 |
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dmitri was a peaceful man, a scholar, a man with poetic sensibilities, a husband and father. He was also a man who was capable of violence. A man who fought in a world war and killed other men, enemies of the state, but then, men, nevertheless. He was capable of defending himself, his family, his home. A certain man, V. V. Podly, had abused a little girl years ago, before Dmitri had known her. That little girl was now his wife, the woman he loved, and was devoted to, the mother of his precious infant son. Things like that happened in times such as Dmitri's times; a hideous crime, but in the past. But the same man had come to Dmitri's home to seek out his victim once more. Ten years after the crime he had returned to his victim who was now a grown woman, a wife, a mother. That horrible man, one of the most powerful in all of Moscow, was attacking, assaulting, like a vicious enemy; and from more than one front! The previous day, Ostavlyavich was told by Doverovich herself that his job was terminated. Ostavlyavich had not, "demonstrated the kind of economy intensifying potential we had been led to believe you were capable of." Those were Doverovich's words. When Ostavlyavich pressed Doverovich for a clear explanation of what he had done wrong, how he had failed, how he could remedy the situation, save his job -- she said in exasperated and rather confused manner, "It's the drinking ... you must be ... are a ... hopeless drunk ... can't be trusted ... interferes with productivity. We must be rid of you ... I have to give you notice. You're through." Ostavlyavich had to be restrained by Doverovich's clerk. The old man became hysterical and had lunged after Doverovich, had threatened to harm her. More security was summoned, and Ostavlyavich was led away swearing and weeping. He was to spend that night in jail. Dmitri was certain that Podly was responsible for Ostavlyavich's dismissal. After all, it was Podly who had forced Dmitri and Zina to take on Ostavlyavich as a border months before. Now it was clear as to why that was done: To cause chaos and hardship within the household and leave Zina vulnerable to some kind of assistance by Podly, the benevolent. Rather -- Podly the malevolent! That vulture was pulling strings from his flight above Moscow. Dmitri felt so sorry for Zina, for what she had to endure as a child -- life with Ostavlyavich, no mother and then Podly! No wonder she ran away to Moscow at such an early age. Dmitri didnÕt blame Zina for anything ... He somehow loved her more after she revealed her horrible news to him! Such strength and conviction in one so young! How he loved and admired his wife! What was he to do now? Could he demonstrate the same conviction and courage! Should he morally act? Did the circumstances call for retribution? Dmitri decided that when he returned to his office he would read Aleksandr Blok's long poem, called Retribution. Then Dmitri would listen to the call of his heart -- and answer that call!
Podly then turned his attention to the remaining pieces on the chessboard. There was a White Pawn, a White Castle, a Black Knight, and White Queen, and a Black King. The White Queen was in the last rank, third file. The Castle was in the adjacent square to her left. The brave but foolish Pawn was in the seventh rank, first file, hopelessly out of position to help his Queen. The Black Knight was in the sixth rank, fourth file, and was in position to capture either the Pawn or the Castle. And it was Black's move. The Black King, two ranks back of the fray looked on approvingly. Podly was playing a game with those pieces in his own unique style. In that odd game, Podly was not out to capture the opponent's King -- the only King on the board was the Black one, that was Podly. He was out to capture the White Queen, that was Zina. A furious effort was being made to defend her by the noble but doomed Pawn -- that was Dmitri. The Castle was 120 Novokirovskaya, the house, the stronghold of the Queen. Podly's Black Knight, also called a Horse, was Olga Shpion. It was the job of that piece to destroy the White Pawn, leaving the Black King to move in to capture the Queen in her Castle. Podly drained the 8-ounce tumbler of vodka. After his eyes stopped watering and his vision cleared, he read over a copy of the housing document he had drafted several days before. It had been dispatched. It should be arriving at its destination on that very day. He informed the first floor tenants of 120 Novokirovskaya that, "... due to acute housing shortages in the city of Moscow, citizens are regrettably once again being requested to come to the aid of their country, and welcome additional tenants into their places of residence." Podly seemed extremely satisfied with what he had written, and even chuckled at its wording. He poured himself another eight ounces of vodka. He drank some of it. He looked back at the chessboard, and stared at the White Castle. Slowly, it began to crumble at the foundation. Pieces of its stone supports were loosening. It shook in a rather violent spasm. The additional tenants alluded to in the document were, "A. I. Obyomov and Fedosiya Pyanova, two citizens who fortunately were no strangers to the current tenants of 120 Novokirovskaya." Podly roared with laughter as he read his own words. He finished the remaining vodka in the tumbler. Those two, both drunkards, habitués of 120 Novokirovskaya when Ostavlyavich first moved in, without a moral fiber between them, would be perfect to help Ostavlyavich to return to his former life of a worthless alcoholic and burden to Zina Dumatskoy. That decree was to go into effect on February 1, 1922. Podly stared a hole through the White Pawn on the chessboard. The cowardly piece shivered and shrank with fear. The Black Horse was chomping at the bit to trample this piece of nothingness. Olga Shpion must find sufficient grounds for firing Dmitri Dumatskoy. It would not be easy. The big boss in Petrograd, Lunacharsky, personally investigated all grievances brought against people in his education division. Charges had to be airtight. They had to stick. I'll get Shpion over here tomorrow and we'll see what we have, thought Podly.
From the correspondence picked up by the courier on 1/7/22, Uchitelnitsky knew that Holtz had sent the Fichte list to Dmitri Dumatskoy on 12/3/21. At dinner, Govnosky had told Uchitelnitsky that on 12/7/21 Olga Shpion began to personally "review" every piece of mail that came in and went out of the Education Department. She paid particular attention to the foreign correspondence. Following her "review" she would channel the mail to the appropriate people. On January 2nd, Uchitelnitsky attended Tatiana AndreevnaÕs funeral at St. Mikhail's Cemetery. A casual few minutes of conversation with Dmitri Dumatskoy revealed that as of that date, he had not yet received the Fichte list from Professor Holtz. Uchitelnitsky concluded that Shpion intercepted the Fichte list addressed to Dumatskoy. Govnosky also told Uchitelnitsky at dinner that ever since the "review" of mail began on 12/7 and especially around the 20th or 21st of that month, Shpion had kept the little safe in her office locked. She had done this very rarely in the past. Therefore, Uchitelnitsky further concluded that the Fichte list was probably locked in that safe that very night, January 10th. In the lobby, Uchitelnitsky telephoned one of the associates in his division responsible for handling a certain type of operation -- safe cracking. He gave the associate the address of the operation and a description of the merchandise. The merchandise, if found, was to be delivered to Uchitelnitsky at his apartment on Dmitrova, just a block and a half from the House of Artists. The security guards on duty in the early morning hours at the Senate building would be duly bribed, and so would offer no resistance to the operation. Uchitelnitsky became interested in radical Leftist politics soon after he entered Moscow University in 1912. He quickly became a devotee, and was a highly prized recruit for the cause of the overthrow of Autocracy. He soon became a follower of Lenin, and secretly became a Bolshevik in 1913. Due to his intelligence, the prospect that he would probably become a teacher or scholar, and the fact that his father was a staunch defender of autocracy and a member of a team of physicians in the court of Tsar Nikolai II, the Bolsheviks felt that Uchitelnitsky was a prime candidate to pose as a defender of the regime: a Tsarist, a White. He began playing the dangerous game of "double agent" in 1915 in his final year as an undergraduate when he joined the Sons and Daughters of the Fatherland, a group squarely on the side of the existing order. He became its president before he graduated. His stature in those types of groups continued to grow throughout his graduate school years. The Bolshevik Revolution in 1917 forced TsaristÕs sympathizers underground. Uchitelnitsky continued to move at the top of the circle. When the Bolsheviks formed their police force in 1918, Cheka -- more ruthless than the old regime's Third Chancellery -- Uchitelnitsky was ranked as a top-secret agent/infiltrator/undercover operative. He was 24 years old, and in his first year as an instructor of Greek language at Moscow University. By 1922, Uchitelnitsky was in his fourth year teaching at the University. He clandestinely had operatives working under him in Cheka and was a leading member of the White Moscow Cadre. As the new year was progressing, Uchitelnitsky had several objectives. Most immediate was the termination of the Tsar Ivan Grozny Library Project. Securing the Fichte list would aid in putting an end to the project. The liquidations of Holtz and Drugo were simple matters of necessity. The Bolshevik ruling elite considered something like the library project as a nuisance and a reactionary waste of time, manpower, and money. Russia was going to take its proper historical place at the vanguard of world communism. The past, particularly accomplishments of decadent Tsarism, however remote and removed from the second decade of the twentieth century were worn out historical nonsense and need not be encouraged or glorified. A new world order had to be put into shape, and there was no room in that scenario for ancient manuscripts, either real or imagined. A more long-ranged objective for Uchitelnitsky was the complete elimination of all the remaining white cadres and all opposition to Bolshevik power.
" She had made a monumental decision that evening that she hoped would get her one of the finest houses on Dmitrova for her and Marya, and another one for Marya's mother and two brothers, ages 16 and 13. She was hopelessly in love with Marya Timofeevna. Pack your bags, Olga Borisova. Pack them now! Was ringing in Shpion's ears. As she munched, sipped and smoked the ringing grew louder. It was V. V. Podly's voice saying those words. They brought tears of joy to her eyes. What could possibly bring about her good fortune? She had been holding the Fichte list that Professor Holtz sent to Dmitri Dumatskoy since she intercepted it on 12/21 Š nearly four weeks. That evening, she decided to turn Professors Holtz's Fichte's list of Tsar Ivan the IV's Library over to Podly. To hell with the library, if it even exists, reasoned Olga. To hell with history and culture! To hell with Russia! I'm a woman first. A woman in love! My first concern is myself and my lover. Governments change overnight. What loyalties should I have? Political? National? I could have been born in the south seas! I'm a modern woman of the world. The world! Podly could do with the list what he wanted, whatever he wanted. Tomorrow, I will take the damn thing out of my safe and present it to him. He'll be ecstatic! And I'll be packing my bags and Marya will be packing her bags and her family will be packing their bags -- all heading for Dmitrova!
Zina, as one of the Maenads, had torn Dionysos to pieces and scattered his body in the mountains. They carried pinecone-tipped wands covered with ivy and lived in the mountains for weeks, tearing the flesh from wild beasts for their meals, and finding wine flowing from rock and trees for their drink. The Maenads returned to the orchestra to sing and dance for Dionysos' return. At the precise moment when the pinnacle of frenzy occurred, when all the participants in the orgiastic ritual were about to lose consciousness from all they had experienced -- Dionysos appeared before them on the alter around which they all danced and sang. "Uchitelnitsky!" Zina woke from her dream and sat straight up in bed. "Uchitelnitsky!" She repeated. Beside her, Dmitri stirred and opened his eyes. Sasha in his cradle did not wake, "Zina ... what ... who!" "Evgeny Gavrilovich, Dionysos!" Zina realized she was awake and in Moscow. "Ah ... I dreamed ... nothing ... a dream. Go back to sleep. Sasha is sleeping." "All right, darling." Dmitri closed his eyes. Zina remained in the sitting position in bed for several minutes, trying to remember the details of her dream. The memory was fading from her mind, except for the face of Evgeny Gavrilovich Uchitelnitsky amidst the frenzy. Forward to
Back to Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four |Chapter Five
Top of Page  |
he temperature had been rising for almost 24 hours. It was the first thaw of the winter. The foot of snow in Red Square was beginning to turn to slush. By noon on Thursday, January 10th, it was rather slow going for any citizen on foot. Dmitri Dumatskoy was one of the countless people in the vast square. He walked through the slush with wraith-like noiselessness. He perceived that, and asked himself if he were really a flesh and blood character, or merely a shadow of energy. He was on his lunch break. Dmitri never ate much for lunch, just strong tea and black bread with jam at his desk. Then he walked through the square and sometimes around the Kremlin as time allowed, regardless of the weather.
. V. Podly scrutinized the chessboard next to his desk. He had a tumbler of vodka standing by as yet untouched. He had just finished talking on the telephone with Natalya Doverovich, the N. E. P. Director. He thanked her for her prompt handling of the "Ostavlyavich question." For her gracious compliance to his request, Podly would be sending several descriptions of properties throughout Moscow that might interest her, or some of her acquaintances. Podly had then checkmated Ostavlyavich's Pawn and took it off the board and put it into a group of captured pieces.
. G. Uchitelnitsky finished his wine, and then paid his bill at the PoetÕs Restaurant in the House of Artists. As he walked into the lobby portion of the old building, the former Prince Vladimir Hotel, on his way to make a telephone call, he laughed sinisterly to himself at the thought of his just completed dinner with the foolish clerk, Fyodor Govnosky. Uchitelnitsky had invited Govnosky to dinner at this legendary facility on one of the finest streets in Moscow, knowing that the hopelessly impressionable and pretentious clerk would have the time of his life. The House of Artists was on Dmitrova, near the Art Gallery. Large old homes on sprawling lots competed for space with ancient elm, linden, lime and oak trees, and dense layers of shrubs and bushes. Uchitelnitsky plied Govnosky with a sumptuous dinner and two bottles of expensive Chianti. The silly fellow practically had to be carried outside to the curb, and was dropped into a taxicab; and then deposited at his room out in the railroad complex in the Pyatnitskoe Cemetery section.
oodbye darling," said Olga B. Shpion to Marya Timofeevna as the young woman walked through the door of the older woman's apartment. It was in the smaller building of the six-building complex that made up the Kotelnicheskaya apartments, just south of the little Yauza River and just east of the Moscow River, over a half mile from the Kremlin. Olga was sprawled on her couch munching pancakes, smoking a cigarette, and sipping cognac. It was a large apartment in a complex where bureaucrats and division heads lived. And Olga lived there by herself. Though most recently, Marya Timofeevna practically lived there as well. Olga had lived there for about three years and was happy. But she always wanted to live on Dmitrova, near the House of Artists and the State Art Gallery.
fter the seemingly ceaseless repetition of the Dithyramb, the song to Dionysos, the frenzy in the orchestra, "the dancing place" was maddening. The dark underbelly, barbarous and destructive, the frenzy of the suffering of Dionysos; the chorus, mostly women, the Maenads, drunk on the grape of the god was in the dancing place. The chorus, the spectator, the spectacle were one, having no images -- the Maenads themselves primal sorrow and its primal echo. Zina was in the middle of it all, screaming and wailing until there was no more voice in her. She had raised her arms above her head a few minutes before in a fit of ecstasy, one big embrace with ecstasy. The crowd of worshipers, the chorus, pushed in on her like a hot, fleshy vice, and she was suspended in that position, bobbing in a scene of similar positions.