Читаем Byzantium Endures полностью

‘Keep calm, comrade.’ A small, prematurely wizened creature with soft lips and white hands: ‘I’m Brodmann. It’s a problem already familiar to us. Let’s go in here.’ He put his hand on my spine and took me into a room full of hard, straight-backed chairs. There was a map of Southern Ukraine on the wall. Someone else closed the door quietly behind us. They seemed to relax. They were more frightened than me. Brodmann said, ‘We are political people. Bolsheviks and Barotbists. There’s been a suggestion Hrihorieff should be liquidated. That’s out of the question for the moment. He’s the best commander here. I say nothing, of course, against Comrade Antonov. He has also done brilliantly. Hrihorieff commands a huge army. He’s sympathetic to our cause. But he’s impossible to discipline. He has no real ideological education. That’s why it’s so important to keep him sweet while we educate his troops. When that’s done our problems will be much simpler.’ He went on in this manner for at least twenty minutes. Anyone who wants a larger bucket of the same drivel need only read one of those novels which wins the Stalin Prize with the regularity of a steel-press. I picked out all the useful information and then said, ‘Is there no way for me to get to Odessa?’

‘You were on the last train.’ A tall, thin man in a leather overcoat spoke from near the window. He had been observing a convoy of trucks and artillery. ‘You were very unlucky. The French have forbidden further trains.’

‘Can I send a telegram?’

His moody, lugubrious features showed a degree of amusement. ‘Hrihorieff controls the telegraph as his personal means of communication. One of our people is supposed to be keeping an eye on him but he’s completely under Hrihorieff’s spell. He’ll do nothing without direct orders from the Ataman. We’re only allowed to use the telegraph to communicate with Hrihorieff, or sometimes Antonov.’

‘And where is Antonov?’

‘Trying to catch up with Hrihorieff. The bastard moves fast. It’s why he’s gathering so much support.’

I was furious. This was socialism in action: death, destruction and slow strangulation in red tape. None of my risks had been worth a kopek. I should have remained with Yermeloff. My best plan was to board a train to Kiev where at least I would be on home ground. Mrs Cornelius might be able to help me. ‘Is there a train to Kiev?’

‘Probably,’ said the thin man. He drew on his cigarette as a starving baby draws on a teat. ‘They never give us any information.’

‘And Grishenko? Can he be punished?’

‘It depends how Hrihorieff feels. As his confidence grows he ignores us more.’ Brodmann offered me a chair. Fastidiously he helped me off with my coat. He placed it in a corner of the room. I must have looked odd in my blood-stained suit and felt boots. I sat down. I had a view from the window of the passing convoy. It was impressive.

‘Have you made an official complaint?’ asked the thin man.

‘If the officer downstairs took any notice.’

‘He’s efficient. One can’t say that for most of the others. The complaint will go to the appropriate DivCom.’

I was satisfied that at least Grishenko would be severely embarrassed. It was less than he deserved for cutting me off from my family, calling me foul names and forcing me into the company of coarse oafs, of cynics like Yermeloff. My new comrades asked me what I had been doing in Kiev. I said I had been sabotaging Petlyura’s defences. This impressed them. I explained how Grishenko had made me fix his broken truck. I was a trained engineer. I had crucial work at the Odessa docks. I felt my importance growing as I spoke. The gaps in my knowledge of party etiquette were thus glossed over. I was not only a ‘political man’; I was an ‘activist’. Therefore I ranked very highly in their fanatical hierarchy. I drew on acquaintanceships from Odessa days, from my months in Petrograd. I spoke casually of trains wrecked and guns put out of action. Two or three of those in the room said my name was familiar. My abduction, instead of being a familiar affair, came to be seen in a serious light. My eloquence, my anger, also helped me. I think I could have formed my own socialist group there and then. Thousands would have followed me.