But I couldn’t chew them; there wasn’t enough saliva. Tears ran from my eyes, and I became nauseous. Through an
147
act of will I forced myself to chew slowly. Everything came out well. Rid of the damming evidence, we offered to be searched by the commissar. But he declined.
We kept trudging toward headquarters. My brother looked at one of the soldiers. “I know you, but I can’t remember where we met. Where are you from?”
“Vladimir Province.”
“Which village?”
“Nikitovka.”
“Nikitovka! I know it well. I was on leave there two years ago.”
I became cautious. My brother was up to something, but he didn’t know Vladimir Province or Nikitovka.
“You know Nikitovka?” The soldier was surprised.
“Do I? Of course, that’s where I saw you, you must know old . . . what’s her name . . . auntie Anna, the bent-over one with the hunchback?”
“Not Anna, you must mean Mariia?”
“Of course, Mariia. Stupid me, Anna is in a totally different place. So how is old, dear aunt Mariia, grouchy as ever. You know her?”
“How could I not know her, she’s my aunt.”
“You’re kidding. That makes us kinfolk. Strange running into each other like this.”
My brother inquired in detail of news from Nikitovka, about Petr’s family, our new relative, and of aunt Mariia. Petr was happy to find a kinsman and talked with relish. Then my brother repeated the same back to him with some variations. We had acquired a friend and even a relative amidst our convoy. In a similar fashion it turned out that a soldier named Pavel had been in the same regiment as my brother. Or, rather, my brother had been in his regiment. They reminisced of battles (all battles resemble each other) and the deeply moved soldier gave my brother a cigarette. My brother didn’t smoke, but he had that one with obvious pleasure. The other soldiers listened sympathetically. My brother had created a good-natured mood among our guards.
Then my brother suggested that our case be put to a vote (such voting was popular at that time) and without waiting for a decision took the matter into his own hands. “Well, Petr,” he said to our relative, “what do you say, shall we go or not?”
Petr was confused, but finally he said, “I don’t know . . . I’ll go along with the others.” The formula was found.
“One vote to let us go,” said my brother. “And what about you, Pavel?”
Pavel repeated the previous response. Soon everyone had agreed except the commissar who was asked last.
“My decision is to take you to headquarters,” he declared.
148
“What is this comrades?” exclaimed my brother. “Forty-two votes to let us go, only one against but he wants to do it his way, disregarding your will. This is an overstepping of authority. Where is equality and justice I ask you? He thinks that he is an officer with golden epaulets and he can do whatever he wants. No, comrades, those days are over. Nowadays everyone is equal under the law. The will of the people and the opinion of the majority should be respected. Comrades, will you put up with such an attitude towards yourselves? He’s behaving like one of the bourgeoisie with contempt for the will of the people. Am I right, comrades?”
Such an unexpected turn had its success. The soldiers in the back became concerned. Voices could be heard: “Of course, he’s right. And you commissar, are you better than us?” “You’ll catch a beating if you keep this up.” Apparently there was no love lost for the commissar. He was taken aback but soon regained his self-control.
“Comrades, these are clever counter-revolutionaries, they’re deceiving you.”
The crowd grew silent. Things were getting bad again. But the commissar wasn’t sure of his men. He decided to get rid of us.
“All right,” he said to us, “you go straight down that road. We’ll catch up to you in a minute.” We did not want to move because that is how people get shot in the back of the head.
“We don’t know the way, give us two guides,” and my brother pulled the hands of our new friends. We moved away a bit. The commissar gathered his men in a circle and began to talk quietly.
“Petr, friend,” said my brother, “you ought to arrange something. I don’t want to go to headquarters at all.”
“You’re dead right. They will shoot you there, no questions asked.”
“You see. Go talk with the commissar in a friendly way. Ask him what he wants? I’m ready to give him a bottle of vodka.”
“Hey, that’ll do it. Wait here, I’ll go talk.” He came back very quickly. “The commissar agrees.”
“Luck’s with us. How much does a bottle cost?”
“A hundred rubles.”
“A hundred. You can get one in Moscow for forty. But OK. A hundred it is.” My brother counted out a hundred rubles in coin. It was foolhardy to appear to be rich. Nothing prevented our friends from robbing us.
“Here’s a hundred rubles and three for a drink for you.”
The arrangement was made, but it was shaky. Would the commissar keep the bargain? He probably made it against his wishes. Will he have us shot at the last moment? The difficult part now was to leave our new friends. We went back to the group. The commissar was again talking quietly and stopped as we approached. My brother shook his hand with feeling.
149
“We lost our heads before and said things we shouldn’t have. We didn’t mean to offend. Peace is always better than a quarrel.”
My brother kept close to the commissar not giving him the chance to conspire with his henchmen and finish us off. We settled down in a circle and cigarettes were passed all around. My brother and I did not smoke, but we lit up and began relating the news from Moscow.
My brother glanced at the moon. My nerves were so taut that I understood him without words. A large cloud was about to cover the moon. It would be dark in a few minutes. We would have to use this darkness to escape. It would shield us from bullets and pursuit. As the cloud covered the moon, we stood up.
“It’s been nice talking to you, but we have to catch up to our companions. Otherwise we’ll lose our flour
