The President dined that night with his wife and the old man. When it was time for the old man to leave the President walked with him to the door. He remembered what Malloy had told him about the old man’s arthritic hands and he took the old man’s hand very gently as he said, “You’ve helped clear my mind and I’m truly grateful.” Then he smiled and said, “Da svedahnya a spasibo.”
The old man smiled. “Da svedahnya.”
Bill Malloy drove the Lincoln to the servants’ section of the main building and helped the old man into the passenger seat. They took the service road to the main road and then Malloy headed for the airstrip.
They sat in the car as the plane was checked over and Malloy said, “You don’t want to change your mind?”
“No. I called it a day long ago.” He smiled. “I hope we’ll still see you from time to time. Both of you.”
“You will. I wish we could tell the world how much we owe to you—the man who won the Cold War.”
The old man shook his head. “Not won it, my friend. Just helped you people in a small way to make sure it didn’t become a real war. And that’s all that matters.” He turned his head to look at Malloy. “You people have got a lot of things to work out, my friend. When you look at the new democracies remember what Bertrand Russell said.”
“What’s that?”
“If one man offers you democracy and another offers you a bag of grain, at what stage of starvation will you prefer the grain to the vote?”
Then they were signalling that the plane was ready for take-off. Malloy walked with him to the steps and waved back when he had climbed up to the entrance.
Malloy stood there long after the plane had taken off. It was probably the last time he would see him and he felt both guilty and sad about the old man. Despite all that he had done to help them it had been a wasted life. So lonely, even when he was with people. The mind that was so shrewd and yet so innocent. The heart that bled for all humanity but found no solace from individuals. Loved but not loving. A man to respect but not admire. He took consolation from knowing that although they had used him they had not abused his dedication. Jack Kennedy had said—“We will pay any price …” and the old man had been part of that price. But it was Moscow who had drained the soul out of him for a cause that was crumbling to dust all over the world.
Malloy walked slowly back to the car. At least the old man had Tania who saw him as a saint and had love enough for both of them.
CHAPTER 2
As the train made its way over the snow-covered plains of Poland he wondered if he had done the right thing. It had been bad enough when Rosa was alive, the chaos of Moscow: that mad monk in the Palace, the third Duma as ineffective as its predecessors and the evidence from every quarter that the Jews were going to be the next target. He had been warned that he should get out and take the family with him. The army would kill Jews just as ruthlessly as they had shot the workers. And then the news from the doctor that Rosa had only a few weeks to live. In fact she had struggled on for nearly six months. The police had stopped him as he left the synagogue. Checking through his papers, shouting question after question until Lensky had intervened. Lensky was a lawyer and a wealthy man with influence everywhere. But it had been the final warning that they had to go.
He looked at the children asleep on the opposite seat. He wondered what would become of them all. Andrei the five year old, Anna just four and Ivan the baby, only a year old. For years he had worked for the Party in his free time. Waiting for the day when the workers would rise and the Party would take over. There had been uprisings but they had all been put down by the Tsar’s soldiers. It seemed unbelievable, Russian soldiers shooting down Russian workers. He sighed and shook his head. One day it would happen but he wouldn’t see it. He wasn’t escaping because he was a communist but because he was a Jew. Not a good Jew, just a Jew, and that was enough. When he had talked to Lensky about going underground Lensky had pointed out that he had three young children to care for. And somehow he felt that Lensky was also telling him that being a Jew, even after the revolution, he wouldn’t survive. There were big men in the Party who were Jews. He wondered how they would survive. Lensky was a Jew but he was a rich man who knew influential people, not only in Moscow but all over the world. God knows what would have happened to him and the children if it hadn’t been for Lensky. But there would be work to be done for the Party in Paris. Maybe Andrei would be the one to see the dream come true. He’d teach him what it was all about. He was a good boy and quick to learn. Lensky had given him the tickets to Paris and enough money to live on until he found work. He’d heard that gloves were much in demand in Paris, and there were other things he could turn his hand to if he had to. Mikhail was going to sell their few belongings in Moscow and send the money to him when he had an address in Paris. The only things he had brought with them were clothes and his Party pamphlets and one book—the fourth German edition with Engel’s preface of
