It was easy to become a leader in those days. Most Russians found it impossible to think in terms of self-sufficiency. We must stick together, they said, against the common enemy. The only common enemy I ever found was iconoclasm and egotism. But Trotsky did not want Russia saved. He wanted to be a god. As a god, he would stand on the roof of his Red Train and issue a proclamation: ‘Let there be peace.’ Trotsky desperately wished to be acknowledged our Saviour, like an Old Testament prophet. Robbed of this, he turned against Stalin. I wonder how he faced God after Stalin kicked him out and he wound up in a Mexican bordello with a pick-axe in his back. I can imagine the scene. Did God stand on the roof of a train and say to Trotsky: ‘You are forgiven’? I doubt it. That pick-axe is probably proving useful in Hell.
My new friends took me down to the back of the hotel. Here was a small dining-room. The thin man left us. We sat at bare tables and good simple food was brought to us (Party people always have the best in Russia). I ate little. I still felt the effects of my sickness. There was coffee. I drank several cups. This settled my stomach. The thin man came back. They had been discussing the problem of billeting me. Only a few places were available. Most of the political people slept in Wagons-Lits at the sidings. I, of course, had no wish to return there. I explained why.
‘I’ve spoken to our friend at the telegraph post,’ said the thin man. ‘He has had a thousand messages from Hrihorieff. They all conflict, as usual. I sent a complaint about that officer who kidnapped you. It was received and acknowledged. The officer is to be shot. I saw the order.’
Though the brute deserved it, I did not want any man’s blood on my hands. ‘Could he not merely lose rank?’ I asked. ‘Or be whipped?’
‘Hrihorieff only has one punishment. Death. You’re generous, comrade. But we might not get another chance to teach those pogromchiks a lesson.’
One less Grishenko would be no bad thing for the world, but I had had no wish to take such a cruel vengeance. I do not possess the killing-instinct. I am a scientist first and foremost. If Fate had given me a slightly better hand of cards I would now be working happily at the National Physical Laboratory or teaching at London University.
It was decided I should share Brodmann’s room. Brodmann’s partner would go to the yards. As I left with the small revolutionist I asked the thin man, ‘When will the punishment occur?’
‘Immediately. An arrest. An accusation. A firing squad. I gather he’s not a popular officer.’
‘That’s true.’ I only hoped Yermeloff would not blame me and seek me out.
‘Then we should not have much trouble.’ He stopped himself in mid-gesture as if realising he had committed a social blunder. ‘Did you want to witness it?’
‘No, no.’
‘He must be shot. Hrihorieff could return, change his mind and have us shot instead. It’s happened.’ His lips moved in a smile.
I walked with Brodmann through the roaring darkness of a town troubled by excited military preparations. Trucks towing guns honked, teams of artillery horses whinnied. Troops of cavalry and infantry quarrelled and cursed and went their ways. Men in full kit ran rapidly across the street into their division headquarters. We passed through all this to the far side of Alexandriya and reached a street of prosperous cottages. Here, so far from the sidings, it was relatively peaceful. We came to a walled garden with a gate in it. Brodmann admitted us with a large key. It was an old-fashioned latch. It had been polished. We strolled along a stone path. This part of the town was almost idyllic, with trees and fences and widely-separated little gabled houses. ‘Our landlord,’ said Brodmann, ‘is a retired doctor. He hates us. He calls us vampires. Of course, “Jew” is his favourite form of insult. I advise you not to let yourself be drawn into an argument with him. He’s harmless.’
‘Jews! Vampires! You killed the Emperor!’ A high-pitched voice shrilled from what I guessed was the parlour.
Brodmann and I crept up the stairs. The doctor did not emerge. I think he was frightened of us. A mouse content to squeak from the safety of his hole.
