Fear of Mirrors

by Tariq Ali

  Ludwik explained the logistics of the operation and left his two colleagues from the Fourth Department to speak to the specialist workers on their own, so that he did not influence their first impressions. Freddy and Livitsky took detailed notes on how each of the sections functioned.

  A few hours later, during a lunch of freshly baked bread, goats’ cheese and locally brewed red wine, the three men exchanged information. Ludwik had been out of the Soviet Union since 1929. For the last three days they had been discussing the European crisis and the disposition of their agents. Ludwik was desperate for news from home. Later he must have briefed Gertrude on this meeting. The exchange below is one of the fragments from her notebooks. I have added explanatory sentences for your benefit, Karl, but a voice inside my head tells me that you won’t get this far. If you do, please try and understand that what you call ‘historical communism’ was everyday life for these people. They were the human material and would not believe that the Idea could ever be defeated, except temporarily.

  ‘It’s our last chance,’ volunteered Livitsky. ‘If the fascists win in Spain, Hitler will take Europe and Stalin will consolidate his regime.’

  Freddy spoke in a quiet voice, but his authority was unmistakable. As one of the chief controllers of the Fourth Department, he knew almost everything. ‘If Hitler takes Europe, Stalin will do a deal with him.’

  ‘No!’ Livitsky’s tone expressed his horror. ‘You go too far, Freddy. Not even Stalin could get away with that … the party would –’

  ‘Don’t talk to me about the party. It’s become his instrument. I’ve seen German intelligence reports. They’ve established contact with us. Two of these reports imply that Marshal Tukachevsky is working for them.’

  ‘Obvious forgeries,’ said Ludwik contemptuously, ‘and yet I’m sure that one person in Moscow desperately wants to believe them. Am I right or wrong, Freddy?’

  ‘You are right, my friend.’

  ‘Stalin!’ Livitsky was genuinely shocked. ‘But why, in heaven’s name? Tuka is the best we have.’

  ‘That’s why Hitler’s boys want him out. He knows their military strategy inside out. Early this year during manoeuvres, he mapped out how and where the Germans would attack the Soviet Union and how they should be resisted.’

  ‘I know all that, F-F-Freddy,’ Livitsky sometimes stuttered when he was over-excited, ‘but why does our great leader want to get rid of him?’

  ‘He’s jealous of Tuka’s standing in the Red Army, and deep down he’s worried that in a crisis Tuka might move against him,’ replied Ludwik. ‘And he’s never forgiven Tuka for refusing to denounce Trotsky. For these reasons our greatest military commander will, no doubt, soon be arrested and accused of being a German spy. Frederick?’

  ‘I fear so. And he won’t be the only one. They want to purge all those who worked under him as well.’

  ‘I wish I’d died during our civil war.’

  Freddy re-lit his pipe and studied his friend’s face. Ludwik’s eyes were filled with sadness. For a while none of them spoke. It was always the same when they discussed Moscow.

  ‘Ludwik,’ said Freddy, ‘they want you to return to Moscow for a debriefing session.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘On the face of it, the request is not unreasonable. You’ve been out of the country for seven years. Spain is crucial to the future of Europe. You know it better than anyone else.’

  ‘But …?’ inquired Ludwik.

  ‘But,’ Freddy responded, ‘you should decline the offer. One of Stalin’s new boys was asking about you. Wanted to know why your brother had fought with the Poles against the Red Army in 1921. I think if you return they will keep you there.’

  ‘If I have to die, I would rather go down fighting the fascists.’

  ‘I agree,’ interrupted Livitsky. ‘Ludwik is needed in Spain. He is the only one who knows the location of our spies working on Franco’s side.’

  ‘I have a better idea,’ said Freddy. ‘I will report that for the moment, your presence in Europe is indispensable. We could outmanoeuvre them if you send Lisa and Felix to Moscow for a short holiday to see friends and relations. It would be a clear indication that your conscience is clear and that you have nothing to fear.’

  ‘If something happened to them Freddy, I would not be able to live.’

  ‘Nothing will happen if they come soon.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘As sure as one can be of anything.’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  As they were driving back to Collioure, the sky cleared. Ludwik stopped the car near a bend and all three men jumped out to see the last few minutes of the sunset.

  ‘Frederick,’ asked Ludwik as they got back into the car, ‘I have been waiting three days for both of you to tell me something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why have neither Schmelka nor you talked about the trial? Is it true you interrogated Zinoviev and Kamenev? Could this be true?’

  Heard of these names before, Karl? The Rosencrantz and Guildenstern of the Russian Revolution. Founders, with Lenin, of the Bolshevik Party. His closest comrades. Kamenev was also a very close personal friend and Lenin, thinking he might be killed, left Kamenev his manuscript of State and Revolution, a very un-Leninist pamphlet.

  Both these men were opposed to the October insurrection, regarded it as an adventure, were close to the Mensheviks, went public with the date the Bolsheviks were planning a seizure of power. Lenin was livid. Demanded their expulsions, but was outvoted by the Central Committee. Later he forgave them, but he did not forget.

  After Lenin’s death they linked up with Stalin against Trotsky, but then joined the latter in a united opposition to defeat Stalin. Naturally, the dictator never trusted them again. When Stalin decided to wipe out most of Lenin’s Central Committee, they were first on his list. One more thing. Kamenev wrote an excellent essay on Macchiavelli, which was used against him during the trials. The Prince consumed them all.

  Neither man replied. Then Livitsky, his face distorted by the memory, began to speak.

  ‘Freddy and I interrogated them in turn.’

  ‘Who was the hard man?’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘You!?’

  Ludwik was really surprised. Schmelka Livitsky was the least hardened of the old gang. He must have been totally unconvincing. This must have been Freddy’s idea, his way of telling the two old Bolsheviks that the whole thing was a farce.

  Freddy knew instinctively that Ludwik had guessed his motives. The two men looked at each other.

  ‘It was a horrible business,’ Freddy confessed to his old comrade. ‘You know, in the old days, we used to laugh at them because they always agreed with each other. Siamese twins. They were not as bad as all that. Zinoviev looked me straight in the eye and said: “You know better than most that all we are accused of is a pack of lies, so why are you doing this to us? At least do not insult our intelligence.” Kamenev nodded in total agreement. Even in the Lubianka their character had not changed. I wanted to tell them the truth. I wanted to scream that whatever happened they should not confess, but I could not even reply to Zinoviev. Everything was being taped for Stalin and we were being observed. I just carried on.’

  ‘How did you get them to confess? Why did they confess?’

  ‘Simple. I told them that if they challenged Stalin’s will in court, he would have them executed in any case, but would also punish their families. If they pleaded guilty their families would be left alone. In their case it worked.’

  ‘Simple, was it, comrade? Simple? You said that to them? You? You told Lenin’s oldest comrades to die with lies on their lips? For what? Why? Why?’

  ‘I had no choice. You would have done the same if you had been in Moscow, Ludwik. Or else suffered their fate.’

  ‘He hasn’t told you everything, Ludwik.’

  ‘Tell me, Schmelka. Everything.’

  ‘It would take too long and before I could finish we would all be
dead.’

  ‘We learn nothing from the past,’ Ludwik mused as he started the car and began to negotiate the mountain bends. ‘When our revolution was born, we talked about nothing but the French Revolution. How we should avoid its mistakes. When they started killing their own people, their days were numbered.’

  Freddy laughed. ‘Our leaders were never too worried about that, Ludwik. Surely you remember the Tenth Party Congress. You were there, weren’t you?’

  Ludwik nodded grimly. ‘Yes. I was there and I marched behind Tuka to Kronstadt.’

  Kronstadt, my dear Karl, was an island fortress near Petrograd, as it was then called. A naval base. It had been a revolutionary stronghold in 1917. Trotsky had won the sailors over to the Bolsheviks. Now the sailors wanted bread and freedom. That was fine. Everyone did, but they threatened the Bolsheviks with arms. The Tenth Party Congress decided unanimously to crush the revolt.

  ‘I thought so,’ said Freddy. ‘Do you remember Lenin’s speech?’

  ‘Which bit?’

  ‘The bit where Lenin talked about Thermidor,’ Livitsky interjected. ‘Remember? We had to crush the Kronstadt rebellion because otherwise it might become our Thermidor.’

  ‘That was the lesson we learned from the French,’ muttered Freddy. ‘Avoid Thermidor at all costs.’

  Ludwik’s anger flared. ‘Stalin is Thermidor, resurrected Thermidor with a Georgian moustache and murder mass-produced. A Tsar in a Communist tunic, but with no ruling class to restrain him.’

  ‘Bukharin used the same words to me. The pity is that he hasn’t even an ounce of Napoleon’s intelligence,’ replied Freddy.

  ‘But far more cunning,’ said Ludwik, ‘and an addict’s taste for the blood of imagined enemies.’

  No more was said till they reached Collioure. Later that night, after they had sampled the fish caught in the morning, Ludwik turned to Freddy.

  ‘Till today I really believed that if we won in Spain, Stalin’s position inside the party would be weakened and they might even get rid of him. But from the way you talk, I’m no longer so sure.’

  ‘You’re too pessimistic, Ludwik. Mediocrity thrives on stagnation and defeat. A victory in Spain would alter the overall balance of power in Europe. A wave of optimism would spread, reach Moscow and who knows what might happen. Even some of Stalin’s followers are discontented. Don’t give up just yet.’

  ‘Schmelka?’ asked Ludwik.

  ‘Freddy may be right. He knows the inner circles better than me, but…’ said Livitsky and shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘The real question is whether we can win in Spain and here you are our most experienced operator in the field. Your sober and meticulous reports are appreciated by almost everyone in the Department. So my friend, what is your answer?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ replied Ludwik.

  ‘Why?’ pressed Freddy. ‘We’ve got the green light from the Big Moustache for weapons and money.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ said Ludwik, ‘in return for which he’s asked the Republic to ship its entire gold reserves to Moscow for safe-keeping. This is internationalism with a vengeance. In any case, weaponry alone will not be sufficient. We need a leader who can unite all the forces of the Republic and who understands both military and political strategy. You know the POUM* asked the government to send for Trotsky from his Mexican exile.’

  Freddy roared with laughter. ‘It would be the quickest way to unite Stalin, Hitler, Daladier and Chamberlain.’

  ‘Yes, it’s funny, but the problems are real. The anarchists are bent on burning down churches and shooting priests. The Poumists are not strong enough to control this stupidity. The government is weak and the Spanish section of the Communist International understands the Popular Front as a strategy to destroy its opponents on the Left. On the other hand the Right is more or less united and its objectives are simple: defend the Church and its property against atrocities; defend Spain against the Bolshevik threat and pledge Spain to fight alongside Hitler and Mussolini in Europe. It’s working. Many on the Right mistrust Franco, but they hate the Republic.’

  ‘But, Ludwik,’ Schmelka Livitsky moaned, ‘you’re far too pessimistic. The majority of the people support the Republic.’

  ‘Probably. But for how long? The debate goes like this: The only way we can win the civil war is first to make the Revolution. Expropriate the expropriators. This is the view of the POUM, the anarchists, the left-socialists and many other decent people. Moscow’s men, our so-called comrades, the social democrats and honest liberals reply: Until we win the war there can be no revolution.

  ‘Both are right. Both are wrong. The counter position is stupid and dogmatic. Undialectical. Lenin or Trotsky might have understood that, but not this bunch. They imagine that history is like a powerful river. Unstoppable. On its way to the sea. If that were the case, there would not be any need for us. You try telling them that history is a collection of streams, and which of these flows to the river depends on many factors. Our stream could dry up, but this possibility is forever excluded.’

  ‘Ludwik, we have new orders. Direct from the Kremlin.’

  Something in Freddy’s voice alerted Ludwik that the new instructions could test his loyalty. Schmelka was looking shifty.

  Ludwik looked straight into Freddy’s light grey eyes. ‘I’m prepared for the worst.’

  ‘A special unit has been set up, outside the Fourth Department, with only one purpose: the elimination of the POUM leaders in Spain and the assassination of Trotsky in Mexico.’

  Ludwik was stunned. He looked at their faces in silence. Could they still remain silent? Like him, they had fought under Trotsky. Freddy had been attached to a special unit on Trotsky’s train, whose sole purpose had been to keep the leader of the Red Army alive. Freddy and Schmelka knew what was preoccupying Ludwik.

  ‘Perhaps the time has come,’ said Ludwik in a whisper.

  ‘No!’ both men shouted in one voice.

  ‘Why not? Whose interests are we serving by carrying out Stalin’s murders?’

  ‘It’s not as simple as that,’ said Freddy, ‘and you know that better than both of us. If we win in Spain it is a blow against Hitler! You’ve been sending us reports for over three years with one overriding demand. A bloc against Hitler with anyone and everyone prepared to fight fascism. Now you want to exclude Stalin from your united front.’

  ‘Stalin paved the way for Hitler. Trotsky was right.’

  ‘Of course Trotsky was right on fascism, but he is, alas, powerless. It is Stalin who controls the Red Army and this army can fight fascism. That’s why any romantic notions of breaking with Moscow are foolish. Understandable, but wrong. Don’t think we haven’t talked about all this in the Department.’

  ‘Meanwhile we murder the old Bolsheviks, execute anarchists and Poumists, allow Trotsky to be killed, and watch silently while Stalin frames Tukachevsky, the most brilliant military strategist in Europe. If we do all this we might not be able to defeat fascism. Our methods will have become the same.’

  ‘We won’t sit still. Why should we? Trotsky should be warned that there is now a serious plot to kill him. You can do that via your contacts in Amsterdam. Your good friend Sneevliet is close to Trotsky’s son. In Moscow we’ll try to warn Tukachevsky and the others.’

  ‘No doubt. Like you helped Zinoviev and Kamenev. Freddy, don’t you understand? It’s too late. Unless … unless. Prepare for a heresy.’ Ludwik paused for a moment and then his voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Unless Tukachevsky seizes power!’

  ‘Unthinkable. Bonapartism would kill the Revolution.’

  ‘The Revolution died a long time ago, my friend.’

  ‘I agree with you Ludwik, but it’s too late.’ muttered Schmelka.

  They carried on talking till it was nearly light. None of them knew whether they would see each other again. They remembered the élan of the early twenties. Things had been bad, but hope had not yet been obliterated. That was before the victory of the degenerates; before the world had
begun to be coloured by the blood of innocents; before the Austrian house-painter had found a new profession and for them, the most important of all, before the former seminarist from Georgia had captured the apparatus of power in Moscow.

  It was a time when the thought of death as an escape from the ugliness of the world had not yet entered their thoughts. Freddy admitted that he kept on working for the Fourth Department because to resign would be suicide, an acknowledgement of guilt, which in their profession meant execution.

  ‘I know,’ said Ludwik in response, ‘but surely you realize that none of you will be left alive. You’re witnesses to what is happening. After the murder, the killer turns his attention to the accomplices who witnessed the act.’

  ‘What then?’ inquired Livitsky. ‘The only way to stay alive is to give oneself to the West. That would be a life worse than death.’

  ‘There is another alternative,’ said Ludwik. ‘To disappear completely. Change our identities. Live and fight in a different way.’

  ‘Simple-minded utopianism,’ replied Freddy. ‘The only one who’s managed to do that is Trotsky, and Moscow is going to kill him. If we do the same they’ll kill us too. The more important question is how to defeat fascism. You agree on that, Ludwik. Let’s remain single-minded. First defeat fascism and then Stalin. Sorge agrees with that too.’

  ‘Where is Sorge? Still in China?’

  Freddy shrugged his shoulders. Richard Sorge had been seconded from the German Communist Party to join the Fourth Department. His grandfather had been a friend of Marx and Engels. Sorge’s self-confidence bordered on recklessness. He had infiltrated top Nazi circles in Germany, acquired impeccable credentials, and judged purely from the vantage point of acquiring secret information, Sorge was the Soviet Union’s most brilliant spy.

  ‘Come on Freddy. I want to know.’

  ‘He’s safe in Tokyo with his geishas and an incredible network. He has penetrated the German Embassy.’

  Ludwik laughed and clapped his hands. Sorge’s promiscuity was a subject of much ribaldry throughout the Department.