Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [473]
It was said with great seriousness and great conviction. And all who heard him believed.
Or so it seemed, until young Alexander Bobrov broke his silence.
He had been standing beside Vladimir Suvorin all this time, watching Popov carefully. True, he had been listening as well, but for Alexander it was not a question of argument. The red-headed Bolshevik was his enemy. He knew that in his bones. His enemy unto death. For the youth, therefore, it was only a question of observing the object of his hatred so that he might know him better.
And now the revolutionary’s words had infuriated him: not because of what had been said but because, Alexander could see, the hearers had been impressed. Are they all going to be as stupid as my father? he wondered. And he had a burning urge to expose Popov, to throw down the gauntlet, and to humiliate him.
‘I’ve heard that all the leading revolutionaries are yids,’ he said, softly but distinctly. ‘Is it true?’
It was a calculated impertinence, a sort of generalized insult that those on the right liked to use – to anger Jews by calling them all revolutionaries and revolutionaries by calling them all Jews. There was a horrible, embarrassed silence.
But Popov, gazing at the boy, who was now flushing, only chuckled.
‘Well, of course, Trotsky and Rosa Luxemburg are both Jewish,’ he said. ‘So are several others I can think of. But so far, my friend, I have to tell you that the Jews are in a minority in our party. Mind you,’ he added, with a wink at Peter Suvorin, ‘Lenin, who’s not a Slav himself, always says the only intelligent Russians are the Jewish ones. So you’ll have to make what you can of that.’
It was well handled, and the company laughed gratefully. Alexander felt Vladimir Suvorin’s large hand resting on his shoulder give him a gentle, warning squeeze, but he ignored even his hero.
‘What about terrorism? I hear that the Bolsheviks are behind some of the bombing, and that they’ve been committing robberies too.’
In fact, these charges were entirely true. Lenin advocated both methods at this time, to maximize disruption and to get funds for the Bolsheviks – a fact which embarrassed party men like Peter Suvorin who tried to cover it up.
‘I too have heard of these incidents and expropriations,’ Popov replied blandly. ‘But I know absolutely nothing about them.’
Now Vladimir’s hand moved down to Alexander’s arm, squeezed firmly, and the boy heard the great man whisper: ‘Enough, my friend.’ But he had not finished.
‘Do you know, I have seen you before,’ he said, more loudly. ‘When you were inciting the workers of the man in whose house you now dare to come. But you avoided meeting him then. You used another name – Ivanov – and ran away like a dog. How many names have you, Mr Popov?’
For a moment, as Popov turned his green eyes upon him, it seemed to young Alexander that he was looking at a snake. But then, very calmly, the Bolshevik replied: ‘It is a sad fact that for a long time – since any opposition in Russia is under police surveillance – many people have had to use more than one name. Lenin, to my knowledge, has used more than a hundred.’ Though cool, Popov had turned pale.
‘You deny that you’re a thief and a coward then?’ Alexander pursued, into the terrible silence.
This time Popov did not reply at all, but only looked at him, for a moment more, with a faint half-smile. Then Mrs Suvorin, with an easy laugh, led Popov away.
‘You’ve made a dangerous enemy,’ Alexander’s father warned him, a few minutes later. To which the youth only replied, sulkily: ‘It’s better than having him as a friend.’
Despite Alexander’s embarrassing attack, it was generally agreed, afterwards, that the evening had been a success. Indeed, it was one of those special occasions which, for long afterwards, and for different reasons, remains as a landmark in the minds of all those concerned.
For Nicolai Bobrov, it was the evening when his son made an enemy of Popov.