Same Day
Leo searched Grigori’s expression for hatred or disgust. Evidently his trainee didn’t know that the file on Polina Peshkova had been moved. He would find out soon enough. Leo should pre-empt the discovery with an explanation, an excuse – he’d been exhausted, he’d simply glanced at the documents then put it back in the wrong pile. On second thought there was no need to mention it. The evidence against the artist was thin. Her file would be reviewed and the case dismissed. It was going to be reviewed anyway: Leo had merely accelerated the process. At the very worst, she’d be called in for a short interview. She would be free to continue her work. Grigori could meet her again. Leo should put the matter out of his mind and concentrate on the task at hand – their next assignment. Grigori asked:
– Are you OK?
Leo put a hand on Grigori’s arm.
– It’s nothing.
*
The lights were turned off. The projector at the back of the room whirred. On screen there appeared footage of an idyllic rural village. The houses were made of timber and roofs were thatched. Small gardens were lush with summer herbs. Plump chickens picked at grain, overflowing from ceramic pots. Everything was in abundance, including sunshine and good humour. Farmers were dressed in traditional outfits, patterned shawls and white shirts. They strode through fields of corn, returning to their village. The sun was bright and the sky clear. The men were strong. The women were strong. Sleeves were rolled up. Soaring music gave way to a formal news commentary.
– Today these farm workers have a surprise visitor.
In the centre of the village were several men in suits, out of place and awkward. With smiles on their plump faces, the suited men guided their guest of honour through the picturesque surroundings. The visitor was a man in his late twenties, tall, well built and handsome. Either through some trick of editing, or through some trait of the individual, it seemed as if there was a permanent smile on his face. His hands were on his hips. He was not wearing a jacket and his sleeves were rolled up, just like the farmers. In contrast to the artifice of the rural pantomime playing around him, his excitement seemed genuine. The commentary continued:
– World-famous Negro singer and dedicated Communist, Jesse Austin, has come to visit the countryside as part of his tour of this great land. Though a citizen of the United States, Mr Austin has proved himself to be a most loyal friend of the Soviet Union, singing about our way of life and this country’s belief in freedom and fairness.
The footage changed to a close-up of Mr Austin. His answers were dubbed in Russian, the English still audible in the gaps in the translation.
– I have a message to tell the world! This nation loves its citizens! This nation feeds its citizens! There is food here! And plenty of it! The stories of starvation are lies. The stories of hardship and misery are the propaganda of capitalist big businesses that want you to believe that only they can provide the things you need. They want you to smile and say thank you when you pay a dollar for a cent’s worth of fd! They want the workers to feel gratitude when they’re paid a couple of dollars for their labour while big business makes millions. Not here! Not in this nation! I say to the world – there is another way! I say again – there is another way! And I’ve seen it with my own eyes.
The men in suits surrounded Austin in a protective circle, laughing and applauding. Leo wondered how many of the farmers were agents of state security. All of them, he suspected. No real farmer would be trusted to pull off this performance.
The footage ended. From the back of the room, their superior officer, Major Kuzmin, stepped forward. Short and stout, with thick-lensed glasses, to an outsider he might appear comic. To officers in the MGB, he did not, for they understood the scope of his power and his readiness to use it. He declared:
– That footage was filmed in 1934 when Mr Austin was twenty-seven years old. His enthusiasm for our regime has not diminished. How can we be sure he’s not an American spy? How can we be certain his Communism isn’t a trick?
Leo knew a little of the singer. He’d heard his songs on the radio. He’d read some articles about him, none of which would have been published unless the authorities considered the American a valuable asset. Sensing Kuzmin’s questions were rhetorical he said nothing, waiting for Kuzmin to continue, reading from a file:
– Mr Jesse Austin was born in 1907, in Braxton, Mississippi, migrating with his family at the age of ten to New York. Many Negro families moved out of the South, where they experienced persecution. Mr Austin talks extensively about the experience in the transcripts I’ve given you. This hatred is a powerful source of discontent among black Americans and an effective tool in recruiting them to Communism, perhaps the most effective tool we have.
Leo glanced up at his superior officer. He spoke of hatred not as a crime, there were no acts of right or wrong, everything was weighed politically. It was not a question of outrage but calculation and analysis. Kuzmin caught Leo’s glance.
– You have something you wish to say?
Leo shook his head. Kuzmin finished reading:
– Mr Austin’s family moved in 1917, along with many others, a period of mass migration from South to North. Of all the hatreds Jesse Austin experienced, we speculate that it was the hatred in New York that made him a Communist. Not only was he hated by white families, he also found himself hated by the Negro middle-class families who were already established in the area. They were terrified that the migrants were going to flood the northern cities. It was a pivotal moment in his life, watching people who should have stood in solidarity with the new arrivals turn on them. He witnessed the way class divides even the closest of communities.
Leo flicked through his copy of the file. There was only one photograph of the young Mr Austin with his parents. Mother and father standing straight, as if nervous of the camera, the young Austin standing in between them. Kuzmin continued:
– In New York his father was an elevator man in a run-down hotel called the Skyline, which has since gone bankrupt. The hotel specialized in all the corruptions typical of a capitalist city – especially drugs and prostitution. As far as we are aware, his father was involved in none of the illegal activity; although he was arrested on numerous occasions haps as freed without charge. His mother was a domestic. Jesse Austin claims his childhood was untroubled by violence, or drink, instead his family was broken by squalor. Their room was cold in the winter and hot in the summer. His father died when Jesse Austin was twelve years old. He contracted pulmonary tuberculosis. Though the United States has some admirable health facilities they are not open to all. For example, the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company of New York has built one of the most advanced sanatoria for its employees. However, Mr Austin’s father was not an employee of the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company. He could not afford a stay in a sanatorium. To this day Mr Austin remains sure that had the facilities been available his father would’ve survived. Perhaps this is another important event in Mr Austin’s political development. Watching his father die, in a country where healthcare is contingent on your employment circumstances, themselves dependent upon the colour of your skin, the accident of your birth.
This time Leo raised his hand. Kuzmin nodded at him.
– If this is the case why don’t more Americans become Communists?
– That is a very important question, and one we are puzzling over. If you come up with the answer, you can have my job.
Kuzmin laughed, a strange, strangled noise. Once he’d finished, he carried on:
– Though Mr Austin is full of praise for his mother, she was forced to work many shifts after his father’s death. With so much time on his own, he took up singing to keep occupied and a childhood fancy became a career. His singing and musical compositions have never been separate from his politics. To his mind, they are one and the same. Unlike many Negro singers, Jesse Austin’s singing is not rooted in the Church, but in Communism. Communism is his church.
Major Kuzmin put on a record and they sat and listened to Mr Austin. Leo didn’t understand the lyrics. But he understood why Kuzmin, the most suspicious of people, had no doubts about Mr Austin’s sincerity. It was the most honest voice Leo had heard, words that seemed to come straight from his heart, not moderated by caution or calculation. Kuzmin turned the music off.
– Mr Austin has become one of our most important propagandists. In addition to his polemical lyrics and commercial success, he is a brilliant speaker, and known around the world. His music has made him famous, giving
