“I don’t understand you, Andrei. You know how much I had to study to get my degree and how lucky I am to have a job. I can’t not do what is expected of me.”
But Andrei would not allow his arm to be twisted.
“I will see you at Fyodor Volkov’s house. He’s not in the best of health, and out of consideration for that Dmitri Sokolov thinks it would be best for us to meet there. It is important that you Jews make it clear what your role in the revolution will be.”
“I thought that our group was more than just a few Jews, you yourself are an example that we want what the rest of the socialists do. Excuse me, and tell me later what you have decided.”
“You have responsibilities, Samuel, you can’t leave us in the lurch.”
“I’m not going to leave anyone in the lurch, all I’m going to do is my duty, and tomorrow my duty is to go with Oleg Bogdanov.”
It was the first time they had argued. Samuel had never shown the slightest hint of disagreement with Andrei since he had known him as a child. Up to that point, the botanist had had a greater influence on Samuel than his own father. And he did not like it, that this person who had once been no more than a pupil now treated him as an equal.
It was cold in Fyodor Volkov’s house, in spite of the wood that crackled in the fireplace, toward which everyone stretched out their hands.
Some of the people who defended the idea of a revolution with the greatest fervor were gathered there that night. Ten men and three women arguing about the future of Russia with great passion.
The librarian Sokolov and Professor Volkov himself both asked repeatedly about Samuel, worried because Andrei could not confirm that he would be coming.
“It is important that he be here, the time to act has come.”
But they could not agree what form this action might take. Some of Volkov’s supporters seemed to side with other groups that called for violence, but Sokolov the librarian was opposed to this.
“We must not make the mistake of allowing blood to run in the streets, the people will never forgive us. They will fear us instead. No, that is not the way.”
Professor Volkov seemed to hesitate; perhaps, he said, the time had come to do something more.
They decided to meet again on the last night of the year. Each group would present its own plan of action, they would discuss it and then decide, although Sokolov the librarian made it very clear that he would not take part in any act of violence.
“We Jews have suffered too much violence for us now to take part in the same. The peasants and workers will not follow people who are incapable of arguing their case. The important thing is to convince rather than to annihilate the enemy, because if we did that then we would be as bad as they are. It is only those who do not trust their beliefs who resort to violence.”
Later Yuri Vasiliev told Irina about the meeting, saying that Sokolov had not stopped thinking like a Jew.
“But you don’t want to hurt anyone!” she said, worried that Yuri might be on the side of those who proposed violent action.
“I don’t think it will be necessary, at least not now, but I also don’t think it should be rejected out of hand. But Sokolov the librarian thinks it is unbearable to imagine himself involved in anything that might lead to blood being shed. He thinks that it is socialism that brings him together with the other men, but he still thinks and speaks like a Jew. Ah, Irina my dear, you don’t know what I am talking about because you are not a Jew.”
“But you . . .”
“It was long ago that I rejected the idea of being anything more than what I am, a man who works with his hands scratching notes out of a violin. A man who only wants to live in peace with other men, whose only desire is to erase differences between us. Being Jews makes us different, and while Sokolov the librarian thinks that it is possible to build a society without differences, but that still allows everyone to pray to whomever they want or do whatever they want in the privacy of their own home, I would prefer to abolish any speck of difference forever. I want to get rid of the very idea of a God who makes men fight each other because of the different ways they have of approaching him, because of the rituals they adopt. Sokolov wants a country without an official religion, I want a country where all religions are forbidden.”
“Then you will fail. The peasants will not abandon God, he’s all they have, the only thing that keeps them standing upright.”
“You’re right, Irina, and that’s exactly what we need to fight against. Religion is nothing more than superstition. Free men will be educated men, whether they are peasants or craftsmen, and they will cut the old Biblical rituals out of their lives. They will learn to think and to honor reason.”
“But . . . I . . . I’m sorry, I don’t think you can stop men from believing in God. Also, well, I think it’s terrible, what you said about forbidding God.”
“I didn’t say anything about forbidding God, but about forbidding religion, but it’s the same thing. You know something, Irina? I think you will never be a good revolutionary. Your heart is too soft, and you privilege it above rationality.”
They sat in silence for a few moments. Irina was worried that by contradicting him she had forfeited the confidence he had placed in her. Sometimes she asked herself why he had never invited her to any other meetings like the one she had attended at Professor Volkov’s house, but she did not dare ask him about this. Yuri was the first to break the silence, which was starting to weigh on them.
“If I asked you to marry me, how would we do it? I am a Jew and we would have to get married according to my religion. But the rabbi would ask you to give up your own beliefs. Even so, it would take months, maybe years, for you to be accepted by the Jews. You are Orthodox, do you think that the priest would give you his blessing? He would be furious at the very idea that you could marry a Jew. He would ask me to convert. So we could not get married, and the only option left for us would be for you to become my lover. But I don’t think that the decision to spend the rest of our lives together depends on a rabbi or a priest, it depends on you and me, but they will not let us make this decision. One day, it will be enough for the simple desire to exist for a man and a woman to get married.”
Irina was blushing. She felt her temples throbbing and her palms sweating. She had shrunk away instinctively from Yuri. He realized this and could not stop himself from smiling.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you to become my lover, it was just an example.”
“That’s what I thought,” she said, trying to make sure that Yuri did not notice how uncomfortable she was.
“Although if I weren’t a Jew and if you weren’t Orthodox, then perhaps I would ask for your hand. Mikhail loves you like a son, you’re the only mother he’s ever known, and I’m afraid that you’ll decide to leave us one day.”
She said nothing. The conversation upset her, and had she the strength she would have left the room right away.
“I’m going to be daring, and ask you a great favor: If something happens to me, will you promise to take care of Mikhail? I don’t have very much, but all I have is here, in this little strongbox. I’ll give you a key so you can open it just in case . . .”
Irina did not let him continue. She felt stunned by everything Yuri was telling her.
“I understand that it is a great sacrifice I’m asking of you, but you are my only real friend, the only person I can trust. I know what you are like and I will be calm only if I know that Mikhail is with you. I know I don’t have the right to ask you to make this sacrifice for us, but . . .”
“Enough, Yuri! That’s enough!”
“Tell me you’ll look after Mikhail . . .” Yuri was begging her.
“Nothing is going to happen, you are his father and you are the person he needs now.”
“But if something does happen to me one day . . .”
“I promise you t
hat I will look after Mikhail, I love him, too.”
Yuri seemed happy with the promise that he had dragged out of Irina.
As the days went by, the disciples of Sokolov the librarian and of Volkov the music teacher spent their free time writing down what the actions of the future should be. Andrei took it upon himself to collect their suggestions, and even told Samuel that he should write something down.
“I don’t have the time, and I’m also not sure that I should do it,” Samuel replied.
“But at least you’ll come to the New Year’s Eve meeting. We’ll have some vodka and we’ll talk. We need to take a vote on what is to be done.”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to come, I’ve already said I’ll go to the party that Konstantin and Countess Ekaterina are giving.”
“So, you’d prefer to spend time with your rich friends rather than with us. I’m disappointed, Samuel, what’s happening to you? You’re changing.”
In the end, Samuel agreed to make an appearance at Professor Volkov’s party.
On the thirty-first of December, there wasn’t an inch of Saint Petersburg not covered with snow. It had started to snow early in the morning, and the snowfall had continued until the city began to fall into shadow.
Samuel was nervous. He hadn’t slept well and he had a headache. At midday, Joshua had come to visit him, to the delight of the widow Korlov.
Raisa had offered him a mug of broth and a slice of almond tart, both of which Joshua had accepted immediately.
“What’s all this about not coming to Konstantin’s house this evening? Our friend has arranged a fancy-dress ball to bid farewell to the old year. My mother has spent several days sewing me a Harlequin costume, although given how cold it is it would make more sense for me to ask your father for one of his furs and go dressed as a bear.”
“I will go, but not for long.”
“And what’s so important that you have to do it tonight? A little rendezvous?”
“No, it’s nothing as exciting as a party or a romantic meeting. Don’t ask me, Joshua, it’s better you don’t know.”
“I can’t believe your socialist friends have called a meeting for tonight!”
In reply, Samuel gave free rein to the ill feeling that was weighing down on him and making his stomach turn.
“My friends, as you call them, are concerned about the future of Russia. Konstantin and you talk a lot about it, but what do you do to change anything? Nothing, you don’t do anything. You talk and talk . . . Konstantin is an aristocrat and you are the grandson of a rabbi, so that’s an excuse for you both to sit on the fence. Are you going to get your hands dirty? No, of course not, and people are going to carry on dying of hunger, and Russia will remain sunk in misery, and you will keep on eating your fine meals and drinking champagne, and the servants will bow to you as you walk past.”
Joshua was hurt by Samuel’s words, as he had never imagined that his friend felt anything akin to resentment.
“What do you have to blame Konstantin for? That he’s an aristocrat? That he’s rich? He didn’t choose where he was born. What do you want him to do? Plant a bomb in his own garden? He has duties, sacred duties, he has to protect his grandmother and his sister. And what should I do? Do you want me to go to the synagogue and shout out that I don’t believe in God? If I did that, it would be a lie. Yes, sometimes the weight of my religion pushes me down, but I am not certain that a world without God would be better than this one.”
“What kind of a person are you?” Samuel asked angrily.
“And what kind of a socialist are you?”
“I don’t live in a palace, and I’m not giving a fancy-dress party, and I’m not standing in a corner sipping a glass of champagne and theorizing about how marvelous a new Russia would be.”
“How can you make fun of our friend like that? You’re talking about him as if he were frivolous, without any moral sense. Konstantin is the best among us, he is generous, he has solidarity with the poor, he always tries to help the weakest among us and uses his family circumstances to help people who need it; and you know that he has managed to save more than one person from the clutches of the Okhrana. How dare you judge him?” Joshua was upset and disappointed by Samuel’s words.
“What’s happening?” The widow Korlov had come into the room, worried by the young men’s tones of voice.
“Nothing . . . nothing . . . Please forgive us . . . Joshua was just leaving, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, that’s right. I don’t think it was a good idea to visit you, you’re in a bad mood; something’s upsetting you and it’s making you lash out against your friends. I won’t say anything to Konstantin, he wouldn’t understand any kind of accusation of disloyalty. I think you have forgotten everything the Goldanskis have done for you and for your father. Even if only for that, you should never have criticized him, not in the slightest. But I won’t say anything; I don’t want to hurt him.”
Samuel felt miserable, but did not know how to take a step back or how to stop his friend and ask his forgiveness. He was cross with himself and had felt the need to take that out on other people. He had argued with his father that morning, after he had found out that Samuel was not going to the Goldanskis’ party. And now he had offended Joshua and Konstantin, and was about to do the same to Raisa Korlov, who was looking at him with wide-open eyes, ready to explode into a long tirade.
“It’s none of my business, but I’m astonished at what I’ve just heard. What did you say to offend your friend so much, to make him leave like that? What could you possibly blame the Goldanski family for, when you and your father, not to mention me, owe them so much? The ungrateful will not enter the kingdom of heaven.”
Samuel said nothing. He turned around and headed for the room he still shared with his father, trying to find some refuge.
Isaac had gone out to find firewood for the widow Korlov, who was worried that she might not have enough to deal with the cold, which, she said, was seeping through the pores in her skin and making its way all the way down to her bones.
The night before, Andrei had given Samuel some papers with some of his comrades’ suggestions.
“Read them, you need to know what our friends are planning.”
Samuel looked for the papers that he had hidden among the pages of an old book on botany, a gift from Countess Ekaterina. He remembered the day that he had accepted the present with emotion, taking it from the hands of the countess under the gaze of Konstantin. The book had belonged to Professor Goldanski. How could he have made even the slightest criticism of Konstantin? Konstantin was his best friend, as generous as his grandfather had been, always willing to give without asking for anything in return, and Samuel had just insulted him as being a selfish, frivolous aristocrat. He felt ashamed of himself. He hoped that Joshua would say nothing to Konstantin.
He felt so bad that for all that his father and Raisa insisted, he did not want to eat the stew of meat and potatoes and the apple pie that the widow Korlov had prepared.
“Are you going to see in the New Year with an empty stomach? That’s not good for you. I know what’s wrong, you’re worried about your argument with your friend Joshua. You’re young and there’s nothing that can’t be fixed, although I didn’t like hearing you tell Joshua that you had anything to say against the Goldanskis.”
“But what did you say?” his father asked.
“Don’t worry, Father, I argued with Joshua about nothing.”
“But what did you say about the Goldanskis? All we have here is due to them, we owe them more than our gratitude.”
“I know, Father, I know . . . Don’t worry.”
To Samuel’s relief, the conversation was interrupted by Andrei’s arrival. He came into the dining room shivering with cold.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier, but the snow makes it impossible to take more than a couple of s
teps at a time.”
“Are you hungry? I hope that you will at least have a bit of my stew. Samuel hasn’t even tasted it,” the widow complained.
“I’m starving, and can’t resist the smell of your stew. I can’t think of a better way to see the year out after a hard day’s work. You were lucky,” he said to Samuel, “they gave you the day off today.”
“I’ve been working all week,” Samuel said to justify himself.
When Andrei had finished giving a good account of himself to the stew, he made a sign for Samuel to accompany him to his room. Once they were there and the door was shut, he looked worriedly at Samuel.
“What’s wrong with you? You’re nervous, and it’s stupid not to eat anything. I told Sokolov the librarian that you would be there tonight, that we could count on you.”
“I’ve said already that I’m coming. And now, forgive me, but I need to go to my father, he wants us to play a game of chess,” Samuel said, as an excuse to get out of Andrei’s room.
It was past ten o’clock when Samuel said goodbye to his father. Andrei had left a little earlier, without even saying goodbye, which gave rise to a bitter comment from Raisa.
“The least he could do is wish us a good night, he didn’t even thank me for the food,” the woman complained.
“Son, you should go to the Goldanskis’ house, there’s still time.”
“I’ve told you that I’ve got another appointment, but I will pass by to wish them a Happy New Year.”
“I wouldn’t like to disappoint the countess . . . I’m not well, but you should go, we owe them a great deal.”
“Please, Father, don’t insist so much, I’ve already said that I’ll go! I won’t be able to stay long, but I will definitely go.”
“Son, I’m worried by how bitter you seem tonight . . . I . . . I don’t know . . . Perhaps if there was something you wanted to tell me . . .”
Shoot Me, I'm Already Dead Page 10
