Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [526]
‘If only,’ he remarked to the young commissar who was accompanying him, ‘it was as easy to organize these cursed villagers as it is to sort out a factory.’
The morning in the factory had gone very well. There was a soviet there, led by a young Bolshevik he could trust. One of the factory managers had been kept on for the last few months to ensure that the plants functioned smoothly. This morning, however, in conversation with the committee, he had satisfied himself that they could operate without the manager now.
‘So you’re to be taken to a concentration camp,’ he had told the astonished manager at noon. Lenin and Trotsky were both very keen to see these camps used more. ‘A new camp is just being set up at Murom,’ he informed the manager. ‘I hope you enjoy it.’
‘But for what crime?’ the fellow had asked.
‘That will be decided in due course,’ the young commissar at Popov’s side had snapped and, grimly amused, Popov had left it at that.
And now the commissar and the village elder faced each other. If either recognized the other, neither gave any sign.
‘Where’s the grain?’ Popov asked quietly.
‘Grain? Over there, Comrade Commissar.’ And he indicated the storehouse.
Popov did not even bother to glance at it. ‘Search the village,’ he ordered the troops peremptorily.
It was a strange little comedy, Ivan thought, as he watched the two men. The two commissars strolled round the village, inspecting the huts, accompanied by Boris who, it seemed, was anxious to show them everything. Indeed, Ivan had never seen his burly, overbearing uncle put on an act like this. He bowed and scraped like an innkeeper from the old days, calling Popov: ‘Comrade Commissar’, ‘Sir’, and even once, in an apparent fit of absent-mindedness, addressing him like a tsarist official: ‘Your Highly Wellborn’.
But Popov’s face remained a mask.
‘Nothing, Commissar,’ the sergeant reported.
To which Popov only replied: ‘No, I didn’t think there would be.’
Turning suddenly to Boris he demanded: ‘What’s up at the big house?’
‘Nothing much, esteemed Comrade Commissar. Just his mother, now.’ Boris indicated Ivan.
‘Good. We’ll see it.’
As they went up the slope, the young commissar asked Popov quietly: ‘You think they have grain?’ Popov nodded. ‘What will you do?’
‘Find it and take it all.’
‘All? Won’t the village itself go hungry then?’
‘Yes.’ Popov glanced at him. ‘You should know, comrade, that hunger is sometimes very useful. It makes the people turn on each other at first – they’ll attack the kulaks who have food. And then they become submissive. These things are well studied, and useful.’
They reached the house. Popov made a brief tour of inspection, insisting on seeing the attic as well as all the outbuildings and the workshops. Having satisfied himself that the place contained no stores, he came back outside. Then he called the people there to come to him in front of the verandah.
There were half a dozen villagers, who had followed out of curiosity, Boris, Ivan and Arina, and three Red soldiers. Popov gave them all a faint smile. Then he turned to Boris.
‘You are the elder. Do you swear you have no grain?’
‘I do, Comrade Commissar.’ Boris nodded vigorously.
‘Very well then.’ He beckoned one of the soldiers. ‘Take aim at her.’ He pointed to Arina. Then he turned to young Ivan. ‘Now tell me where it’s hidden,’ he said gently.
The Red soldier shot Boris by the river, as soon as the last of the containers of grain had been pulled out.
‘And now,’ Popov announced, ‘it’s time to set up a proper village committee.’
Bringing the revolution to the countryside – it wasn’t easy. But the new plan which the leadership had hit upon had a certain brutal logic. The kulaks, the swindlers, the rich peasants, must be hounded out: and who better to do this than the poor peasants – the majority? Committees of the Poor must be set up at once, therefore, to seize control of the villages.
Privately this was one of the few ideas of Lenin’s that Popov did not agree with. ‘For the simple