– it would be a bitter blow to the regime, a suitable revenge for Polina’s murder. But looking into Austin’s kind eyes he realized that this man did not want to know the truth either.
Austin wrapped an arm around Grigori’s shoulder, announcing to the audience:
— I don’t know if he’s a fan, or someone telling me to shut up! There was laughter. Grigori slurred the words, drunk, but exhausted, defeated:
— Comrade Austin.
Grigori pulled out the diary page:
— What does this mean to you?
Austin took the page, examining the doodle. He turned to the audience.
— Our friend has shown me a drawing of the most important symbol of our time. It is the Statue of Liberty, in New York. There in my country, that statue is a promise of things to come – a future of liberty for every man and woman, regardless of background, or race. Here your liberty is real.
Grigori was crying, surrounded by people and yet alone. He repeated Austin’s words, speaking up, projecting to the back of the warehouse:
— Here our liberty is real!
*
On the steps to the stage an agent grabbed Leo’s arm.
— Do something! Fix this!
— What can I do? You want me to go up onstage?
— Yes!
Leo edged closer but Austin shook his head, indicating that he’d deal with it. He began another song. It wasn’t due to be performed until the very end, as the finale, but Austin had brought it forward, sensing that he needed something to finesse the interruption. It was The Internationale – the anthem of Communism.
Arise, you branded by a curse ,
You whole world of the starving and enslaved!
Many in the audience stood up immediately. The rest quickly followed and Leo understood why Austin had chosen this song to mask the disturbance. The audience knew the lyrics. Though their singing was tentative at first, it was only because they were unsure whether they were supposed to join in. As Austin encouraged them, they became louder and louder, until each man and woman was singing as loud as they could, perhaps fearful that their loyalty to the State might be measured by their volume, perhaps fearful that if they didn’t sing until they were hoarse they would become like the strange sad figure of Grigori. Leo was also singing, but half-heartedly, preoccupied with his doomed trainee. There were tears in the young man’s eyes, glistening in the bright spotlights. He too was singing:
We will destroy this world of violence
Down to the foundations, and then
We will build our new world!
Austin ended the song after the first verse. As the calls for a new world died down, vigorous applause broke out across the auditorium. Agents stepped up onto the stage, clapping, false smiles on their faces, closing around Grigori, edging nearer, trying to disguise their murderous intent. Oblivious, Grigori stood, waving at some distant point, towards imaginary friends, biding the new world goodbye.
Leo felt another tug on his arm. It was Raisa. She’d left her seat, taking hold of him. It was the first time she’d ever touched him. She whispered:
— Please, Leo, help that man.
Leo saw fear in her eyes, for Grigori certainly, but also for herself. She was afraid. That fear had brought her to him. Finally Leo knew what he had to offer – safety and protection. It was hardly a great talent. But, perhaps, in these dangerous times it would be enough, enough to create a home, enough to satisfy a wife, enough to make a person love him. Putting his hand on top of hers he said:
— I will try.
FIFTEEN YEARS LATER
Moscow
Novye Cheremushki
Khrushchev’s Slums
Apartment 1312
24 July 1965
Climbing the stairs, Leo Demidov’s shirt became damp with sweat, clinging to his back and stomach in transparent patches. His socks seeped with each squeeze of his toes. On the ground floor the elevator was broken: the door jammed half open, the light inside flickering like the eyes of a dying animal. Despite having to climb thirteen flights of stairs he encountered no
Austin wrapped an arm around Grigori’s shoulder, announcing to the audience:
— I don’t know if he’s a fan, or someone telling me to shut up! There was laughter. Grigori slurred the words, drunk, but exhausted, defeated:
— Comrade Austin.
Grigori pulled out the diary page:
— What does this mean to you?
Austin took the page, examining the doodle. He turned to the audience.
— Our friend has shown me a drawing of the most important symbol of our time. It is the Statue of Liberty, in New York. There in my country, that statue is a promise of things to come – a future of liberty for every man and woman, regardless of background, or race. Here your liberty is real.
Grigori was crying, surrounded by people and yet alone. He repeated Austin’s words, speaking up, projecting to the back of the warehouse:
— Here our liberty is real!
*
On the steps to the stage an agent grabbed Leo’s arm.
— Do something! Fix this!
— What can I do? You want me to go up onstage?
— Yes!
Leo edged closer but Austin shook his head, indicating that he’d deal with it. He began another song. It wasn’t due to be performed until the very end, as the finale, but Austin had brought it forward, sensing that he needed something to finesse the interruption. It was The Internationale – the anthem of Communism.
Arise, you branded by a curse ,
You whole world of the starving and enslaved!
Many in the audience stood up immediately. The rest quickly followed and Leo understood why Austin had chosen this song to mask the disturbance. The audience knew the lyrics. Though their singing was tentative at first, it was only because they were unsure whether they were supposed to join in. As Austin encouraged them, they became louder and louder, until each man and woman was singing as loud as they could, perhaps fearful that their loyalty to the State might be measured by their volume, perhaps fearful that if they didn’t sing until they were hoarse they would become like the strange sad figure of Grigori. Leo was also singing, but half-heartedly, preoccupied with his doomed trainee. There were tears in the young man’s eyes, glistening in the bright spotlights. He too was singing:
We will destroy this world of violence
Down to the foundations, and then
We will build our new world!
Austin ended the song after the first verse. As the calls for a new world died down, vigorous applause broke out across the auditorium. Agents stepped up onto the stage, clapping, false smiles on their faces, closing around Grigori, edging nearer, trying to disguise their murderous intent. Oblivious, Grigori stood, waving at some distant point, towards imaginary friends, biding the new world goodbye.
Leo felt another tug on his arm. It was Raisa. She’d left her seat, taking hold of him. It was the first time she’d ever touched him. She whispered:
— Please, Leo, help that man.
Leo saw fear in her eyes, for Grigori certainly, but also for herself. She was afraid. That fear had brought her to him. Finally Leo knew what he had to offer – safety and protection. It was hardly a great talent. But, perhaps, in these dangerous times it would be enough, enough to create a home, enough to satisfy a wife, enough to make a person love him. Putting his hand on top of hers he said:
— I will try.
FIFTEEN YEARS LATER
Moscow
Novye Cheremushki
Khrushchev’s Slums
Apartment 1312
24 July 1965
Climbing the stairs, Leo Demidov’s shirt became damp with sweat, clinging to his back and stomach in transparent patches. His socks seeped with each squeeze of his toes. On the ground floor the elevator was broken: the door jammed half open, the light inside flickering like the eyes of a dying animal. Despite having to climb thirteen flights of stairs he encountered no
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