was time to address the crowd, he squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest.

  ‘Today, our great city is under threat. Presently, General Kornilov marches on Petrograd to make himself military dictator of Russia. This is a blatant attempt by the bourgeoisie to crush the revolution. Citizens and comrades! Listen to me! I know the past years have not been kind to you. But we must look beyond our grievances! We must pool our resources to defend our revolution! Railway workers loyal to the Petrograd Soviets are halting the soldiers’ progress. We have reports that trains are being diverted, lines blocked and rails removed, making it impossible for the general to transport his troops to the capital.

  ‘The Bolshevik leader, Vladimir Lenin –’ at the mention of Lenin, the workers let out a loud cheer. Kerensky paused to let the applause die down. ‘Comrade Lenin has also agreed to halt the ambitions of General Kornilov.’

  Another loud cheer.

  ‘Citizens,’ Kerensky continued, ‘we must protect our city. I ask you, on this historic day, to join forces, to put aside our differences and as comrades to fight against our common enemy.’

  ‘How are we supposed to halt the adv
ance of armed forces when we are unarmed ourselves?’ Dmitry yelled out.

  ‘That’s a good question, comrade,’ Kerensky replied. ‘We will issue a rifle to every man and woman who will defend the capital. Workers will be organised into defence squads and stationed at strategic locations around the outskirts of the city.’ He stopped and took a breath. ‘Today,’ his voice boomed across the square, ‘the future of our great revolution rests on your shoulders.’

  Following Kerensky’s speech, rifles were handed out and each faction was assigned an area of the city.

  Ivanov and Dmitry were allocated the southern border of the capital. They remained all day at their post without firing a single shot. They returned to their apartment when they received news that the government had repelled Kornilov’s advance.

  ‘The coup failed,’ Ivanov told Marina. ‘There was no bloodshed.’

  ‘Thank the Lord.’ Marina crossed herself. ‘Where did you get those?’ she asked in alarm when she saw they were carrying rifles.

  Wrapping them in a blanket, Ivanov hid the weapons at the back of a cupboard. ‘We were issued these by the government. With all the excitement, no one asked for them back.’

  Tamara helped Dmitry with his jacket and boots. ‘What will happen now?’

  ‘By agreeing to defend the city against Kornilov,’ Dimitry said, ‘Lenin proved that the Bolsheviks are not traitors to the revolution. Kerensky has no choice but to release the Bolshevik leaders.’

  ‘And what about Lenin?’

  Dmitry smiled. ‘He will return from exile a hero.’

  The following month, the Bolshevik leaders, including Trotsky, were released. After their liberation, an All-Russian Soviet of Workers’ and Soldiers’ Deputies congress was held at Tauride Palace. The large auditorium was bursting with delegates, many of whom were forced to stand in the aisles. Plumes of cigarette smoke hung low over the crowd like a fog, choking the room of oxygen. At the conclusion of the elections, Trotsky was voted president of the Petrograd Soviet. Speaking before the delegates, Trotsky announced that his first task would be to neutralise the Petrograd Garrison troops.