“Why do you always have hot chocolate, Andrei? Why not coffee?”
“Coffee is for dilettantes. It’s just a stimulant. Hot chocolate is a food. I don’t need stimulants but I do need food.” He smiled. “Anyway I like it better than coffee.”
“Are you still at that dreary job in the glove workshop?”
“If you want to put it that way—yes.”
“I’ve been asked to talk to you about something more important.”
“Oh. What is it?”
“The Party want you to work for them full-time.”
“Who in the Party said this?”
“Somebody high up. You wouldn’t know his name.”
“How do they know about me?”
“I’ve told them about you.”
“And what do they want me to do?”
“They want you to go back to Moscow to a training centre for a few months.”
Andrei shook his head. “I couldn’t leave the family. They need me.”
“The Party needs you too.” Serov lit a cigarette. “I’ll look after the family while you’re away.”
“What sort of training?”
“You’ve heard of the Comintern?”
“Of course.”
“The Politburo run the Comintern and they’re having a big shake-up. A restructuring. They want Party members to instruct foreign Parties on how to go about organising the revolution in their own countries.” He paused. “They see you as covering a number of countries. At least France, Spain, Italy and Germany.”
“Surely I’m too young for anybody to take any notice of what I say?”
Serov smiled. “I’ve heard you at work here, Andrei. You’ve got a wonderful way with the doubters.” Serov laughed. “You actually listen to what they say, and most Party zealots never listen. And then you’ve got such confidence in persuading them with your own views. It’s young people we have to convince now, Andrei. The old Party sweats are worn out. They’ve always just taken the Party line from Moscow and that’s it. They never argued—they just accepted it. That’s not enough these days.”
“How long would I be away?”
“Four months—maybe six. And you would be paid and the money would be transferred here to your family.”
“Tell me who this high-up Party man is, even if I wouldn’t know his name.”
“If I tell you, will you go for the training?”
“Tell me.”
“It’s an old friend of your father. Jakob Lensky. He’s a member of the Politburo now.”
“But he’s a Jew and …”
“So are half the intellectuals who are running the Party now. Anyway you’ll be Lensky’s protégé.”
“And you’ll visit the family every day?”
“I can’t promise that but I’ll be available whenever they want me. They won’t be a problem, Andrei, you’ve trained them well.”
“I’m thinking about little ’van.”
Serov laughed. “Little ’van is sixteen or seventeen now and he’s quite capable of looking after himself. So is Anna. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on them. You’ll never have another chance like this to serve the Party.”
It had taken three days for the train to get to Moscow. The high arches of the Byelorussky terminal were hung with clouds of steam and fog. Lensky was waiting for him by the ticket office. As always, looking prosperous and important.
Lensky took him to an apartment on Tverskaye Street where they had eaten blinys and pirozhky. Lensky had offered him vodka as he waved Andrei to a comfortable leather chair and had smiled when Andrei asked for tea instead.
“Your friend Serov has told me all about your excellent work in Paris. Your father would have been very proud of you. I wish he had lived to come back and see the Party in action.” He made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “Turbulence, yes. Maybe even errors of judgment. But above all enthusiasm and dedication to what we believe in. But the revolution is for export. All over the world. And young men like you—with talent and with training—will show our comrades in other countries how to achieve our goals.”
“I’m not sure that I am as talented as you seem to think, comrade Lensky.”
Lensky smiled. “Leave it to us to judge that, my friend.”
“Where do I have the training?”
“Moscow Centre have taken over the old Kuskovo estate. It’s about ten kilometres outside the city. Rather primitive conditions but the training is excellent. Only the most promising are sent there. You’ve been nominated by me so I want you to do your best.” He smiled. “I’m sure you will.”
Kuskovo Palace and its vast park had been the summer home of the Sheremetiev family, one of the oldest Russian noble families of statesmen and soldiers. But now it was surrounded by a six foot high fence covered with barbed wire. An ancient car had taken Andrei to the gate which was flanked by two armed soldiers. In the guardhouse a man asked him his name.
“Aarons. Andrei Grigorovich.”
The man checked a list of names and then reached for a row of tags on hooks, taking one down and handing it to Andrei.
“We don’t use names here. Your number’s three nine. Thirty-nine. You’ll be in the Dutch house, comrade.” He pointed through the barred window. “It’s quite a walk. The first house is the Hermitage, then the grotto and then your place.”
As he walked across the parkland towards the buildings he thought of what the taxi driver had said as they stopped at the gates. “You know what this place is, comrade? It’s where they teach the bloody niggers how to make revolutions. All the money they want but not a bloody kopek for the likes of me.”
The man at the podium looked like an academic, and he was. Lank hair, a pale face and heavy glasses. He held up some pamphlets as he looked at the students.
“You must read and absorb these thoroughly.” He pointed at the titles one by one. The rôle of the Marxist-Leninist party in the revolutionary process. The struggle for the unity of the world communist revolution and Party members and the struggle for national and social liberation. He looked across at them. “This is going to be your task in your own countries, comrades. You never deviate from the principles laid down in Moscow.
“You will have instruction in motivating local Communist
