“Right.” Grigori jumped off the platform. Sokolov was sitting at a small table to one side of the hall. Grigori and Konstantin approached him, along with a dozen or more deputies.
“Very well,” said Sokolov. “Who is this addressed to?”
Grigori was baffled again. He was about so say To the world. But a soldier said: “To the Petrograd Garrison.”
Another said: “And all the soldiers of the guard, army, and artillery.”
“And the fleet,” said someone else.
“Very good,” said Sokolov, writing. “For immediate and precise execution, I presume?”
“Yes.”
“And to the workers of Petrograd for information?”
Grigori became impatient. “Yes, yes,” he said. “Now, who proposed elected committees?”
“That was me,” said a soldier with a gray mustache. He sat on the edge of the table directly in front of Sokolov. As if giving dictation, he said: “All troops should set up committees of their elected representatives.”
Sokolov, still writing, said: “In all companies, battalions, regiments… ”
Someone added: “Depots, batteries, squadrons, warships… ”
The gray mustache said: “Those who have not yet elected deputies must do so.”
“Right,” said Grigori impatiently. “Now. Weapons of all kinds, including armored cars, are under the control of the battalion and company committees, not the officers.”
Several of the soldiers voiced their agreement.
“Very good,” said Sokolov.
Grigori went on: “A military unit is subordinate to the Soviet of Workers’ and Soldiers’ Deputies and its committees.”
For the first time, Sokolov looked up. “That would mean the soviet controls the army.”
“Yes,” said Grigori. “The orders of the military commission of the Duma are to be followed only when they do not contradict the decisions of the soviet.”
Sokolov continued to look at Grigori. “This makes the Duma as powerless as it always was. Before, it was subject to the whim of the tsar. Now, every decision will require the approval of the soviet.”
“Exactly,” said Grigori.
“So the soviet is supreme.”
“Write it down,” said Grigori.
Sokolov wrote it down.
Someone said: “Officers are forbidden to be rude to other ranks.”
“All right,” said Sokolov.
“And must not address them as tyi as if we were animals or children.”
Grigori thought these clauses were trivial. “The document needs a title,” he said.
Sokolov said: “What do you suggest?”
“How have you headed previous orders by the soviet?”
“There are no previous orders,” said Sokolov. “This is the first.”
“That’s it, then,” said Grigori. “Call it ‘Order Number One.’ ”
It gave Grigori profound satisfaction to have passed his first piece of legislation as an elected representative. Over the next two days there were several more, and he became deeply absorbed in the minute-by-minute work of a revolutionary government. But he thought all the time about Katerina and Vladimir, and on Thursday evening he at last got a chance to slip away and check on them.
His heart was full of foreboding as he walked to the southwest suburbs. Katerina had promised to stay away from trouble, but the women of Petrograd believed this was their revolution as much as the men’s. After all, it had started on International Women’s Day. This was nothing new. Grigori’s mother had died in the failed revolution of 1905. If Katerina had decided to go into the city center with Vladimir on her hip to see what was going on, she would not have been the only mother to do so. And many innocent people had died-shot by the police, trampled in crowds, run over by drunk soldiers in commandeered cars, or hit by stray bullets. As he entered the old house, he dreaded being met by one of the tenants, with a solemn face and tears in her eyes, saying Something terrible has happened.
He went up the stairs, tapped on her door, and walked in. Katerina leaped from her chair and threw herself into his arms. “You’re alive!” she said. She kissed him eagerly. “I’ve been so worried! I don’t know what we would do without you.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner,” Grigori said. “But I’m a delegate to the soviet.”
“A delegate!” Katerina beamed with pride. “My husband!” She hugged him.
Grigori had actually impressed her. He had never done that before. “A delegate is only a representative of the people who elected him,” he said modestly.
“But they always choose the cleverest and most reliable.”
“Well, they try to.”
The room was dimly lit by an oil lamp. Grigori put a parcel on the table. With his new status he had no trouble getting food from the barracks kitchen. “There are some matches and a blanket in there too,” he said.
“Thank you!”
“I hope you’ve been staying indoors as much as you can. It’s still dangerous on the streets. Some of us are making a revolution, but others are just going wild.”
“I’ve hardly been out. I’ve been waiting to hear from you.”
“How’s our little boy?” Vladimir was asleep in the corner.
“He misses his daddy.”
She meant Grigori. It was not Grigori’s wish that Vladimir should call him Daddy, but he had accepted Katerina’s fancy. It was not likely that any of them would ever see Lev again-there had been no word from him for almost three years-so the child would never know the truth, and perhaps that was better.
Katerina said: “I’m sorry he’s asleep. He loves to see you.”
“I’ll talk to him in the morning.”
“You can stay the night? How wonderful!”
Grigori sat down, and Katerina knelt in front of him and pulled off his boots. “You look tired,” she said.
“I am.”
“Let’s go to bed. It’s late.”
She began to unbutton his tunic, and he sat back and let her. “General Khabalov is hiding out in the Admiralty,” he said. “We were afraid he might recapture the railway stations, but he didn’t even try.”
“Why not?”
Grigori shrugged. “Cowardice. The tsar ordered Ivanov to march on Petrograd and set up a military dictatorship, but Ivanov’s men became mutinous and the expedition was canceled.”
Katerina frowned. “Has the old ruling class just given up?”
“It seems that way. Strange, isn’t it? But clearly there isn’t going to be a counterrevolution.”
They got into bed, Grigori in his underwear, Katerina with her dress still on. She had never stripped naked in front of him. Perhaps she felt she had to hold something back. It was a peculiarity of hers that he accepted, not without regret. He took her in his arms and kissed her. When he entered her she said: “I love you,” and he felt he was the luckiest man in the world.
Afterward she said sleepily: “What will happen next?”
“There’s going to be a constituent assembly, elected by what they called the four-tail suffrage: universal, direct, secret, and equal. Meanwhile the Duma is forming a provisional government.”
“Who will be its leader?”
“Lvov.”
Katerina sat upright. “A prince! Why?”
“They want the confidence of all classes.”
“To hell with all classes!” Indignation made her even more beautiful, bringing color to her face and a sparkle to
