I turn my head and I see a glorious ground cover formed by acres and acres of Kentucky bluegrass sprinkled with brilliantly colored leaves. Thousands of the sacred, white tablets pierce this green carpet in row upon row of various geometric patterns.
The chaplain steps back from the casket. The company commander replaces him, then raises his hand in salute. Off in the distance the lieutenant gives another command and drops his saber in salute. Seven soldiers raise their rifles and simultaneously fire, pause, fire again, pause, and fire a third time. Then without any other order, without a hint of 'a prompting, come the first few tormenting notes of "Taps" from a solo bugle. They echo across the sunlit cemetery as they have many thousands of times before. This time, however, they are for my friend, George. As I listen to the familiar, mournful tones from that solitary instrument, I recognize once again how excruciatingly painful yet beautiful and appropriate is this most touching of all bugle calls. It conjures up visions of faraway barracks at nighttime, distant trenches away off in Europe, hillsides on remote volcanic islands of the Pacific, and ancient battlefields in Spotsylvania County of old Virginia.
The band starts another hymn as the casket team folds the tautly held flag into an ever-so-neat right triangle. The men are so painfully deliberate in the maneuver that it takes them nearly two minutes to execute the moving, traditional task. The music stops. The captain drops his salute and receives the flag as the casket team leaves the gravesite; he then faces about, hands the flag to the chaplain, and renders a salute, this time holding his hand to the bill of his hat for a full three seconds. He turns and assumes his position at the head of the casket. The chaplain presents the flag to Eva and offers his sympathy. The Arlington Cemetery representative then offers condolences in the name of the chief of staff.
Eva departs the gravesite and the others begin to disappear. An elderly lady dressed in black momentarily stays behind. She straightens the flowers around the casket, selects a bright red one, and strolls away with her memento. A lone soldier, a senior sergeant, commences his solo vigil, standing erect and awaiting the interment. Off in the distance, the escort platoons, the band, and the firing party silently march off the burial grounds and on to their next solemn task. One soldier is left behind to collect twenty-one brass shells.
Epilogue
George continually and emphatically maintained that none of his family members in Russia was alive or traceable. He rebuffed me every time that I suggested that he travel to St. Petersburg and investigate. "What would I do, stare at tombstones? They're all dead or disappeared." The only survivors of the clan he could locate were the descendants of his first cousin, Alexander Alexandrovich Andreiev, and he faithfully maintained contact with this residual branch of the family tree. They lived in the United States. The family in Russia was lost forever. Or so it seemed.
Among many other benefits to mankind, the fall of the Soviet Union enabled communications that exposed the truth to this terribly wrong pronouncement. In 1997, a member of the Kisevalter clan of St. Petersburg, while working abroad, came across the name George Kisevalter in the book Molehunt, by David Wise. Three years later, another member of the family, Georgi Dmitrievich Kizevalter, born in Moscow in 1955 and then living in Canada, investigated the curiosity. Georgi is the son of Dmitry Sergievich Kisevalter and the grandson of Sergei Georgievich Kisevalter. Sergei was George's uncle; thus Georgi would be George's first cousin, once removed. Georgi was in the process of constructing a history of his family. Using the Internet to find addresses, he wrote letters to David Wise, George Kisevalter, and the Central Intelligence Agency. There was no reply. Again using the Internet, he found Eva's Washington, D.C., telephone number and called it repeatedly, not knowing whether or not she was George's daughter. There was no answer, as Eva had moved to London. Eventually, however, the CIA dutifully forwarded to Eva the letter Georgi had sent to them. She sent him an e-mail in October of 2000, confirming the relationship of her father to the St. Petersburg family as well as the news that George had died three years earlier.
Eva also sent Georgi an early draft of this book, CIA SpyMaster. He read the draft, translated part of it into Russian, and forwarded his translation to family members residing in Moscow. Georgi then contacted me and forwarded numerous comments regarding the manuscript from various members of the family. Some of these challenged a number of George's statements. "How could a child of less than five years remember such things?" asked one. But the family was astounded at the text's description of the Andreev family chronicles. Those in St. Petersburg had long ago lost contact with Alexander Alexandrovich Andreev, assuming that he was dead or lost in a Russian diaspora.
Likewise, it was a thrill for Alexander's son, Alexis Alexander Andreiev, something like a male Anastasia, to be reunited with his clan. Now, these parties are actively making acquaintance with one another, tracing lineage, reflecting on the deaths that have occurred, and reconstructing personal histories. When I asked Georgi Kizevalter to name those living at the time of George's death, he listed a retinue that includes two first cousins, sixteen first cousins once removed, and twenty-six others whose relationships were more remote. I like to think these people would have been thrilled to meet George if I had been successful in prompting him to take the trip and look around. Russian family ties are strong, especially among those who have long suffered. The Kisevalters, like most other Russians, have experienced great hardships-even numerous tragedies-over the last century.
One of George's traits, that of a packrat, the same trait that made much of this work possible, must have been acquired from his father. George Sr., for whatever reason, retained many of the letters that he received from the homeland. I found 120 of them-unsorted, unlabeled, and piled pell-mell in an old box among his son's belongings. They are dated from 1915 to 1937. All but three are in Russian. The three in French are from George's mother's people. These reveal the sad times in France experienced by Rosa's uncle, with whom she had briefly lived before marrying George Sr.
The 117 letters from Russia proved to be the Rosetta stone of the Kisevalter family history as well as a microcosm of the Russian intelligentsia during the revolution and the two decades that followed. The heartbreak experienced by these people, as their homeland descends into chaos and hardship, is touching. The maelstrom can he traced letter by letter with the writers' descriptions of disappearing comforts as well as through their thinly veiled sarcasm regarding their new Communist masters. Their plight, when juxtaposed with the life of the Kisevalters and Andreievs in America, even in the days of the Great Depression, is unremittingly bleak. One letter indicates that George Sr. yearned to return home as early as 1916as soon as his primary mission in the United States was accomplished. "No, stay there; things are uncertain here," his brother replies. In the spring of 1917, with the abdication of Tsar Nicholas II, there is much hope at home that, at last, freedom for all is at hand. This, from people who were in the tsar's court and among the favored of the realm, is surprising. When the Bolsheviks steal the revolution in October of that year, there is great apprehension, even fear. Ultimately, even the hardship of the Great Depression in the rest of the world cannot compare with the pain experienced by one cousin who writes that a loved one has been declared "an enemy of the people." The letters dwindle in number as the family members die. During the purges of Stalin, other relatives are executed or disappear into oblivion. Finally, in 1937, at the height of the purges, the letters cease.
The most dramatic revelation in the letters occurs in 1928 with the very subtle (and coded) acknowledgment that the family in Russia is aware of the safe arrival of Alexander Alexandrovich Andreev (changed to Andreiev when he entered in the United States). Sadly, there is never an indication that this man ever communicates with his siblings or other relatives in Russia. His son, Alexis, advises me, "Since he had sabotaged Bolshevik installations and had fought with Gen. Nikolai Yudenich in the White Army against the Reds, he was a marked man. If the Communists recognized any association bet
ween him and a family member, nothing but trouble for that person would follow. Therefore, he never communicated with any of them."
Four pieces of mail are dated 1915. These deal mainly with financial reports and the latest family news. Interestingly, the family had a "Friendly Savings Bank" where its members could take a loan, receive some income (interest) according to their ownership shares, and buy some stocks or even land. Gen. Alexander A. Andreev was its chairman, and Vasiliy, one of George's father's older brothers, was the secretary. The relatives express envy of George Sr., George Jr., and Rosa regarding their trip to America.
Fifty-nine letters and postcards are dated 1916. Some deal with financial settlements within the family but most tell of the war. The death ofJacob, a.k.a. Fyodor K Ezet, George's favorite uncle, a close friend of all the family, who was the adopted son of George's grandparents, is reported. These letters reveal that all of the brothers (Sergei, the oldest; Nikolai, the railroad engineer; and Vasiliy, the accountant), as well as General Andreev and others, were passionate card players. Many nights they played vint and preference (derivatives of bridge) until dawn. Also, these letters indicate that all family members were very much engaged at the stock exchange. They bought and sold shares all the time and were members of different cooperative societies. George Sr. often sent money to Russia so that Sergei could use it, without interest, if he wished. Rosa and George Jr. had funny nicknames: Zitochka and Ozya.
There are twenty-six missives from 1917. Here are extracts from one written by railroad engineer Nikolai to George Sr. It is translated by Georgi Kizevalter; notes in brackets are mine.
Petrograd,
November 14-15, 1917
... Now that the German spies [Bolsheviks] have seized power in Petrograd it will be hard to get out of here due to the nationwide disorder. The deposed Kerensky government had already decided to terminate passenger traffic on the railroads because of the fuel deficit starting on November 10; but they had proposed keeping the mail trains running. Now, after only one week of the Bolsheviks' "reign," the disintegration of the economy has spread much further. Last spring, on the invitation of Sergey's friend, S. I. Makhov, Sergey's family went to live in a cottage house in a village only five km from Yaransk, Vyatka Province. This move was done purely for economics. Since the February revolution, life in Petrograd has been unbearably expensive and inconvenient. There has been a shortage of necessary articles of survival, mainly milk. By summertime they realized that there was no sense in returning to a starving Petrograd, which "the benefactors of the Russian people," the leaders of the Bolsheviks, had decided to grant to Wilhelm [Kaiser Wilhelm II and the Germans]. Bronstein (a.k.a. Trotsky) has described the Kronstadt [island in the Gulf of Finland] hooligans as "the gem and pride of the Russian revolution," but this also refers to all Bolsheviks, i.e., to those benighted hordes and sly tsarist security guards led by Lenin, Trotsky, Zinoviev and other German spies. Sergey spent August with the family and then transported them to Yaransk for the winter where he had rented an acceptably furnished apartment for them. It cost about 37 rubles per month and he was able to rent a rather good grand piano for 10 rubles a month. It looks as if life there is really much cheaper than in Petrograd. Moreover, the necessities of life, i.e., foodstuffs, are available there.
Now I will write about my job. I am still in charge of the technical office. After the revolution I was given a bonus of 105 rubles to my salary under the decision of the Central Council of head employees in the Petrograd factories. So, now I receive 405 rubles [a month]. If we take into account that the present value of a ruble, in terms of purchasing power, equals approximately one former ten-kopeck coin, I now have an absolutely beggarly salary. Currently, even an incompetent worker here makes that much. Fortunately, my rent has increased by only 10%: I pay 75.50 rubles per month, which includes a yard keeper but no firewood.
Before the [February] revolution, things at the factory were going very well. Then conditions started to decline. As the workers began to take control of the factory, they gave themselves many increases in pay and raised the prices of their products. In May they refused to be paid by their output, demanding daily wages. It happened not only at our plant, but also at all factories in Petrograd and perhaps elsewhere. Their demand was satisfied, but their productivity immediately fell by fifty percent. During the month ofJune the factory lost a half-million rubles. The board declared that on August 1 new, lower, rates would be introduced. If they were not acceptable to the workers, the factory would be closed. The workers did not accept the new rates, and the hoard did not carry out their threat. This process has been repeated every half-month up until now.
Today, the news about the victory of Bolshevik armies over the Cossacks near Gatchina, and the flight of Kerensky, who led the Cossacks, has resulted in our factory workers declaring that the factory is now socialized. Mr. Gunst abdicated his managerial powers even before the Bolsheviks' mutiny. He did so partly because of the statements made by irresponsible workers against him. Once he was nearly taken out from the smithy on a wheelbarrow. On the other hand, Gunst has categorically refused to put into practice the Board's requirement to accept the rates, since he himself considers these rates insufficient.
What "socialization" at our factory will consist in, I don't yet know. But, it is possible to say that if the workers took the factory in hand and remunerated themselves from the sums netted over one month-taking into consideration the present tempo of work, the cost of materials and hydro energy-they would not receive even 20% of those crazy earnings to which they have become accustomed. Smart workers are already anticipating this, and one may hear it more and more often said that many are going to leave for villages in good time, now that their bootlegs are crammed with money. They also say that already now there is enough tension among the workers; what will transpire with "socialization" is foreboding. What status the white-collar employees will get-I have no idea. The workers will probably require some of the white collars to leave. No good should be expected, either for business, or for the white collars, or for the workers.
However, not all workers equally understand this "socialization." At the state-owned Obukhovsky factory, for example, the workers are now busy with making the cost of the factory public. They consider themselves within their rights to refuse work at the plant in the event that the government gives them the present value of the factory. When they receive this imagine!-will share it and set off for their homes. This is the poverty of ideas that ignorant people can reach! And such "socialists," indeed! They provide support to the leaders who were at one time our intelligentsia, and who now are selling our Fatherland to Germans.
And it goes from bad to worse. Anarchy has already reigned in Russia for a long time. But the real horrors have just begun. What awaits us tomorrow, whether we die from famine, or whether some "socialists" finish us off or cripple us, we don't know.
I think now it is already clear to you why I began this letter expressingjoy concerning your stay far from here during these difficult days. And imagine that now I feel almost no worry while thinking of the violence and deprivations that are still awaiting us. You cannot picture yourself how quickly [after the February revolution] the joyful mood, which had embraced all Russian people who love their Fatherland, gave way to doubt in the expediency of the Government's actions under the direction of self-appointed councils. Then came fear for the future and, at last, full despair. I personally went through this gradation of feelings in the first two months after the revolution. Then apathy set in, which I seem now not to be able to rid myself of until I die. At the beginning of May I was again convinced that all the recent developments lead Russia to destruction; all was done to the benefit of Germans. It was done so diligently, though the masses did it unconsciously, that a whole regiment of Wilhelms could not have concocted anything better. But enough of that.
Now, my dear sweethearts, I want to give you friendly advice not to speed up your return to Russia until order sets in here. I believe t
hat sometime, maybe in five or ten years, it will come. Certainly you, Georgy, will have to find a means of subsistence in America; but you are not the kind of person to fail. If not in America, settle down somewhere in Europe, in France, for example. But, really, it's not worth your while coming back to Russia. Now on every corner you hear that it is a shame to be Russian. Yesterday's newspapers reported that Shingarev is going to become an English citizen. [Shingarev was the leader of the Constitutional Democrats and a member of the provisional government in 1917. He was arrested in November for anti-Soviet activities and murdered by sailors in a Petrograd hospital in January 1918.] ...
I kiss and embrace warmly you and Rosa,
Your brother, Nikolai
Then there is an inexplicable absence of letters during the tenyear period from 1918 until 1927. When the letters resume in 1927, their character and tone do not suggest that a break in the exchange of letters had occurred.
Five letters are dated 1927. Here is one from Rosa's father in France, translated by Eleanor j. Riles, Ph.D.
Semur en Brionnais
February 21, 1927
CIA Spymaster_George Kisevalter Page 33
