Living My Life - Emma Goldman [246]
The background seemed most fitting for one reputed for his rigid habits of life and matter-of-factness. Lenin, the man most idolized in the world and equally hated and feared, would have been out of place in surroundings of less severe simplicity.
“Ilich wastes no time on preliminaries. He goes straight to his objective,” Zorin had once said to me with evident pride. Indeed, every step Lenin had made since 1917 testified to this. But if we had been in doubt, the manner of our reception and the mode of our interview would have quickly convinced us of the emotional economy of Ilich. His quick perception of its supply in others and his skill in making the utmost use of it for his purpose were extraordinary. No less amazing was his glee over anything he considered funny in himself or his visitors. Especially if he could put one at a disadvantage, the great Lenin would shake with laughter so as to compel one to laugh with him.
His sharp scrutiny having bared us to the bone, we were treated to a volley of questions, one following the other like arrows from his flint-like brain. America, her political and economic conditions—what were the chances of revolution there in the near future? The American Federation of Labor—was it all honeycombed with bourgeois ideology or was it only Gompers and his clique, and was the rank and file a fertile soil for boring from within? The I.W.W.—what was its strength, and were the anarchists actually as effective as our recent trial would seem to indicate? He had just finished reading our speeches in court. “Great stuff! Clear-cut analysis of the capitalist system, splendid propaganda!” Too bad we could not have remained in the United States, no matter at what price. We were most welcome in Soviet Russia, of course, but such fighters were badly needed in America to help in the approaching revolution, “as many of your best comrades had been in ours.” “And you, Tovarishtch Berkman, what an organizer you must be, like Shatoff. True metal, your comrade Shatoff; shrinks from nothing and can work like a dozen men. In Siberia now, commissar of railroads in the Far Eastern Republic. Many other anarchists hold important positions with us. Everything is open to them if they are willing to co-operate with us as true ideiny anarchists. You, Tovarishtch Berkman, will soon find your place. A pity, though, that you were torn away from America at this portentous time. And you, Tovarishtch Goldman? What a field you had! You could have remained. Why didn’t you, even if Tovarishtch Berkman was shoved out? Well, you’re here. Have you thought of the work you want to do? You are ideiny anarchists, I can see that by your stand on the war, your defence of ‘October,’ and your fight for us, your faith in the soviets. Just like your great comrade Malatesta,18 who is entirely with Soviet Russia. What is it you prefer to do?”
Sasha was the first to get his breath. He began in English, but Lenin at once stopped him with a mirthful laugh. “Do you think I understand English? Not a word. Nor any other foreign languages. I am no good at them, though I have lived abroad for many years. Funny, isn’t it?” And off he went in peals of laughter. Sasha continued in Russian. He