The Red Gods

by Christopher Nicole

“They are here now, Comrade.” Andrei had been standing by the door, and now he opened it.

  Trotsky led Sonia into the room, stopped and gazed at the assembly in bewilderment. “I was told it was important.”

  “It is, Leon. I would have you meet Jennifer Bolugayevska. Her name is really Cromb, but in Russia she will be Bolugayevska, eh?”

  Sonia stepped past him, frowning. “Jennie?” she asked.

  “Patricia’s daughter?”

  “Of course,” Lenin said. “Can you not see the resemblance? Aren’t you going to welcome her?”

  Sonia advanced, while Jennie gazed at her. She had been only five when she had last seen Aunt Sonia, while she had been staying as a guest in the house Sonia had still ruled as the Princess Bolugayevska. “It is so good to see you again,” she murmured. “And looking so well.”

  “But what are you doing in Russia?” Sonia asked.

  “She is Andrei’s wife,” Lenin said proudly.

  Sonia looked at Andrei, who shuffled his feet in embarrassment. Sonia turned to Jennie. “Your brother agreed to this?”

  “Well...we eloped, actually. Joe knows nothing about it, yet. I’m going to write him, and explain.”

  Sonia drew a deep breath. “I would like to speak with you in private, Vladimir.”

  “Very well. You’ll excuse us, Jennie.” He glanced at the other people in the room. “We shall not be long.” He showed Sonia into his office. “Close the door.”

  She did so. “You have betrayed me.”

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  “You used my letter to inveigle that killer into Joseph’s household, and kidnap that girl.”

  “My dear Sonia, they have eloped. Jennie is very much in love. Can’t you just look at her and see that?”

  “Does she have any idea what Gosykin does?”

  “No.”

  “She is bound to find out sooner or later.”

  “By then, hopefully, she will be so much one of us that it will not matter.”

  “You are despicable!”

  “And you, for all of your experience, remain naïve.”

  “You are assuming all the Bolugayevskis will come chasing behind her.”

  “I don’t care whether they do or not. I intend to make it evident to the whole world that a Bolugayevska has come home. She and Andrei were married, somewhat irregularly, by the captain of the ship bringing them here. They will be remarried, with great splendour, here in the Kremlin, and we will have the newsreel cameramen there.”

  “You really are...”

  Lenin held up his finger. “And you are becoming tiresome. You must put the Party above every other consideration.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Then, you...” he started to rise from his chair, and Sonia held her breath. She knew he was a man of violent temper but as he reached his feet he gave a little gasp and sat down again. His head went back and struck the high backrest, and he subsided, prevented from falling to the floor only by the desk against which he had become wedged.

  Sonia ran to the door and threw it open. “Comrade Lenin!” she shouted. “He has collapsed.”

  People thrust her out of the way as they pushed into the room. Only Jennie had not moved, standing in the centre of the antechamber, her cheeks ashen. Sonia went to her, and her head came up. “Did my coming do that?”

  “Of course not. He suffers from overwork.” Sonia bit her lip. She could tell this girl everything, now. But perhaps now was not the time. She had to speak with Trotsky, first.

  Krupskaya stood in the doorway. “What did you do to him?”

  “I did nothing to him,” Sonia replied. “We had finished our discussion, he was getting up to return in here, and he suddenly collapsed.”

  Andrei hurried out. “I must get a doctor.”

  “Is he going to be all right?” Sonia asked.

  “It is a stroke. But he is alive. I must hurry.” He ran from the room.

  “What are we going to do?” Sonia asked Trotsky.

  He was sitting up in bed reading. “It is not as serious as it could have been. Apraksin says he will make a full recovery. He will have to take it easy, of course. However...”

  “I was talking about the girl, Jennie Bolugayevska. Or as she is now, Jennie Gosykinya.”

  “She’s lovely. Gosykin is a lucky man.”

  Sonia sat up as well. “Listen! You know about that letter I wrote. Lenin promised me it would merely serve to introduce an envoy of his who would put a business proposition to the Princess and Joseph. I was tricked and deceived. He did not tell me he was sending Gosykin, or I would have refused to write the letter at all. And he did not tell me Gosykin’s mission was to seduce Jennie and virtually kidnap her. All that claptrap about her being in love! Of course she’s in love. She is Patricia’s daughter. But that doesn’t alter the fact that she has been seduced and kidnapped, and is going to be used as a propaganda symbol...”

  Trotsky kissed her. “She will serve a more useful purpose as a propaganda symbol for the Party than she could in any other capacity. But she is irrelevant. You do realise Lenin is dying?”

  “You said he was going to be all right.”

  “I said his doctors say he will recover from this stroke. However, there will be some paralysis, and there will be some loss of his mental functions. When someone has had a stroke, they must take long periods of rest — it is going to be very difficult to make Lenin do that — and in all probability they’ll have another stroke, and then another, the end result being either total paralysis or death.”

  “My God!” Sonia said. “Then you...”

  “It is not as cut and dried as you think. There will be opposition. Because I am Jewish, but also because there are several other members of the Politburo who have ambitions.”

  “Stalin! He gives me the creeps. Always with that smile of his, that soft voice...he is a born conspirator.”

  “We are all born conspirators,” Trotsky reminded her. “Which is why we are here. But Stalin...he is a nothing. He lacks decision. Kamenev is a far more dangerous man.”

  “I thought Stalin carried out several armed robberies for the Party before the war.”

  “Stalin carried out one armed robbery before the war, for which he was arrested and sent to Siberia. I would not exactly describe him as the Russian Jesse James. Lenin must designate a successor, in writing, and before proper witnesses. That way there will be no argument and no in-fighting. And of course, from our point of view, there can be only one choice. That is what we must work for. And that means we must not in any way turn him against us. What I wish you to do, therefore, is visit him, charm him, apologise for having queried his decision to use Gosykin.”

  “You wish me to humiliate myself?”

  “We are speaking of the future,” Trotsky said. “My future, your future, my dearest Sonia. Not to mention the future of Russia. I wish you to do everything he requires of you, especially in regard to this little girl who concerns you.” He squeezed her shoulder. “You can do what you like about her when I am Leader. I give you carte blanche.”

  Sonia lay down again and pulled the sheet to her throat.

  “Leon: you wish to succeed Vladimir. But you can only think in terms of his appointing you his successor. I would ask you this: are you not Commissar of the Red Army? Are not the men you led to victory after victory now yours to command? Is there a force in Russia could stand against you if you reached out and seized power, with the Army at your back?” She saw the consternation on his face, and added, “after Vladimir is dead, or proved incapable of governing, of course.”

  “You are a dangerous woman,” he muttered.

  The apartment contained only two rooms, a kitchenette and a bathroom. But it was comfortably furnished, and it was at least as large as any other apartment in the Kremlin. And it was her very own. Andrei seemed content to leave the entire overseeing of their household to her. There were apparently no servants to be had in Russia, she had to do all the cleanin
g and washing herself, but she loved every moment of it. And as the wife of a Party member she was not required to go to the ordinary shops and markets and queue for hours: there were special stores and groceries for Party members, where the choice of food was better and there were no crowds.

  But there was also no social life. It was easy to tell why, within the inner circles to which she now belonged: everyone was in a state over the health of Lenin so, the state wedding she had been promised had been shelved for the time being. It was disconcerting that his illness should have begun on the day she had been presented at the Kremlin; despite Sonia’s reassurance she could not help but feel vaguely responsible. But she also had the feeling that Andrei would not have had a social life in any event. She knew he had no family — they had apparently all been killed in either the Great War or the Civil War — but he also did not seem to have any friends, and even the other senior members of the Party appeared to avoid him as if they were afraid of him.

  Yet even if social life would in any event have come to a stop with Lenin’s illness, she would have expected Andrei to have some close associates. She had no idea what his occupation actually was — he was away on business trips quite often and even when he was in Moscow he spent much of every day out. But he sometimes came home early, and then he would take her walking through the markets, while occasionally he took whole days off and they would go rambling. But when he was not there she was decidedly lonely. Aunt Sonia, as she considered her, never came to see her, or invited her to visit, and avoided her as much as everyone else avoided her husband.

  Her delight when in Andrei’s company and lonely uncertainty when out of it was compounded when she heard from Joseph. She wrote him almost as soon as she was settled in, attempting to explain what had happened, endeavouring to convince him that it had simply been a case of two people falling in love, with no sinister connotations at all. His reply was entirely condemnatory, although he did beg her to get out of Russia if she could and promised to do everything he could to assist her. ‘But,’ he wrote, ‘I do not know how soon this will be possible. I had hoped that Sonia might be able to assist, but she has not answered any of my letters, I would be grateful if you could tell me that she is well, and if she is, ask her at least to acknowledge hearing from me.’ Another mystery. Jennie had supposed Aunt Sonia was very fond of Joe; he had always indicated that, at any rate. But her uncertainties disappeared when, two months after arriving in Russia, she found herself to be pregnant.

  *

  Joseph showed the letter to Priscilla. “I suppose we must now accept the fact that she is married to Gosykin. And, my darling, we must also accept the fact that she seems to be exceedingly happy.”

  “He’s a thug,” Priscilla insisted.

  “We have no proof of that.”

  “So you’re just going to abandon her?”

  “God, what am I supposed to do? I cannot get a reply out of Aunt Sonia, and I cannot get a visa to enter Russia. Don’t you think I want to go and see Jennie for myself?”

  “No,” Priscilla said. “It would be too risky.”

  He sighed and looked up as Grishka entered the room. Grishka seemed to have aged ten years since Jennie’s elopement — she blamed herself for not having interpreted more accurately the evidence that the girl had been having an affair. But today her face was as animated as either Priscilla or Joseph had ever seen it. “Your Highness,” she said. “Mr Joseph.”

  “The bad penny,” Colin said from behind her.

  “Colin!” Priscilla cried, hurrying forward to embrace her stepson. “My God, you’re alive!”

  Colin’s responding hug was tense. “Am I supposed to be dead?”

  “Well, after not hearing from you for so long, and that thug Gosykin said you were dead...” she held him away from her to peer at him. He looked healthy enough, but he had clearly not been having a good time of it. His clothes were shabby and he had lost weight and although he was still not yet twenty-five there were streaks of grey in his hair. “What have you been doing?”

  “Surviving.” He shook hands with Joseph. “I see it has all worked out for you.” Joseph was embarrassed. Grishka produced a bottle of champagne and three glasses. “Where is Anna?” Colin asked.

  “At school,” Priscilla told him. “She will soon be home. But Colin, where have you been these past five years?” She sat beside him on the settee, glass in hand.

  “As I said, surviving,” Colin told her. “I drive a taxi in Paris. Then I saw your advertisement. I thought you must have gone back to America.”

  “No chance of that! It seemed to make sense to keep a low profile. But you drive a taxi? You?”

  His lips twisted. “The Prince of Bolugayen. Times have changed, Stepmama. Haven’t you noticed?”

  Priscilla looked at Joseph. “Well,” Joseph said. “Now we have found you, we must see about getting you a job more in keeping with...”

  “You did not find me,” Colin pointed out. “I found you. And I have a job’.”

  “Driving taxis in Paris?”

  “That is a necessary occupation, yes. Did you mention a man named Gosykin, Stepmama? Do you know this man?”

  “He’s my brother-in-law,” Joseph explained. Colin put down his glass. “I know. The whole thing does not sound very good,” Joseph admitted. “He came here with an offer from Lenin, that the family should return to Russia, acknowledge the Bolshevik regime, and, well, pick up the pieces.”

  “We refused, of course,” Priscilla said.

  Colin looked at her. “Was the offer made to you, personally, or to the family?”

  “Well...the family.”

  “Therefore the decision as whether or not to accept it should have been made by the head of the family.”

  Again Joseph went to Priscilla’s rescue. “Priscilla told him that the decision had to be yours. It was then he told us that you were dead. So...”

  “And he should know,” Colin remarked. “He once tried to kill me. Andrei Gosykin is Lenin’s personal assassin. And you have let your sister marry him.”

  “Oh, my God!” Priscilla said.

  “You must be mistaken...” Joseph said.

  “Are they living in London?” Colin asked.

  “No, they have gone back to Russia.”

  “That is a pity.”

  “She is to bear his child.” Priscilla looked at Joseph, her eyes enormous.

  “Now I have to go,” he said. “Writing won’t do any good. It might just put her in danger.”

  “But if they are married...” Priscilla said.

  “Do you seriously think that means anything to a man like Gosykin? If he married Jennie, it was because Lenin told him to. And should Lenin tell him to dispose of her because she is no longer of use to the Party, Gosykin will do that too without the slightest hesitation. Or pity.”

  Priscilla was shocked. She had lived in London for five years, long enough to become civilised, to forget the primeval savagery of Russia. “He was sent to us by your mother,” Joseph said.

  Colin frowned. “I cannot believe that.”

  “He had with him a letter from Aunt Sonia, asking us to receive him as a friend. We rejected his overtures. But Jennie fell for him — she met him clandestinely — and the result was that they eloped and got married.”

  “My mother did that?” Colin was clearly appalled. “I’m afraid so. She has refused to answer any of my letters asking for her help.”

  “Then she is totally converted to Bolshevism, and must be treated as an enemy.” Colin squared his shoulders. “I will see what can be done about Jennie. But it will cost money.”

  “You?” Priscilla asked. “What can you do about her?”

  “Do you suppose the war ended just because we had to evacuate the Crimea, Stepmama? The war continues. I came here to find out if you are willing to continue your support. Now I know you will.”

  “You mean you’re running some kind of emigre group?” Joseph asked.

  Colin snorted. “Yes
. A devoted band of men and woman who are determined to restore the tsar.”

  “Whoever he might be,” Priscilla muttered.

  Colin glared at her. “Yes, Stepmama. But we need money. Will you help?”

  “Money to start another war?” Joseph asked.

  “Hopefully, yes. But that is long-term view. In the short term, money to get Jennie out of Russia.”

  “You can do this?”

  “Yes,” Colin said, then turned as the door opened and Anna and Alexei came in from school.

  “Colin!” Anna screamed, and was in her brother’s arms. “Oh, Colin!” She began to cry. “Everyone said you were dead.” Alexei had just about forgotten what his half-brother looked like.

  “Anna!” Colin hugged and kissed his sister. “Oh, it has been so long.”

  “But now you are here...”

  “Not for very long, I’m afraid. It seems that Jennie needs rescuing.”

  “Can you?” She looked at Joseph.

  “I’m afraid I do not have very much money,” Joseph said.

  “Anything you can spare,” Colin said. “It is for the cause.”

  “What do you think?” Priscilla asked. They lay in bed, gazing into the darkness.

  “I think he only came here for money,” Joseph said.

  “But if there really is an emigre organisation. If he really can get Jennie back...”

  “We have only his word for either of those.”

  She rose on her elbow. “You aren’t going to help him?”

  “God, what a decision to have to make.”

  “I’ll write Pa, and Jimmy, and get some money out of them.”

  “Do you suppose they’ll go along with that? Without some pretty strong strings attached?”

  She lay down again. “It’s worth a try.”

  “Do you trust Colin?”

  “In his determination to bring down the Bolsheviks, yes. In that he will always do what he says he will, no.”

  “Which supports my idea that he wants the money, and is not all that interested in rescuing Jennie.”

  “We could make an advance, with the rest payable when Jennie is brought out.”

  Joseph said, “I wonder if he could get me in.”

  Priscilla sat up. “No,” she said. “Definitely not.”