Fall of Giants

Why? It had nothing to do with looks. The two brothers were so alike that people sometimes mistook one for the other. They were the same height and weight, and could wear each other’s clothes. But Lev had charm by the ton. He was unreliable and selfish, and he lived on the edge of the law, but women adored him. Grigori was honest and dependable, a hard worker and a serious thinker, and he was single.

It would be different in the United States. Everything would be different there. American landowners were not allowed to hang their peasants. American police had to put people on trial before punishing them. The government could not even jail socialists. There were no noblemen: everyone was equal, even Jews.

Could it be real? Sometimes America seemed too much of a fantasy, like the stories people told of South Seas islands where beautiful maidens gave their bodies to anyone who asked. But it must be true: thousands of immigrants had written letters home. At the factory a group of revolutionary socialists had started a series of lectures on American democracy, but the police had closed them down.

He felt guilty about leaving his brother behind, but it was the best way. “Look after yourself,” he said to Lev toward the end of the evening. “I won’t be here to get you out of trouble anymore.”

“I’ll be fine,” Lev said carelessly. “You look after yourself.”

“I’ll send you the money for your ticket. It won’t take long on American wages.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“Don’t move house-we could lose touch.”

“I’m not going anywhere, big brother.”

They had not discussed whether Katerina, too, would eventually come to America. Grigori had left it to Lev to raise the subject, but he had not. Grigori did not know whether to hope or dread that Lev would want to bring her.

Lev took Katerina’s arm and said: “We have to go now.”

Grigori was surprised. “Where are you off to at this time of night?”

“I’m meeting Trofim.”

Trofim was a minor member of the Vyalov family. “Why do you have to see him tonight?”

Lev winked. “Never mind. We’ll be back before morning-in plenty of time to take you to Gutuyevsky Island.” This was where the transatlantic steamers docked.

“All right,” said Grigori. “Don’t do anything dangerous,” he added, knowing it was pointless.

Lev waved gaily and disappeared.

It was almost midnight. Grigori said his good-byes. Several of his friends wept, but he did not know whether it was from sorrow or just booze. He walked back to the house with some of the girls, and they all kissed him in the hall. Then he went to his room.

His secondhand cardboard suitcase stood on the table. Though small, it was half-empty. He was taking shirts, underwear, and his chess set. He had only one pair of boots. He had not accumulated much in the nine years since his mother died.

Before going to bed, he looked in the cupboard where Lev kept his revolver, a Belgian-made Nagant M1895. He saw, with a sinking feeling, that the gun was not in its usual place.

He unlatched the window so that he would not have to get out of bed to open it when Lev came in.

Lying awake, listening to the familiar thunder of passing trains, he wondered what it would be like, four thousand miles from here. He had lived with Lev all his life, and he had been a substitute mother and father. From tomorrow, he would not know when Lev was out all night and carrying a gun. Would it be a relief, or would he worry more?

As always, Grigori woke at five. His ship sailed at eight, and the dock was an hour’s walk. He had plenty of time.

Lev had not come home.

Grigori washed his hands and face. Looking in a broken shard of mirror, he trimmed his mustache and beard with a pair of kitchen scissors. Then he put his best suit on. He would leave his other suit behind for Lev.

He was heating a pan of porridge on the fire when he heard a loud knocking at the door of the house.

It was sure to be bad news. Friends stood outside and shouted; only the authorities knocked. Grigori put on his cap, then stepped into the hall and looked down the staircase. The landlady was admitting two men in the black-and-green uniforms of the police. Looking more carefully, Grigori recognized the podgy moon-shaped face of Mikhail Pinsky and the small ratlike head of his sidekick, Ilya Kozlov.

He thought fast. Obviously someone in the house was suspected of a crime. The likeliest culprit was Lev. Whether it was Lev or another boarder, everyone in the building would be interrogated. The two cops would remember the incident back in February when Grigori had rescued Katerina from them, and they would seize the opportunity of arresting Grigori.

And Grigori would miss his ship.

The dreadful thought paralyzed him. To miss the ship! After all the saving and waiting and longing for this day. No, he thought; no, I won’t let it happen.