Fall of Giants

“You’d better make sure you show up at the depot as ordered,” Pinsky said to Grigori and Isaak. “Otherwise I’ll be after you.” He turned on his heel and exited with what little dignity he had left. His men followed him.

Grigori sat down heavily on a stool. He had a blinding headache, a pain in his ribs, and a bruised ache in his belly. He needed to curl up in a corner and pass out. The thought that kept him conscious was a scorching desire to destroy Pinsky and the entire system of which he was part. One of these days, he kept thinking, we will wipe out Pinsky and the tsar and everything they stand for.

Kanin said: “The army won’t pursue you two-I’ve made sure of that-but I’m afraid I can’t do anything about the police.”

Grigori nodded grimly. It was as he had feared. Pinsky’s most savage blow, worse than any he had struck with the sledgehammer, would be to make sure that Grigori and Isaak joined the army.

Kanin said: “I’ll be sorry to lose you. You’ve been a good worker.” He seemed genuinely moved, but he was impotent. He paused a moment longer, threw up his hands in a gesture of helplessness, and left the shop.

Varya appeared in front of Grigori with a bowl of water and a clean rag. She washed the blood from his face. She was a bulky woman but her broad hands had a gentle touch. “You should go to the factory barracks,” she said. “Find an empty bed and lie down for an hour.”

“No,” Grigori said. “I’m going home.”

Varya shrugged and moved to Isaak, who was not so badly injured.

With an effort, Grigori stood up. The factory spun around him for a while, and Konstantin held his arm when he staggered; but eventually he felt able to stand alone.

Konstantin picked up his cap from the floor and gave it to him.

He felt unsteady when he began to walk, but he waved away offers of support, and after a few steps he regained his normal stride. His head cleared with the effort, but the pain in his ribs forced him to tread carefully. He made his slow way through the maze of benches and lathes, furnaces and presses, to the outside of the building, and then to the factory gate.

There he met Katerina coming in.

“Grigori!” she said. “You’ve been called up-I saw the poster!” Then she noticed his damaged face. “What happened?”

“An encounter with your favorite police captain.”

“That pig Pinsky. You’re hurt!”

“The bruises will heal.”

“I’ll take you home.”

Grigori was surprised. This was a switch of roles. Katerina had never before offered to take care of him. “I can make it on my own,” he said.

“I’ll come with you all the same.”

She took his arm and they walked through the narrow streets against the tide of thousands of workers swarming to the factory. Grigori’s body hurt and he felt ill, but all the same it was a joy to him to be walking arm in arm with Katerina as the sun rose over the dilapidated houses and the dirty streets.

However, the familiar walk tired him more than he expected, and when at last they got home he sat heavily on the bed and then, after a moment, lay down.

“I’ve got a bottle of vodka hidden in the girls’ room,” Katerina said.

“No, thanks, but I’d like some tea.”

He did not have a samovar, but she made tea in a saucepan and gave him a cup with a lump of sugar. When he had drunk it he felt a little better. He said: “The worst of it is, I could have avoided the draft-but Pinsky swore he would make sure I didn’t.”

She sat on the bed beside him and took from her pocket a pamphlet. “One of the girls gave me this.”

Grigori glanced at it. It appeared dull and official, like a government publication. Its title was “Aid to Soldiers’ Families.”

Katerina said: “If you’re the wife of a soldier you’re entitled to a monthly allowance from the army. It’s not just for the poor, everyone gets it.”

Grigori vaguely remembered hearing about this. He had not taken much notice, as it did not apply to him.

Katerina went on: “There’s more. You get cheap home fuel, cheap railway tickets, and help with children’s schooling.”

“That’s good,” Grigori said. He wanted to sleep. “Unusual for the army to be so sensible.”

“But you have to be married.”

Grigori became more alert. Surely she could not possibly be thinking… “Why are you telling me this?” he said.

“As it is I won’t get anything.”

Grigori lifted himself on one elbow and looked at her. Suddenly his heart was racing.

She said: “If I was married to a soldier I’d be better off. So would my baby.”

“But… you love Lev.”

“I know.” She began to cry. “But Lev is in America and he doesn’t care enough even to write and ask how I am.”

“So… what do you want to do?” Grigori knew the answer, but he had to hear it.

“I want to get married,” she said.

“Just so that you can get the soldier’s wife’s allowance.”

She nodded, and with that nod she extinguished in him a faint, foolish hope that had flared briefly. “It would mean so much,” she said. “To have a little money when the baby comes-especially as you’ll be away with the army.”

“I understand,” he said with a heavy heart.

“Can we get married?” she said. “Please?”

“Yes,” he said. “Of course.”