by Tariq Ali
Seventeen
FOR A LONG TIME after the 1930s, and even after the death of the paranoid tyrant, Joseph Stalin, in 1953, when Lisa tried to remember her last trip to Moscow she could never see it in a straight perspective or an ordinary light. It wasn’t only the tide of adrenaline pumping through her system, the dry throat, the copper taste of apprehension – she had felt all these before. It was as if a tangible distillation of the terror suffered by its citizens had been vented into the Moscow atmosphere, converting sights and sounds into the fabric of an Expressionist film – pools of black shadow, a background of croaks and whispers, faces worn like masks. She remembered the visit as a series of episodes whose logic belonged so specifically to that time and place that she could not re-create it elsewhere.
Remember, she kept telling herself, never betray surprise or fear or anger. They are holes for death to creep through. It was May 1937. The border-crossing at Eydkhunen in Latvia had passed without any problems. It was the moment Lisa always hated. Soviet border guards were under strict instructions to question foreigners. Perhaps they had been notified. They must have been or else they would have been questioned. Anyway she had not been bothered, despite their fake Czech passports. Even the luggage hadn’t been searched.
Felix, innocent, unsuspecting boy, was fast asleep as the train approached Moscow. It was early morning and Lisa was greeted by sunshine and a clear sky. Outside the birches and poplars were standing guard as always, faithful sentinels of the Russian countryside.
She lowered the window and put her head out, shutting her eyes as she breathed the clean air. It reminded her of more indolent times and suddenly she felt light-hearted. But the mood lasted less than five seconds. She thought she saw the trunk of a birch tree splattered with blood. She raised the window again and sat down, her pulse quicker than before.
‘Wake up, Felix. We’re almost there.’
In Moscow itself, thought Lisa as she grimaced, life must be normal. Innumerable bureaucrats, spies, secret policemen, ordinary people trying to be good citizens, Party members with a misguided sense of loyalty, all working continually in the background, sometimes out of sight, but never out of the mind of the country as a whole.
The Leader had wanted every good citizen to be a spy and now they kept watch, they wrote reports, they competed to see who could denounce the largest number of ‘enemies of the people’. If their hard work resulted in an interrogation, they would smile to themselves, but if the interrogation resulted in a prison sentence, not to mention a trial and execution, they felt elated, imagining themselves totally safe. Poor fools, thought Lisa. Poor, poor fools.
The train stopped. She wondered whether Freddy had got her telegram. Then, looking at the sea of faces, she wondered whether there were any human beings left in the country – people so good that they could not even think of evil.
‘Lisa! Lisa! This way.’
It was Freddy. His face comforted her. She grabbed Felix’s arm, and mother and son suddenly found themselves lifted off the ground by a laughing giant in a greatcoat. Next to him stood his son, Adam, who was the same age as Felix. The two boys had been inseparable when Ludwik was stationed in Moscow. They would have a lot to talk about, but in the presence of parents they exchanged smiles.
‘Welcome to Moscow! Felix, how you’ve grown. Adam you’ve been left behind. It must be the food in France!’
Adam groaned. Felix grinned. The predictability of the adult world depressed both of them. Freddy ignored the boys as he continued.
‘If only you had come ten days ago, I would have taken you to the big May Day parade.’
‘Was Trotsky there?’ asked Felix.
Freddy’s face clouded.
‘And Zinoviev?’ Felix continued. ‘Kamenev? No, of course not. Enemies of the people. Sorry, Uncle Freddy.’
Adam gave his friend a look full of awe. Freddy sighed. Lisa was amazed. This was the first time that Felix had ever said anything of this sort. What had taken hold of the boy and why here, in Moscow, where people were sent to Siberia for asking less pointed questions?
She glared at her son in silence. He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. She pinched his arm as Freddy bundled them into a black Zim and drove away from the station. There was hardly any traffic, but Freddy still drove slowly. How different it still is from Paris or Berlin, thought Lisa as she looked with affection at the man who was driving them to their hotel. Despite her knowledge that the city was gripped by fear, she found it impossible to resist the Moscow summer.
Once they were safely settled in the car, Lisa decided it was the time to find out which of the old gang were still around.
‘Are any of our friends still in Moscow?’
‘The fewer people you see, the better.’
‘Ludwik instructed me to follow your instructions on everything, Freddy but … I know Livitsky’s in Paris, but Levy? Larin?’
‘Levy is dead. He warned Bukharin that Stalin was out to get him. Suggested to Bukharin that he should not return to Moscow after his next trip abroad. That alone would have been enough, but Levy went further. He told Bukharin to go to Mexico. Someone in Bukharin’s circle talked. Levy disappeared. No interrogation was necessary. He admitted everything and cursed the Moustache. I think he wanted to die quickly. They shot him three nights ago. As a result we’re all under suspicion. Especially Ludwik.’
Lisa’s face was pale. Misha Levy was dead. He had been a fresh-faced youth when she had first met him in Vienna. Tears brimmed in her eyes. She wiped them ruthlessly away. A tear-stained face would arouse suspicions at their Moscow hotel.
Misha was the first of the five Ls to die and Ludwik did not even know that he had been arrested. She spoke in a choked whisper. ‘It’s too horrible for words, Freddy.’
‘I know. He wanted to go. He told me last year that he couldn’t stand the trials and killings. He was desperate to go abroad and see Ludwik, but it was difficult to organize. As you know, he spoke only Russian. Larin is in Moscow. He will come and see you tomorrow evening.’
The car pulled up outside the Savoy. Lisa and Felix were to pretend they were here as tourists.
‘I’ll pick you up in the morning, Lisa. The Boss wants to see you for a few minutes. Felix can come as well. He and Adam can play chess in my office while you’re debriefed. And Lisa, one more thing. Be very careful. The dictatorship is now totally ruthless.’
‘And the proletariat?’ whispered Lisa.
‘Crushed,’ replied Freddy, ‘and yet I’m sure it will all turn out right in the end.’
‘Are you really, Freddy?’
‘Of course! This muck cannot last forever. The Moustache cannot destroy the Soviet Union.’
Felix and Adam had heard the entire conversation in silence. As they left the car, Felix pressed Adam’s hand as if to say, ‘I know. Don’t worry. I won’t let you down.’
‘I will see you tomorrow,’ Adam told him as he got out of the back seat and joined Freddy in the front of the car.
The hotel was half empty. Stray businessmen, a delegation of American Communists. They stared at her and Felix, trying to place the newly arrived pair in the order of things. A single woman and her child could not be here for business. Was she a visiting dignitary? A few of them smiled and waved a welcome. Lisa nodded politely and went straight to the lift. They all looked slightly tense, despite the vodka they appeared to have consumed. How different it was from the Hotel Lux that time in 1926, when the International meant something and when comrades from all over the world were still full of hope, arguing and shouting at each other. Everything had not been crushed then, even though all the signs pointed in Stalin’s direction. Ludwik had told her that Stalin was bound to win. The civil war had made people on both sides sullen and demoralized, uninterested in politics.
She diverted herself by telling Felix to go and have a shower. As she dried his hair she began to think of the time she had first met Ludwik. She found herself remembering Vienna. Felix’s eyes were sparkling again as he got into
his pyjamas.
‘Father told me there was one poem by Pushkin they all used to recite regularly when they were boys.’
‘Which one? Let me think.’
‘It had something to do with chains…’
‘Of course,’ Lisa shouted with delight. Then she raised her voice for the benefit of those listening. ‘It was a poem against Tsarist tyranny, Message to Siberia. I can’t remember it all, Felix, but tomorrow I will get a copy from Uncle Freddy and –’
‘Please try, Mutti. A few lines. I’m sure you can if you try. Sometimes I think I’ve forgotten a poem and the teacher tells me to think and think and I do, and then I remember.’
‘I’ll try, but you get into bed. We’ve been on trains for two days. Sleep. Come on.’
Felix snuggled under the blankets and looked at her expectantly.
The boy was right, thought Lisa. Some of Pushkin’s words had begun to creep into her consciousness and she began to recite in a soft, but firm voice.
The sister of misfortune, Hope,
In the under-darkness dumb
Speaks joyful courage to your heart:
The day desired will come.
And love and friendship pour to you
Across the darkened doors,
Even as round your galley-beds
My free music pours.
Felix sat up in bed, his eyes shining, for he, too, had now remembered the last verse which Ludwik had recited so often only a few years ago. Mother and son spoke in harmony.
The heavy-hanging chains will fall,
The walls will crumble at a word;
And Freedom greet you in the light,
And brothers give you back the sword.
Lisa remembered Misha and wept silently. She kissed Felix and turned out the lamp, but the darkness could not drown her sorrows. Sleep would not come to her, and after an hour of tossing and turning she got out of bed. Felix was fast asleep. Lisa was exceedingly perturbed. She knew Freddy must have been shattered by Misha’s execution just as much as she was, but he had spoken of it casually, almost as if Misha had lost a game of roulette. And if even Bukharin was under threat, how could anything change?
Freddy and Adam joined them while they were having breakfast.
‘I have a surprise for you, waiting in the foyer.’
‘Larin?’
‘No, he will come this evening. An old friend of yours, Lisa, and her son, who used to play with Felix and Adam about five years ago, when you were in Berlin. Remember? Her husband was killed by the Nazis.’
Felix’s eyes lit up. ‘Hans Wolf?’
‘Correct. And his mother, Minna.’
Lisa was pleased and surprised.
‘How long have they been in Moscow?’
‘Since Hitler came to power. It was bad enough being a member of the KPD,* but having been married to a Jewish poet, even a dead one, meant the camps and death, sooner or later.’
As they left the dining room, Lisa felt a shiver of excitement. She and Minna had been very close. They had discussed everything with each other. Once, in Ludwik’s presence, Lisa had confided to Minna how ugly and unattractive she found Stalin.
‘Why,’ she had said, ‘he has no forehead.’
Both women had laughed, but Ludwik had looked round nervously in the restaurant and told them that remarks like that could lead to immediate expulsion from the Party. They had laughed at him then, but now Lisa felt frightened. If Minna were ever to pass on the remark of several years ago, she might not be allowed to leave Moscow.
‘Lisa! Felix!’
Minna rose and hugged Lisa, kissing her warmly on both cheeks. Then it was Felix’s turn. The boy winced slightly. He turned to Hans and they shook hands as if they were grown men. The mothers exchanged smiles.
‘So you’ve made friends again, eh?’ said Freddy with a wink, but he was subjected to such a withering gaze from Adam, Felix and Hans that he went and hid behind the two mothers.
‘Lisa! You look well. Frederick tells me that you are wanted by the Department. We would like to borrow Felix and Adam for the day. If you’re finished by three or four, come and have tea with us. Otherwise we’ll bring him back here.’
Minna’s tone was subdued and somewhat artificial. Lisa looked at her son. What was being suggested was perfectly normal and yet her heart was beating faster. She looked at her boy.
‘Is that OK, Felix?’
‘Yes, fine,’ he muttered.
‘Great, that’s settled, then. I will bring Lisa to your flat between three and four. If we’re delayed I will make sure to ring you.’
In the safety of the car, Lisa began to talk openly to Freddy.
‘Now that the boy isn’t here, let me tell you a few things. Did you know that Moscow has hired a band of killers whose only task is to wipe out Communist oppositionists? Navachine was killed while taking his morning walk in the Bois de Boulogne in January. He was only going to make a speech!’
‘I know,’ replied Freddy, ‘but what a speech! It was the most brilliant demolition of the trials. Better even than Trotsky, because he knows much more. The Boss read the speech himself and ordered him despatched.’
‘Slutsky?’
‘No. Stalin.’
‘So you know all about it?’
‘Of course.’
‘And?’
‘And nothing. We are wading in shit and blood, Lisa. Ludwik knows that well. It cannot last much longer. There will be a new war with Germany. Stalin might be removed.’
‘But by whom? He’s removed everyone who could have removed him. And now Bukharin, too, is being made ready for the executioner’s bullet.’
‘He doesn’t fear Bukharin. Plays him like a piano. But he feels Bukharin could be the figurehead if there was a more concerted rebellion. So Bukharin will follow the others.’
‘And us, Freddy?’
‘You two must try and stay alive. Tell Ludwik to avoid any heroic gestures. Someone must write one day about what happened to our own people. Before we go in, I just want you to be very careful. Listen, but say little yourself. Reply only to direct questions. Do not volunteer any information. The fact that you’ve come here with the boy has disarmed them. They have stopped asking me stupid questions about Ludwik. Understand?’
Lisa had met Slutsky before, but never in these circumstances. She could barely conceal a smile when she was shown into his room. He was wearing navy blue uniform, adorned with brass buttons. He could have been the doorman outside the Metropol. So this was the uniform worn by the Head of Foreign Military Intelligence. How he’s changed, she thought. His demeanour is so official, but he’s trying a bit too hard. A part of her wanted to burst out laughing. He looked like a clown in this stupid uniform.
Slutsky was aware of her presence, but wanted to keep her standing for a few minutes. He pretended to be absorbed in a file marked TOP SECRET. Lisa understood the game. She was tempted for a moment to take the empty chair opposite his desk and stare straight into his face, but Freddy’s warning stopped her. Instead she coughed delicately.
‘So you are here. Please take a seat. You have many friends in our Department. I hope they are looking after you?’
Lisa smiled and nodded.
‘For myself, I would have preferred to have your husband sitting in front of me, not that he is as pretty as you…’ Slutsky stared at her breasts and gave a sinister, throaty laugh. Then he lit a cigarette. Lisa remained silent. She was startled by the sound of a cough from a darkened corner of the room. She had no idea that someone else was present in the room. As she turned, she saw a pimply-faced man, probably in his late twenties, rising from an armchair.
‘This is Comrade Kedrov.’
‘I think we’ve met before. At the rest-home, about six years ago?’
Kedrov nodded.
‘He is now our top interrogator. It was he who broke Radek. Didn’t you, Kedrov? That filthy cosmopolitan thought he could play games with us. Didn’t he, Kedrov? You soon put him right, didn’t you?’
Kedrov smiled, avoiding Lisa’s eyes. And this boy, Lisa thought, is the son of two old Bolsheviks who worked closely with Lenin in Switzerland. Slutsky suspected she might be thinking something like that. He pounced on her to put her on the defensive.
‘What did Ludwik think of Radek’s trial?’
‘I don’t know. We never discussed the matter.’
‘Come now, my dear. You mean to tell me that your husband, who knew Radek well, remained silent?’
‘I said he never discussed the matter with me.’
After another hour of inconclusive fencing, Slutsky indicated that the audience was at an end.
‘When do you return to Paris?’
‘Next week.’
‘Tell Ludwik I want him back here. This Spanish business will end badly. Tell him to forget about Europe. I want our most experienced men back here. To defend our Soviet fortress.’
‘I will tell him, Comrade Slutsky. Thank you. And best of luck, Comrade Kedrov.’
‘Please tell Ludwik that we admire him greatly,’ Kedrov spoke in a soft voice. ‘I look forward very much to meeting him.’ Kedrov’s smile froze Lisa. She stared at him. Ambition oozed out of him so effortlessly. He will go far before his fall, she thought.
She rushed straight into Freddy’s room, but before she could speak a word, he put his finger on his lips to remind her that the office was unsafe.
‘Well, how did it go?’
‘Very well. Comrade Slutsky was very kind. I had no idea that Kedrov had interrogated Radek.’
‘He was part of the conveyor belt, but it was he who finally broke Radek. He is most skilful.’
She shut her eyes in pain. Freddy put on a jovial voice.
‘Lunch?’
The minute they were in the car, Lisa exploded.
‘That boy, that spotty bastard. He boasts about his successes. As for Slutsky, he’s degenerated beyond belief. I want to get out of here, Freddy, and I want you and Larin out as well.’
Freddy stroked her face. ‘Better to die here, my Lisa. Abroad one will always live in permanent fear of them. What’s the point of life if you’re constantly in fear of death? By the way, don’t judge Slutsky too harshly.’