“Two years and three months.”
“At the same salary?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you think a promotion desirable?”
“No.”
“You do not believe in a spirit of mutual help and cooperation with your Party comrades?”
“Not above the spirit of the Party.”
“You are devoted to the Party?”
“Yes.”
“Above all things?”
“Yes.”
“How many times have you faced a Party Purge Committee?”
“Three times.”
“Do you know that there is another purge coming?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re going to make your report on that case you’ve investigated — to your chief?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“At four o’clock this afternoon.”
The executive looked at his wristwatch: “Very well. In an hour and a half then.”
“Is that all?”
“That’s all, Comrade Taganov.”
A few days later, Andrei’s chief called him into his office. The chief was a tall, thin man with a pointed blond beard and a gold pince-nez on a high, thin nose. He wore the expensive, blondish-brown suit of a foreign tourist; he had the long, knotty hands of a skeleton and the appearance of an unsuccessful college professor.
“Sit down,” said the chief, and rose, and closed the door.
Andrei sat down.
“Congratulations, Comrade Taganov,” said the chief.
Andrei inclined his head.
“You have done a valuable piece of work and rendered a great service to the Party, Comrade Taganov. You could not have chosen a better time for it. You have put into our hands just the case we needed. With the present difficult economic situation and the dangerous trend of public sentiment, the government has to show the masses who is responsible for their suffering, and show it in a manner that will not be forgotten. The treacherous counter-revolutionary activities of speculators, who deprive our toilers of their hard-earned food rations, must be brought into the full light of proletarian justice. The workers must be reminded that their class enemies are plotting day and night to undermine the only workers’ government in the world. Our toiling masses must be told that they have to bear their temporary hardships patiently and lend their full support to the government which is fighting for their interests against such heavy odds, as the case you’ve discovered will display to the public. This, in substance, was the subject of my conversation with the editor of the Pravda this morning, in regard to the campaign we are starting. We shall make an example of this case. Every newspaper, every club, every public pulpit will be mobilized for the task. The trial of Citizen Kovalensky will be broadcast into every hamlet of the U.S.S.R.”
“Whose trial, comrade?”
“The trial of Citizen Kovalensky. Oh, yes, of course, by the way, that letter of Comrade Syerov which you attached to your report on the case — was that the only copy of it in existence?”
“Yes, comrade.”
“Who has read it besides yourself?”
“No one.”
The chief folded his long, thin hands, the tips of his fingers meeting, and said slowly: “Comrade Taganov, you will forget that you’ve ever read that letter.”
Andrei looked at him silently.
“This is an order from the committee which investigated your report. However, I shall take the time to explain, for I appreciate your efforts in the matter. Do you read the newspapers, Comrade Taganov?”
“Yes, comrade.”
“Do you know what is going on in our villages at the present time?”
“Yes, comrade.”
“Are you aware of the mood in our factories?”
“Yes, comrade.”
“Do you realize the precarious equilibrium of our public opinion?”
“Yes, comrade.”
“In that case, I do not have to explain to you why a Party member’s name must be kept from any connection with a case of counter-revolutionary speculation. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly, comrade.”
“You must be very careful to remember that you know nothing about Comrade Pavel Syerov. Am I understood?”
“Thoroughly, comrade.”
“Citizen Morozov will resign from his position with the Food Trust — by reason of ill health. He will not be brought into the case, for it would throw an unfavorable light on our Food Trust and create a great deal of unnecessary comment. But the real culprit and dominant spirit of the conspiracy, Citizen Kovalensky, will be arrested tonight. Does that meet with your approval, Comrade Taganov?”
“My position does not allow me to approve, comrade. Only to take orders.”
“Very well said, Comrade Taganov. Of course, Citizen Kovalensky is the sole legal, registered owner of that food store, as we’ve checked. He is an aristocrat by birth and the son of a father executed for counter-revolution. He has been arrested before — for an illegal attempt to leave the country. He is a living symbol of the class which our working masses know to be the bitterest enemy of the Soviets. Our working masses, justly angered by lengthy privations, by long hours of waiting in lines at our co-operatives, by lack of the barest necessities, will know who is to blame for their hardships. They will know who strikes deadly blows at the very heart of our economic life. The last descendant of a greedy, exploiting aristocracy will pay the penalty due every member of his class.”
“Yes, comrade. A public trial with headlines in the papers and a radio microphone in the courtroom?”
“Precisely, Comrade Taganov.”
“And what if Citizen Kovalensky talks too much and too near the microphone? What if he mentions names?”
“Oh, nothing to fear, Comrade Taganov. Those gentlemen are easy to handle. He’ll be promised life to say only what he’s told to say. He’ll be expecting a pardon even when he hears his death sentence. One can make promises, you know. One doesn’t always have to keep them.”
“And when he faces the firing squad — there will be no microphone on hand?”
“Precisely.”
“And, of course, it won’t be necessary to mention that he was jobless and starving at the time he entered the employ of those unnamed persons.”
“What’s that, Comrade Taganov?”
“A helpful suggestion, comrade. It will also be important to explain how a penniless aristocrat managed to lay his hands on the very heart of our economic life.”
“Comrade Taganov, you have a remarkable gift for platform oratory. Too remarkable a gift. It is not always an asset to an agent of the G.P.U. You should be careful lest it be appreciated and you find yourself sent to a nice post — in the Turkestan, for instance — where you will have full opportunity to display it. Like Comrade Trotsky, for instance.”
“I have served in the Red Army under Comrade Trotsky.”
“I wouldn’t remember that too often, Comrade Taganov, if I were you.”
“I won’t, comrade. I shall do my best to forget it.”
“At six o’clock tonight, Comrade Taganov, you will report for duty to search Citizen Kovalensky’s apartment for any additional evidence or documents pertaining to this case. And you will arrest Citizen Kovalensky.”
“Yes, comrade.”
“That’s all, Comrade Taganov.”
“Yes, comrade.”
The executive of the Economic Section of the G.P.U. smiled, showing his gums, at Comrade Pavel Syerov and said coldly: “Hereafter, Comrade Syerov, you will confine your literary efforts to matters pertaining to your job on the railroad.”
“Oh, sure, pal,” said Pavel Syerov. “Don’t worry.”
“I’m not the one to worry in this case, I’ll remind you.”
“Oh, hell, I’ve worried till I’m seasick. What do you want? One has only so many hairs to turn gray.”