Chapter Seven
yoder Govnosky got off the streetcar on Lomonosov Street. The streetcar had come down Komosomolsky Prospect south from the Kremlin. It was raining. Govnosky ducked into each storefront he passed in order to keep dry. He had a morbid fear of getting wet. Even when the temperature was as warm as it was that day -- about 60 degrees. He went like that a little over half-way down the block until he came to number 565, the Mysli Cafe. Govnosky was in the heart of the Moscow University District. He knew that. Govnosky was a clerk in the Education Department. He usually told anyone who would listen that he was a teacher, or a research associate like Dmitri Dumatskoy, for example. He came several times a week after work to the Mysli Cafe to "drink in the atmosphere." The Mysli was a haunt of university graduate students, professors, researchers, poets and writers. It was where a cultured, educated, thinking person could sip tea or coffee, nibble on fresh buns or rolls, read Russian and foreign newspapers and journals, and engage in erudite and witty conversation.
Govnosky was totally out of place there. But since he had a totally unrealistic conception of who and what he was, he thought it to be the most appropriate place in the world for him. He walked through the door of the Mysli, puffed out his chest, looked around the whole of the premises as though he personally knew everyone there, and proceeded to the little stool in the back where the waiters normally congregated. It was nearly 20 minutes before any of the waiters even noticed he was sitting there. He ordered strong, hot tea, and a small poppyseed roll. His eyes had a way of scouring and scurrying over the floor. He sipped, he nibbled like a mouse. With a cow-like, cud-chewing concentration, he listened, he watched.
Seated at a table for four directly in front of Govnosky was someone he actually even had spoken to -- E. G. Uchitelnitsky. Two young women were seated at the table with Uchitelnitsky. One seat was empty. The two women both wore their hair cut short, as was the current style among Russian university women. Both wore glasses, and were dressed in colorful peasant blouses and dark trousers. They were Greek language students of Uchitelnitsky. He wore a gray pin-striped suit, blue shirt and no necktie.
The three at the table were engaged in affable conversation, partly in Greek, partly in Russian. Govnosky stared consistently at Uchitelnitsky while smiling in the silliest possible way all the while, even laughing when the two women laughed at something Uchitelnitsky said, or frowning and nodding approvingly when the situation called for it. Often, an aggressive short laugh, like the crack of a whip, would issue from Uchitelnitsky. Govnosky sat there staring and smiling the entire time. Uchitelnitsky paid absolutely no attention to him, engaged as he was in enjoying the company of his two students. After about 20 minutes, the two women got up, gathered their things and left. Govnosky felt perfectly natural in picking up his tea cup and the one or two nibbles that were left on his roll and going over to sit at Uchitelnitsky's table.
Uchitelnitsky looked up in utter amazement from the book he began to leaf through when Govnosky abruptly appeared before him and said,
"Good evening, Evgeny Gavrilovich. May I join you?"
Govnosky started to sit down, but held back as he noticed Uchitelnitsky's confused look.
Who is this queer fellow? thought Uchitelnitsky.
Govnosky could see the utter lack of recognition in Uchitelnitsky's eyes, yet he persisted in standing there, grinning stupidly. Govnosky was congenitally incapable of true understanding, portraying the omnipresent signs of mental exhaustion. When Govnosky began to moisten the fingers of his left hand and then secure a few blonde hairs to his head with his fingers, Uchitelnitsky inwardly groaned and then laughed at the worn gabardine suit, light blue tie with grease marks, and the white shirt that could stand to be washed on the rocks of a clean, clear stream by a hardy set of country hands.
Is this a former student? What is he doing here at the Mysli? Look at the way he grins at me! Is he in love? thought Uchitelnitsky.
"Well then, do I know you? How is it that you know me? Please answer, I'm baffled. All right, I give up!"
That last phrase confused Govnosky. He thought, What is there to give up? What does he mean? Oh...I haven't been listening carefully enough again! Govnosky stamped his foot. He was annoyed with himself.
Uchitelnitsky laughed out loud at that. Then, still chuckling, Uchitelnitsky said, "I'm sorry. Please, can I help you?"
Govnosky introduced himself as a member of the Ministry of Education. He started in on a biography of himself, which was quite convoluted, and quite the fabrication. Uchitelnitsky began to grow impatient. Finally, Govnosky got around to mentioning that he had arranged through his department to have Uchitelnitsky act as a tutor for Dmitri Dumatskoy's wife, Zina. Actually, Govnosky did no "arranging." He simply pulled the proper paperwork from the files, sent them to the Foreign Language Department for the proper processing and signature, and filed them in the proper place when they were returned.
"Yes, of course, Gosonobsky..."
"Govnosky!" Govnosky corrected Uchitelnitsky.
"I'm sorry, of course, Gonosovsky, ah... Well, you see, I was just about to leave. Is there anything else?" Uchitelnitsky closed his book and put it into his valise. He was about to stand up when Govnosky sat down and began to chatter away.
"Oh, the projects we're involved in, endless, endless, and monumental. And some stamped-out like a cigarette butt. And some heads will fall, fall like, oh well, rotten apples if you will. Some will be let loose. My boss, Olga B. Shpion, nobody's fool. A great scholar! Lots of dead weight in the ministry...like that... that Dumatskoy, Dmitri Pavlovich. He of the Ivan the Terrible library, a regular Fulton's Folly. Do you know Fulton, Evgeny Gavrilovich?"
At the mention of Tsar Ivan Grozny's Library, Uchitelnistky decided to fish delicately in Govnosky's stream of tepid chatter.
"No, I don't know this Fulton, an Englishman, I suppose. Well, no matter, you're very clever Gosovobsky..."
"Gosnovsky!" Govnosky corrected Uchitelnitsky, but incorrectly!
"Of course, I'm sorry. Here, let me purchase more tea for you. Perhaps something more to eat. Have you had dinner yet. No, of course not. I want to know more about this library business. Do you mind? Will you tell me?"
Govnosky was beaming and blushing like a little girl.
"Oh, of course, Evgeny Gavrilovich, I'll just tell you everything, anything!"
hen in November 1920, the White General Wrangel, realizing that his forces could not withstand another assault from the Red Army at the Perekop Isthmus, ordered all anti-Bolsheviks to leave the Crimea, the last stronghold in Russia of Bolshevik resistance -- 130,000 people sailed for the Bosphorous, officially ending the Russian Civil War. Unofficially, small cadres of Whites secretly continued to attempt to undermine the Bolshevik power in Russia. One such cadre met the evening of September 20, 1921, at the home of a retired anthropology professor of Moscow University. There were six persons present, four men and two women, including a truck driver, a woman of 40 years of age, who acted as a liaison between the various Moscow cadres and those in the surrounding cities and towns. The group also included the man who had called for this particular gathering, an instructor of Greek language at Moscow University named, Evgeny Gavrilovich Uchitelnitsky.
Uchitelnitsky informed the group of what he had learned from the clerk, Govnosky just a few days before. And it was a great deal of information: The history of the library, the project, its delay, and finally its demise. Govnosky had told Uchitelnitsky about professor Holtz from Germany. He didn't know where Holtz taught, but Uchitelnitsky knew. All Govnosky knew about that part of the puzzle was that Holtz had a crucial document that he was going to send to Dmitri Dumatskoy. It was quickly decided that all the Moscow cadres should be mobilized to act on this information. What a great opportunity for propagandist sabotage! What if that library really existed in some form, somewhere? What if the Bolshevik government could be shown to be so ignorant of, and uninterested in Russian history and culture so as to allow something so monumental to slip through its fingers -- even to allow perhaps a foreign government to get its hands on it!?
It seemed to the members present that night, that Dmitri Dumatskoy and the Holtz "document" were areas of immediate concern for action. Uchitelnitsky knew Dumatskoy, particularly his wife Zina, whom he had been sporadically tutoring in Greek. Uchitelnitsky had to reestablish contact with the Dumatskoys' and gain their confidence, particularly Dmitri. Perhaps Dmitri could even be recruited to the White cause. That, however, was a very sensitive issue, bringing an outsider, someone without proven loyalties and White ideals into that clandestine operation. And at least three members that evening voiced grave doubts and concerns. A failure could result in the uncovering of the entire cadre organization, and death for all the members. It was finally agreed that night to attempt to gain as much new information from Dumatskoy, without, at that present time at least, revealing to him, or anyone else, what was actually going on. The truck driver would disseminate the contents of that night's meeting to the other cadres in the usual manner.
