So much for the past.
THE BREWERY
At present, Kiev’s Saint Sophia shelters under its high vaults a part of the Spartacus Brewery-the drying kiln and the warehouse. The enormous twenty-ton tanks, set on stands made of planks, run along the walls, and large, heavy steel vats are scattered among the columns as fat as the apse itself. The drying kiln takes up two floors, with wooden gratings reaching from the top of the windows to the arcades. (The constant temperature of 50 Fahrenheit is particularly suitable for the growth of those useful bacteria that give beer its unique taste.) Curved aluminum pipes pass through one of the side windows, which has been removed, and connect the drying kiln and tanks with the fermentation tank, which is located in a large low building some hundred yards from the church. Scaffolding and ladders connect the gratings, pipes, and tanks, and the sour smell of hops and malt brings to the ancient walk the scent of the boundless steppes after the rain. The frescoes and altar are covered (as a result of a recent decree) with long hemp curtains, which are draped along the walls like gray flags. In the place where the Immaculate Virgin, "surprised by the sudden appearance of the Archangel", once stood (or, more exactly, still stands under the gray veil), there hangs the portrait of the Father of the People in a heavy gilded frame: the work of the academic painter Sokolov, a worthy artist. In a snowstorm an old woman makes her way through the crowd, trying to kiss the hand of the Gracious One, to kiss it like a peasant-sincerely. He smiles at the old woman, resting his hand on her shoulder, like a father. Soldiers, workers, and children watch with admiring eyes. Under the portrait, on the same wall, where through the folds of hemp the murky light from the two windows penetrates, stand billboards and graphs. Groggy and stupefied from the smell of hops, Chelyustnikov looked at the production graph as if, feverish, he were watching his own temperature chart.
ANOTHER RESTORATION
I. V, Braginsky, "participant in the Revolution, son of peasants, Bolshevik," chief production engineer, took off his cap, scratched his head, turned the paper over in his hands, and, probably for the third time, read it without comment. Meanwhile Chelyustnikov examined the interior of the church, looked up toward the high vaults, poked behind the scaffolding, estimated the weight of the tanks and vats, soundlessly moving his dry lips as he calculated. These high frescoed vaults reminded him of a small wooden church in his native village where long ago he had attended the service with his parents and listened to the mumbling of the priests and the singing of the congregation: a distant and unreal memory, which had faded away in him, a new man with a new outlook on life. The rest of what happened that day in Saint Sophia we learn from Chelyustnikov's own testimony: “Ivan Vasilevich, participant in the Revolution, son of peasants, Bolshevik, wasted two hours of our valuable time in useless prattle and persuasion. Believing the attainment of the monthly beer production quota to be more important than religious spectacles, he crumpled the People's Committee's order and threw it in my face. Aware that time was passing, I tried to reason with him, to explain that it was for the common good that the church be made ready for a religious service. Powerless against his stubbornness, I took him to the office and in private confided the secret to him, without mentioning the name of the visitor. Even this argument didn't convince him, nor did the several telephone calls I made from the military telephone in his quarters to the officials in charge. Finally I pulled out my last argument: I pointed my pistol at him,… Under my personal supervision a hundred and twenty prisoners from the nearby regional prison camp carried out another restoration of the church, in less than four hours. We leaned a part of the kiln against the wall and camouflaged it with hemp coverings and canvas, which we also threw over the scaffolding, as if the east wall were undergoing a real restoration. We removed the steel tanks and vats by rolling them on logs (by manpower alone, without technology) into the yard of the building containing the fermentation tank. At 3:45 I got into the car, and exactly at the appointed time reached the lobby of the theater, where Avram Romanich was waiting for me."
THE BEARD AND THE PRIEST'S HAT
We further cite Chelyustnikov's testimony: "Comrade Pyasnikov explained everything to him (to Avram Romanich) and, as he told me later, even made him sign a declaration promising to keep silent about the matter, as if it were a state secret. This obviously had its effect; Avram Romanich's hands trembled while he was fixing my beard. We borrowed the priest's robe from the theater wardrobe, with its purple sash, and the high priest's hat, and in a note robe the management we stated that we needed these items for members of the culture brigade, who were launching anti religious shows in the villages and workers' collectives. Avram Romanich asked no more questions, and threw himself completely into his work; his hands soon stopped shaking. He was unquestionably good in his profession. Not only did he make me into a teal archpriest, but on his own initiative he also gave me a fake paunch. When have you ever seen a thin priest, Citizen Chelyustnikov?' I agreed with this, and regardless of what later happened to him (which I won’t dwell on here), I insist that Avram Romanich deserves almost as much credit for the success of the whole affair as I do: he gave me some advice that was of great value to me despite the fact that I had some stage experience. ’Citizen Chelyustnikov’, he said, now totally forgetting his fear and completely immersed in his work, ‘don't forget for a moment that a beard, especially this kind of beard, is not held up by the head but by the chest. So right now, no time to lose, you must learn to coordinate the movement of your head and body.’ He even gave me some useful advice about the service and the chanting-training he had probably acquired in the theater. (Or maybe in a synagogue; who the hell knows?) ’When you don't know what to say next, Citizen Chelyustnikov, keep mumbling m a low voice. Mumble as much as you can, as if you were angry with the congregation. And roll your eyes as if cursing the god you serve, even if just temporarily. As for chanting. 'We haven't got time for that now', I said. ‘We’ll chant later, Avram Romanich!'"
THE RASPBERRY-COLORED BOOTS
Chelyustnikov stayed in the dressing room a little over an hour-a relatively short time, considering the transformation he underwent. A. T. Kashalov, simply called Alyosha, the chauffeur of the Provincial Committee, who had driven him there, kissed his hand when he got in the car. “It was like a dress rehearsal,” writes Chelyustnikov, "and I lost the stage fright I had felt when left without the coaching of Avram Romanich. At first I thought that Alyosha was kidding, but I soon realized that there was no limit to human credulity: if I had appeared with a crown on my head, he would probably have fallen on his knees in the mud and snow. It will take a great deal of time and effort,” adds Chelyustnikov, not without bitterness and self-righteousness, "before all traces of the dark past are weeded out of the peasants' souls."
(Let us say at once: A. T. Kashalov never once admitted during the long interrogation, not even under the worst torture, that he had been made a fool of that day. When confronted with Chelyustnikov in the investigator's office, less than a month after the event, he obstinately maintained that he was only joking with Citizen Chelyustnikov. Despite his physical exhaustion, despite his broken ribs, he was quite convincing in his own defense: how could he have believed that an archpriest was getting into the car, when it was Citizen Chelyustnikov he had brought to the theater? Asked if it was true that on that day — November 21, 1934 — he had asked the alleged ecclesiastical personage, i.e., Comrade Chelyustnikov, "And what about Citizen Chelyustnikov, should we wait for him?”, Alyosha answered in the negative. Asked if it was true that he had said to the alleged ecclesiastical personage, i.e., Comrade Chelyustnikov, "It will soon be easier to meet a reindeer than a priest in Kiev,” he again answered in the negative. Asked if it was true that the alleged ecclesiastical personage, i.e., Comrade Chelyustnikov, had inquired in a grave tone of voice, "And why do you need priests, my son?”, he, A. T. Kashalov, answered, "To pray for sinful souls," the answer was again in the negative.