incredible
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Beauty And The Russian Beast
- Thread starter Eulalia
- Start date
“To begin with, you know my parents were shot when I was ten. Beria was responsible, he made me watch their execution, then I was packed off to that hell of an orphanage. After that, the Red Army, vicious fighting against the Nazis, turn of the tide, we started moving west.
I won’t deny it, Alisa, by then I was just a ruthless, murderous, thug, one of a squad of thugs. What we did to you and your sister wasn’t the first time – nor, I’m sorry to admit, was it the last. But that night in your wreck of a farmhouse changed me. When I saw the way you coped with what we were doing to you, when I saw your courage, the determination in those eyes, I thought Christ, what sort of shit am I when a scruffy kid like this can show me up?
I’m not pretending I suddenly became a saint, far from it, but it was like you planted a seed. I was vomiting drunk and hardly knew what I was doing, but I managed to scribble that ‘sorry’ note – it was pathetic, but something told me I had to…” I smile weakly, remembering finding the scrap of paper, Nastja deciphering it, screwing it up, me retrieving and saving it – and losing it with my diaries when we flitted from Brest… But I nod to him to go on.
“That look in your eyes when I was holding the chair and you glanced up at me haunted me all through the following months, as we as we pushed on through Poland and into Germany. Not that we stopped torturing and raping women, we just got worse. But you taught me a kind of determination that I’d lost when mum and dad were shot and I was brutalised in that orphanage, or maybe I’d just never had it.
When I was discharged, I had a clear idea that, one way or another, I was going to get Beria. I hadn’t the foggiest idea how, but the determination you’d taught me channelled into that. I got a job with the Board of Agricultural Planning, I knew that was part of Beria’s empire, but that of course was huge. I volunteered for the posting to Brest, nobody else wanted it, everyone knew it was a hellishly dangerous part of the ‘new’ Soviet territories, people said I might as well volunteer for exile to Siberia. But I thought if I could prove myself there, it could be a way to move up the snakes-and-ladders board. And, just as important for me, I was determined to do all I could to try and track you down.”
I sigh, “Why, Ivan?” “I needed you – honestly, I kept dreaming of you, those eyes – you were my inspiration, my demon, my fury, you were driving me on…” I just chuckle coldly, finish up my tea.
“Well, you know what followed, amazingly I did find you, even more amazingly, you chose to come to Brest, still the same – asking, begging me to torture you!” My hips swivel a little on the wooden seat as my body recalls those delicious summer nights at Ivan’s dacha.
“And I did make a success of collectivisation in the Brest region. I was tough, yes, ruthless, I was still a thug, even if I was dressed in a suit and carrying official papers instead of a gun. As I’ve told you before, I wasn’t working for the MGB, I was watching them as I knew they were watching me, but we had to work pretty closely together to sort out the troublemakers, there were plenty of those in Brest region.
So then came the invitation to May Day in Moscow. What’s more, I was invited to bring my partner.” I sit up, this is one bit of the story I’m still suspicious about. “Was I bait?” I ask, with a sharp look into his eyes. He shakes his head “Not as far as I was concerned, Alisa, the invitation came from the top, on Kremlin stationery, it wasn’t one I could refuse!”
I still look at him hard. “I don’t know, honestly I still don’t know, whether Beria already knew about you, and planned what happened – if he did, it must have been the MGB in Brest trying to stir up trouble for me, but it might have just been chance. I didn’t know he was going to visit the hotel. In any case, I still like to think that being formally congratulated the following day, and getting promotion straight after, was down to my success in sorting out the Brest region. But I can’t deny, having you as my partner might well have helped.”
I won’t deny it, Alisa, by then I was just a ruthless, murderous, thug, one of a squad of thugs. What we did to you and your sister wasn’t the first time – nor, I’m sorry to admit, was it the last. But that night in your wreck of a farmhouse changed me. When I saw the way you coped with what we were doing to you, when I saw your courage, the determination in those eyes, I thought Christ, what sort of shit am I when a scruffy kid like this can show me up?
I’m not pretending I suddenly became a saint, far from it, but it was like you planted a seed. I was vomiting drunk and hardly knew what I was doing, but I managed to scribble that ‘sorry’ note – it was pathetic, but something told me I had to…” I smile weakly, remembering finding the scrap of paper, Nastja deciphering it, screwing it up, me retrieving and saving it – and losing it with my diaries when we flitted from Brest… But I nod to him to go on.
“That look in your eyes when I was holding the chair and you glanced up at me haunted me all through the following months, as we as we pushed on through Poland and into Germany. Not that we stopped torturing and raping women, we just got worse. But you taught me a kind of determination that I’d lost when mum and dad were shot and I was brutalised in that orphanage, or maybe I’d just never had it.
When I was discharged, I had a clear idea that, one way or another, I was going to get Beria. I hadn’t the foggiest idea how, but the determination you’d taught me channelled into that. I got a job with the Board of Agricultural Planning, I knew that was part of Beria’s empire, but that of course was huge. I volunteered for the posting to Brest, nobody else wanted it, everyone knew it was a hellishly dangerous part of the ‘new’ Soviet territories, people said I might as well volunteer for exile to Siberia. But I thought if I could prove myself there, it could be a way to move up the snakes-and-ladders board. And, just as important for me, I was determined to do all I could to try and track you down.”
I sigh, “Why, Ivan?” “I needed you – honestly, I kept dreaming of you, those eyes – you were my inspiration, my demon, my fury, you were driving me on…” I just chuckle coldly, finish up my tea.
“Well, you know what followed, amazingly I did find you, even more amazingly, you chose to come to Brest, still the same – asking, begging me to torture you!” My hips swivel a little on the wooden seat as my body recalls those delicious summer nights at Ivan’s dacha.
“And I did make a success of collectivisation in the Brest region. I was tough, yes, ruthless, I was still a thug, even if I was dressed in a suit and carrying official papers instead of a gun. As I’ve told you before, I wasn’t working for the MGB, I was watching them as I knew they were watching me, but we had to work pretty closely together to sort out the troublemakers, there were plenty of those in Brest region.
So then came the invitation to May Day in Moscow. What’s more, I was invited to bring my partner.” I sit up, this is one bit of the story I’m still suspicious about. “Was I bait?” I ask, with a sharp look into his eyes. He shakes his head “Not as far as I was concerned, Alisa, the invitation came from the top, on Kremlin stationery, it wasn’t one I could refuse!”
I still look at him hard. “I don’t know, honestly I still don’t know, whether Beria already knew about you, and planned what happened – if he did, it must have been the MGB in Brest trying to stir up trouble for me, but it might have just been chance. I didn’t know he was going to visit the hotel. In any case, I still like to think that being formally congratulated the following day, and getting promotion straight after, was down to my success in sorting out the Brest region. But I can’t deny, having you as my partner might well have helped.”
nice twist, Eulalia...
Tree
Tree
Ivan looks at me, a bit anxious, I must be deathly pale, I know I’m trembling at the memories that are crowding back. “Tell me if you want me to stop, Alisa, if you’d rather leave this till later.” “No,” I reply, a bit nervously, but firmly, “I want to know. I need to know.”
“Well, you do know what followed. Our dash to Moscow.” I’m shaking uncontrollably now. “I was glad you decided to come with me –“ I laugh ironically “Beria didn’t order me to bring you with me, but I knew it was what he expected. And what happened to you that night with him – well, again, he didn’t tell me it was a requirement, he didn’t need to…” “Okay, Ivan,” I chip in, “we’ve been through all that. I’d chosen to come with you up the board, I had to slide down the odd snake.”
He nods. “One other thing I hadn’t bargained for was the MGB getting hold of your diaries. That turned out to be a bigger snake than I’d guessed.” I cringe at the memory of that icy woman and brutal man quoting them to me in the torture chamber.
“Anyway, we got to Moscow, I found out about my new job.” “In Beria’s private office?” “Yes.” He pauses, looking disturbed himself at the memories coming back. “Of course, even his private office team was quite big, they weren’t all of them that close to him. But I was.” “What were you doing?”
His voice quietens as if from force of habit, it always has done when telling me something confidential, even when were deep in the forest. “Beria’s office, I think you had the privilege of visiting it?” Another shudder, “Yes, I did – once…” “Then you saw the big windows?” “The curtains were drawn.” “Ah, well, he’d insisted on having the suite that overlooks Red Square. And on the window-seat he always kept a pair of powerful military binoculars. He used to look through those quite often – especially around eight in the morning and four in the afternoon, when schoolgirls were coming and going, college students, office workers, shopgirls…” I sigh.
“When he spotted one who took his fancy, he’d phone a signal through to his agents. She’d soon be identified, half the people in the Square are always agents of one department or another, there’s all sorts of secret watchpoints. She’d be picked up…”
His voice tails away, he’s obviously sickened by what he’s remembering. But I look at him sternly, “What did you have to do, Ivan?” He takes a deep breath. “It was my job to check on her details, to prepare a file, in case it was needed…” “What do you mean?” “If she behaved herself, took the flowers and kept her mouth shut, she’d be okay. But any resistance, or any hint that she’d breathed a word about what he’d done to her, she’d be on the train to Siberia. And so would her parents, brothers and sisters – if her sisters were pretty, they went via Beria’s bedroom…”
Now I’m feeling sick, sick at the revelation of what Ivan had been doing, sick at the realisation that I’d been a part of it. “B-but that was totally wrong Ivan, totally evil – those girls had committed no crime…” He shakes his head, there are tears in his eyes. But he chokes them back. “I was at the top of the board, Alisa,” he says hoarsely, “I was near my goal.”
A mixture of horror and fury seizes me. “And you dragged me into Department 14 to do your dirty work for you?!” He takes another deep breath. “That was Beria’s idea. I’ll admit it suited me, I knew I could trust you – even under torture –“ I shake violently at that word, “but of course it suited Beria even more. He didn’t trust anyone, he mistrusted me less than most. Still, you were his insurance policy…”
I understood, all too well.
“Well, you do know what followed. Our dash to Moscow.” I’m shaking uncontrollably now. “I was glad you decided to come with me –“ I laugh ironically “Beria didn’t order me to bring you with me, but I knew it was what he expected. And what happened to you that night with him – well, again, he didn’t tell me it was a requirement, he didn’t need to…” “Okay, Ivan,” I chip in, “we’ve been through all that. I’d chosen to come with you up the board, I had to slide down the odd snake.”
He nods. “One other thing I hadn’t bargained for was the MGB getting hold of your diaries. That turned out to be a bigger snake than I’d guessed.” I cringe at the memory of that icy woman and brutal man quoting them to me in the torture chamber.
“Anyway, we got to Moscow, I found out about my new job.” “In Beria’s private office?” “Yes.” He pauses, looking disturbed himself at the memories coming back. “Of course, even his private office team was quite big, they weren’t all of them that close to him. But I was.” “What were you doing?”
His voice quietens as if from force of habit, it always has done when telling me something confidential, even when were deep in the forest. “Beria’s office, I think you had the privilege of visiting it?” Another shudder, “Yes, I did – once…” “Then you saw the big windows?” “The curtains were drawn.” “Ah, well, he’d insisted on having the suite that overlooks Red Square. And on the window-seat he always kept a pair of powerful military binoculars. He used to look through those quite often – especially around eight in the morning and four in the afternoon, when schoolgirls were coming and going, college students, office workers, shopgirls…” I sigh.
“When he spotted one who took his fancy, he’d phone a signal through to his agents. She’d soon be identified, half the people in the Square are always agents of one department or another, there’s all sorts of secret watchpoints. She’d be picked up…”
His voice tails away, he’s obviously sickened by what he’s remembering. But I look at him sternly, “What did you have to do, Ivan?” He takes a deep breath. “It was my job to check on her details, to prepare a file, in case it was needed…” “What do you mean?” “If she behaved herself, took the flowers and kept her mouth shut, she’d be okay. But any resistance, or any hint that she’d breathed a word about what he’d done to her, she’d be on the train to Siberia. And so would her parents, brothers and sisters – if her sisters were pretty, they went via Beria’s bedroom…”
Now I’m feeling sick, sick at the revelation of what Ivan had been doing, sick at the realisation that I’d been a part of it. “B-but that was totally wrong Ivan, totally evil – those girls had committed no crime…” He shakes his head, there are tears in his eyes. But he chokes them back. “I was at the top of the board, Alisa,” he says hoarsely, “I was near my goal.”
A mixture of horror and fury seizes me. “And you dragged me into Department 14 to do your dirty work for you?!” He takes another deep breath. “That was Beria’s idea. I’ll admit it suited me, I knew I could trust you – even under torture –“ I shake violently at that word, “but of course it suited Beria even more. He didn’t trust anyone, he mistrusted me less than most. Still, you were his insurance policy…”
I understood, all too well.
RacingRodent
Consul
A chillingly effective piece of disclosure Eul, very well handled.
Such a dark place and time, so vividly and frighteningly brought to life.....powerful Eul, simply powerful!
I ask Ivan to get me a glass of water, I’m certainly needing it. When he returns, he asks again if I want him to go on. Oh yes, these are things I need to know, God knows I was troubled while I was working on those files, what he’s telling me now is far worse than I’d feared. But he seems more positive as he continues, “Well, at least I knew everything was in my control, if I – you and I – hadn’t been doing it, someone else would have. And I was able to save some of those girls, or at least minmise their sentences, with a bit of judicious editing.”
“And anyway, there was soon an interesting development. I was approached by a couple of guys from the MGB. They were wanting information on Beria’s activities with girls. At first, they offered me a bribe, good money, and also hinted at a threat – a threat against you, Alisa – they’d read your diaries.” I’m still trembling, and that information doesn’t help. “I told them they didn’t need to bribe me, nor did they need to threaten me. If they wanted details of all the girls that beast fucked, they could have them.” I look up at him, “Do I know these men?” He grins, “Of course you do, Maxim and Ilya!”
“It turns out they were in Beria’s bodyguard during the war. Even when the German army was closing in on Moscow, Leningrad under siege, they were ferrying that man around in his limousine picking up teenage girls. They were sickened then, and resolved that one day he’d pay for his crimes. After the war, when Stalin took security out of Beria’s control, they were assigned to the MGB. But actually – Maxim’s only told me this since Beria was tried and shot – their commander in Beria’s bodyguard, Colonel Sarkisov, had been keeping a record of all those girls during the war. Beria had actually instructed him to make the list, but then ordered him to destroy it, but he kept a copy. And after the war, he went on collecting evidence. So the information I gave them didn’t go into the MGB files – fortunately, as it turned out – it went straight to Sarkisov.
And when Nikita Krushchev and his allies launched their coup and Beria was arrested, Sarkisov was able to come forward with all the evidence of his preying on young girls. Of course, he’d committed plenty of other crimes too, but you and I can have the satisfaction of knowing we played our part. They say he fell on his knees and howled like a baby when he was sentenced, General Batitsky stuffed a rag in his mouth and shot him like a dog.”
Ivan’s tone and expression have changed as he’s reached the climax of his narrative. I can understand his satisfaction, I certainly feel no sympathy for the monster, but there are still things that trouble me, some deep, dark waters that Ivan has skated over…
“And anyway, there was soon an interesting development. I was approached by a couple of guys from the MGB. They were wanting information on Beria’s activities with girls. At first, they offered me a bribe, good money, and also hinted at a threat – a threat against you, Alisa – they’d read your diaries.” I’m still trembling, and that information doesn’t help. “I told them they didn’t need to bribe me, nor did they need to threaten me. If they wanted details of all the girls that beast fucked, they could have them.” I look up at him, “Do I know these men?” He grins, “Of course you do, Maxim and Ilya!”
“It turns out they were in Beria’s bodyguard during the war. Even when the German army was closing in on Moscow, Leningrad under siege, they were ferrying that man around in his limousine picking up teenage girls. They were sickened then, and resolved that one day he’d pay for his crimes. After the war, when Stalin took security out of Beria’s control, they were assigned to the MGB. But actually – Maxim’s only told me this since Beria was tried and shot – their commander in Beria’s bodyguard, Colonel Sarkisov, had been keeping a record of all those girls during the war. Beria had actually instructed him to make the list, but then ordered him to destroy it, but he kept a copy. And after the war, he went on collecting evidence. So the information I gave them didn’t go into the MGB files – fortunately, as it turned out – it went straight to Sarkisov.
And when Nikita Krushchev and his allies launched their coup and Beria was arrested, Sarkisov was able to come forward with all the evidence of his preying on young girls. Of course, he’d committed plenty of other crimes too, but you and I can have the satisfaction of knowing we played our part. They say he fell on his knees and howled like a baby when he was sentenced, General Batitsky stuffed a rag in his mouth and shot him like a dog.”
Ivan’s tone and expression have changed as he’s reached the climax of his narrative. I can understand his satisfaction, I certainly feel no sympathy for the monster, but there are still things that trouble me, some deep, dark waters that Ivan has skated over…
RacingRodent
Consul
Except the thing to remember is that they only used that as the excuse post facto, the main reason they moved against him was for trying to end the Cold War. Just like fictional Ivan most of the upper echelons of the Party had been complicit in a fair few crimes and climbed over a heap of bodies to get where they were. Not a nice crowd.
I'll say a bit more about the historical setting after another episode or two, as more is revealed,
but you're right, what I'm dealing with all through the story is the sort of situation where there really aren't
any clear-cut "goodies", where even trying to do what seems good can entail appalling moral compromises.
While it may seem remote from the lives we lead, I don't think it's far under the surface,
and it seems more real to me than any 'good vs evil' scenario.
It's arrogant for me to make the comparison, but it's the world of Dostoyevsky, Ibsen, Shakespeare, Sophocles...
After a long think, taking in all that he’s just told me, I look up into his dark eyes, still watching me with a look of concern. “Well Ivan,” I say, “I understand, thankyou for explaining all that. But have you forgotten the last time we met? When I was stretched out naked on Beria’s torture-machine, and you were stuffing wire-wool in my cunt and firing high voltages through me?” His eyes lower, his hand’s the one that’s shaking now. “No, I haven’t forgotten. I’ll try to explain…”
“And about those Jewish girls, all that stuff about Mossad? Oh –“ I suddenly remember, “on the train – there’s a girl named Hannah Bogdanova – what’s going to happen to her?” “Don’t worry, Alisa, the train’s going nowhere, at least not until we’ve checked through everyone on board. It’s a big operation. Some of them are real criminals, they’ll need transporting. But any that are just victims of Beria’s whims will soon be home… Hannah what?” “Bogdanova.” “I’ll go and check.”
He hurries out. He seems eager to put off answering my question, but if he can really do something for that poor kid, I’m happy to wait. As to his account of what he was up to, and Maxim and Ilya, and why I was doing that job in Department 14, well I suppose it hangs together. I wish he’d told me more at the time, but I guess there were good reasons why he didn’t…
The stationmaster comes in, bearing a tray of sandwiches and some cake. “My wife’s made these for you,” he says proudly. I smile, “Thankyou, and thank her, very much.” He grins. “This is the busiest day I’ve had out here in this dead dump since the end of the war. Most of my time I’m just sitting here counting the trains going through and filling in forms. Oh –“, he fishes in a satchel he’s wearing, produces a bottle of vodka and a glass, “I expect the comrade will appreciate this!” He leaves his gifts, I start eating enthusiastically, I’ve grown so used to being hungry, I've hardly been aware how much I need food.
Soon Ivan looks in, grins when he sees the vodka, “I’ll recommend this stationmaster for an award, he’s a true Hero of Soviet Labour!” he chuckles. “Anyway,” he goes on, “I’ve found Hannah, she’ll be okay. There’s a bus going to ferry priority cases straight to the airfield – and I’ve even managed to confirm that her parents are safe and free, she’ll be back with them tonight.” “Thanks, Ivan.” He sits down, pours himself a glass, I gesture to him to help himself to a sandwich, but he says “You eat it all, you look as if you need it!” He takes good sip. “Now, I’ll try and explain…”
“And about those Jewish girls, all that stuff about Mossad? Oh –“ I suddenly remember, “on the train – there’s a girl named Hannah Bogdanova – what’s going to happen to her?” “Don’t worry, Alisa, the train’s going nowhere, at least not until we’ve checked through everyone on board. It’s a big operation. Some of them are real criminals, they’ll need transporting. But any that are just victims of Beria’s whims will soon be home… Hannah what?” “Bogdanova.” “I’ll go and check.”
He hurries out. He seems eager to put off answering my question, but if he can really do something for that poor kid, I’m happy to wait. As to his account of what he was up to, and Maxim and Ilya, and why I was doing that job in Department 14, well I suppose it hangs together. I wish he’d told me more at the time, but I guess there were good reasons why he didn’t…
The stationmaster comes in, bearing a tray of sandwiches and some cake. “My wife’s made these for you,” he says proudly. I smile, “Thankyou, and thank her, very much.” He grins. “This is the busiest day I’ve had out here in this dead dump since the end of the war. Most of my time I’m just sitting here counting the trains going through and filling in forms. Oh –“, he fishes in a satchel he’s wearing, produces a bottle of vodka and a glass, “I expect the comrade will appreciate this!” He leaves his gifts, I start eating enthusiastically, I’ve grown so used to being hungry, I've hardly been aware how much I need food.
Soon Ivan looks in, grins when he sees the vodka, “I’ll recommend this stationmaster for an award, he’s a true Hero of Soviet Labour!” he chuckles. “Anyway,” he goes on, “I’ve found Hannah, she’ll be okay. There’s a bus going to ferry priority cases straight to the airfield – and I’ve even managed to confirm that her parents are safe and free, she’ll be back with them tonight.” “Thanks, Ivan.” He sits down, pours himself a glass, I gesture to him to help himself to a sandwich, but he says “You eat it all, you look as if you need it!” He takes good sip. “Now, I’ll try and explain…”
“As soon as Stalin died, Beria seized control of the MGB -” “And I was arrested,” I chip in. “You were arrested, so were all the key staff in Department 14, and a whole host of others in the MGB, anyone Beria wasn’t sure of. And me too.” I’m startled, “You were arrested?” “Well, sort of. You’ll remember the weekend before Stalin died,” “I certainly do!” “Beria had told me some very significant development may occur over the weekend, I was to stay by the phone and be ready to rush straight to his office if I got a call.” “And that call came – at 3 o’clock on Monday morning.” “Exactly.”
“I went straight to the Vice-Premier’s suite as instructed. When I got there, Beria informed me that Stalin had been taken gravely ill – how he knew on Friday evening that Stalin was going to fall ill on Sunday is one little mystery he’s taken with him to his grave, I guess the world will never know the truth – but he also told me that I was to remain in the office suite from then on, and to contact nobody, until further orders. So I was imprisoned in the Kremlin. My accommodation was admittedly rather more high-class than you were getting in the Lubyanka, but there was no way I could get out or find out what was happening to you.
Beria and his gang must have been working through all the records in the MGB, weeding out anything that agency had collected about him and his doings. Mercifully, as I said, he didn’t find any trace of what I’d been doing, the stuff I’d passed to Maxim and Illya, that had gone straight to Sarkisov. But what he did find was a report from our embassy in London. They’d sent on information they’d been getting from our contacts in British intelligence – we’ve got their MI6 well stitched up! – that the Israeli security service, Mossad, was receiving regular, detailed information about the Jewish people Stalin had been rounding up. And, in particular, they’d got files on the daughters and other young female relatives of those Jews…”
I tremble, “The ones I’d been processing?” Ivan nods. He pauses, looks at me rather penetratingly, asks, “Alisa, what do you remember about those forms?” Suddenly I feel uneasy, I don’t like this turn, it brings back the horror of my interrogations. “W-what do you mean?” He just looks at me, expectantly. “Er, well, after the New Year holiday, there was a pile of them, I was a bit surprised. I noticed a lot of the names seemed to be Jewish… and there were more during the next few weeks… but why are you questioning me about them? You know I didn’t give them to Mossad.”
“Yes, I know you didn’t.” The memory of those terrible minutes on Beria’s torture-rack is flashing in my mind, the pain seems to be leaping through me again. “But, Ivan, it must have been you!” “No, it wasn’t. I didn’t know anything about those forms. They didn’t come from me, they were never passed on to me.” I’m flabbergasted. My head whirls as I try to make sense. “B-but, why did you torture me? If you knew it wasn’t me… were you doing it to save yourself?” He shakes his head. “It was the oldest trick in Beria’s book – he was torturing me.” “What do you mean?” “Making me torture the one person I love and care about in the world, far more effective than putting me on the rack myself.”
My whole body heaves at the thought, I look down at my still disfigured hands, trying to make sense. “So if it wasn’t me and it wasn’t you, who was it?” “Beria knew perfectly well. Your interrogation, making me torture you, it was just a charade, a cover-up. He knew all along.” “Who?” “It was him. He’d been passing those forms to Mossad himself.”
“I went straight to the Vice-Premier’s suite as instructed. When I got there, Beria informed me that Stalin had been taken gravely ill – how he knew on Friday evening that Stalin was going to fall ill on Sunday is one little mystery he’s taken with him to his grave, I guess the world will never know the truth – but he also told me that I was to remain in the office suite from then on, and to contact nobody, until further orders. So I was imprisoned in the Kremlin. My accommodation was admittedly rather more high-class than you were getting in the Lubyanka, but there was no way I could get out or find out what was happening to you.
Beria and his gang must have been working through all the records in the MGB, weeding out anything that agency had collected about him and his doings. Mercifully, as I said, he didn’t find any trace of what I’d been doing, the stuff I’d passed to Maxim and Illya, that had gone straight to Sarkisov. But what he did find was a report from our embassy in London. They’d sent on information they’d been getting from our contacts in British intelligence – we’ve got their MI6 well stitched up! – that the Israeli security service, Mossad, was receiving regular, detailed information about the Jewish people Stalin had been rounding up. And, in particular, they’d got files on the daughters and other young female relatives of those Jews…”
I tremble, “The ones I’d been processing?” Ivan nods. He pauses, looks at me rather penetratingly, asks, “Alisa, what do you remember about those forms?” Suddenly I feel uneasy, I don’t like this turn, it brings back the horror of my interrogations. “W-what do you mean?” He just looks at me, expectantly. “Er, well, after the New Year holiday, there was a pile of them, I was a bit surprised. I noticed a lot of the names seemed to be Jewish… and there were more during the next few weeks… but why are you questioning me about them? You know I didn’t give them to Mossad.”
“Yes, I know you didn’t.” The memory of those terrible minutes on Beria’s torture-rack is flashing in my mind, the pain seems to be leaping through me again. “But, Ivan, it must have been you!” “No, it wasn’t. I didn’t know anything about those forms. They didn’t come from me, they were never passed on to me.” I’m flabbergasted. My head whirls as I try to make sense. “B-but, why did you torture me? If you knew it wasn’t me… were you doing it to save yourself?” He shakes his head. “It was the oldest trick in Beria’s book – he was torturing me.” “What do you mean?” “Making me torture the one person I love and care about in the world, far more effective than putting me on the rack myself.”
My whole body heaves at the thought, I look down at my still disfigured hands, trying to make sense. “So if it wasn’t me and it wasn’t you, who was it?” “Beria knew perfectly well. Your interrogation, making me torture you, it was just a charade, a cover-up. He knew all along.” “Who?” “It was him. He’d been passing those forms to Mossad himself.”
A brief historical note, in case that last twist in the tale seems too far-fetched:
Beria was certainly plotting against Stalin, during the War and after.
He was well aware of Stalin’s visceral anti-semitism, and saw it as a weakness.
He also thought Stalin’s hostility to the State of Israel, and his cultivating dodgy Arab régimes,
was a strategic mistake.
As soon as Stalin died, Beria did in fact release the Jewish doctors and other professionals and their relatives who had been arrested in Stalin’s final months (those that were still alive).
No-one would pretend the monstrous Beria was a true friend of Israel or the Jews,
but in his manoeuvrings against Stalin, it suited his purposes to cultivate links
with effective Jewish networks within and outwith the USSR.
My story is of course wholly made-up, but I’ve tried to make everything in it at least possible.
Sticklers for historical accuracy will however note that, although Beria’s overthrow and arrest happened on June 26th 1954, his trial and execution weren’t until December 23rd. I think it makes for a better ending to my story to shunt those two events much closer together!
Just one more episode to come…
Beria was certainly plotting against Stalin, during the War and after.
He was well aware of Stalin’s visceral anti-semitism, and saw it as a weakness.
He also thought Stalin’s hostility to the State of Israel, and his cultivating dodgy Arab régimes,
was a strategic mistake.
As soon as Stalin died, Beria did in fact release the Jewish doctors and other professionals and their relatives who had been arrested in Stalin’s final months (those that were still alive).
No-one would pretend the monstrous Beria was a true friend of Israel or the Jews,
but in his manoeuvrings against Stalin, it suited his purposes to cultivate links
with effective Jewish networks within and outwith the USSR.
My story is of course wholly made-up, but I’ve tried to make everything in it at least possible.
Sticklers for historical accuracy will however note that, although Beria’s overthrow and arrest happened on June 26th 1954, his trial and execution weren’t until December 23rd. I think it makes for a better ending to my story to shunt those two events much closer together!
Just one more episode to come…
I’m silent, lightning-struck.
He takes my hands, the first time he’s touched me since I came off the train. I don’t resist. “Your future’s in your hands now, Alisa,” he says, quietly but firmly, “Of course I hope you’ll want to stay with me, but if you decide you don’t want to ever see me again, I’ll understand. Whatever you decide, I’ll make sure you’re safe and comfortable. You can pick up your studies at the University – maybe you’ll be an academician, or a great writer, I’ll do all I can to make things possible for you. Our country certainly isn’t the kingdom of heaven just yet, but a very dark era has passed – you’’ll be part of its future!” He lets go, stands up. “We’d better go now. There’s a car waiting to take us to the airfield.”
Most of the journey back to Moscow is a confused daze. I remember thanking the nice stationmaster. I remember reaching the hut that serves as the lounge on the arctic, windswept airfield. I remember seeing Hannah among the people already waiting there, we hug each other, we’re both crying. On the small, creaky military plane, I doze some of the time, the rest of it I drift between nightmarish memories and hopeless attempts to make rational sense of all that’s happened.
We land at a big military airbase, a bus ferries all of us on board across to the main building. Hannah and other people who’d been taken off the train have to wait, they’re looking as bewildered as I still feel, but I wave to my friend, she gives me a smile. Ivan, as usual, has all the paperwork fixed, we’re waved through the security check, out to an entrance foyer.
Maxim and Ilya are there. They greet Ivan with bear hugs, but look a bit sheepishly at me, they’re not quite sure how I’m going to react. I give them a weak smile. Outside in the pick-up area, the more-or-less trusty old GAZ is waiting. I climb in the back with Ivan, Maxim gets in the passenger seat, Ilya cranks up the engine. Ivan turns to me. “Well Alisa, where do you want us to take you? Back to my apartment? Or to a good hotel, where you can get the sleep you need, and think about your decision?” I don’t answer, I’m still feeling shaky, tearful, confused. The motor’s chugging now, Ilya climbs in.
Suddenly my mind lights up, I lift my face. “Ilya,” I ask, “did you ever get your ciné camera?” He grins broadly, “Yes, I did!” “Well then, take me to Izba Smerty!”
He takes my hands, the first time he’s touched me since I came off the train. I don’t resist. “Your future’s in your hands now, Alisa,” he says, quietly but firmly, “Of course I hope you’ll want to stay with me, but if you decide you don’t want to ever see me again, I’ll understand. Whatever you decide, I’ll make sure you’re safe and comfortable. You can pick up your studies at the University – maybe you’ll be an academician, or a great writer, I’ll do all I can to make things possible for you. Our country certainly isn’t the kingdom of heaven just yet, but a very dark era has passed – you’’ll be part of its future!” He lets go, stands up. “We’d better go now. There’s a car waiting to take us to the airfield.”
Most of the journey back to Moscow is a confused daze. I remember thanking the nice stationmaster. I remember reaching the hut that serves as the lounge on the arctic, windswept airfield. I remember seeing Hannah among the people already waiting there, we hug each other, we’re both crying. On the small, creaky military plane, I doze some of the time, the rest of it I drift between nightmarish memories and hopeless attempts to make rational sense of all that’s happened.
We land at a big military airbase, a bus ferries all of us on board across to the main building. Hannah and other people who’d been taken off the train have to wait, they’re looking as bewildered as I still feel, but I wave to my friend, she gives me a smile. Ivan, as usual, has all the paperwork fixed, we’re waved through the security check, out to an entrance foyer.
Maxim and Ilya are there. They greet Ivan with bear hugs, but look a bit sheepishly at me, they’re not quite sure how I’m going to react. I give them a weak smile. Outside in the pick-up area, the more-or-less trusty old GAZ is waiting. I climb in the back with Ivan, Maxim gets in the passenger seat, Ilya cranks up the engine. Ivan turns to me. “Well Alisa, where do you want us to take you? Back to my apartment? Or to a good hotel, where you can get the sleep you need, and think about your decision?” I don’t answer, I’m still feeling shaky, tearful, confused. The motor’s chugging now, Ilya climbs in.
Suddenly my mind lights up, I lift my face. “Ilya,” I ask, “did you ever get your ciné camera?” He grins broadly, “Yes, I did!” “Well then, take me to Izba Smerty!”
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Wow! Eul's actually done a happy ending!
Well, I've enjoyed writing this,
very much helped along by encouraging comments,
thanks to you all.
Like my ghost story last Christmas (Single Ticket to Vasos),
it started out as a scenario that gripped me and made me feel I wanted to start writing,
though I was quite vague about where the story would take me,
never mind how it would end.
I'm learning that if I do that, I find my character,
the 'I' who's usually at the centre of my stories
soon develops a life of her own and starts taking me to places
I couldn't have planned for if I'd thought and thought for weeks.
Well, I've enjoyed writing this,
very much helped along by encouraging comments,
thanks to you all.
Like my ghost story last Christmas (Single Ticket to Vasos),
it started out as a scenario that gripped me and made me feel I wanted to start writing,
though I was quite vague about where the story would take me,
never mind how it would end.
I'm learning that if I do that, I find my character,
the 'I' who's usually at the centre of my stories
soon develops a life of her own and starts taking me to places
I couldn't have planned for if I'd thought and thought for weeks.