Denouncer by Paul M. Levitt Read Free Book Online Page A

Sholokhov. Who could describe better than they the Russian countryside, the fields and the rivers?
    “It’s always easier to fight in the countryside than in the city. Had the Whites actually entered Petrograd, the guerilla street fighting might have kept the city safely in Bolshevik hands.”
    Polyakov sucked on the shiny hairs under his lower lip, a clump that resembled the ones on the backs of his small brown hands. Leaning forward, he peered out of his sunken eyes, made all the deeper by his high cheekbones, and objected.
    “That’s not what I asked. My question concerned historical inevitability. As a good Marxist, you should understand the meaning of Marx’s statement that men make history ‘under circumstances directly encountered, given, and transmitted from the past.’” He studied Sasha’s face for a sign of weakness, but seeing none, lipped his clump of hair and pondered his next step. Famous for intimidating students with his black stares and cheerless demeanor, he barked, “Inevitable or not? One word!”
    “Inevitable.”
    “Quite so.”
    Polyakov leaned back in his chair satisfied that he had just taught this honors student a lesson in Marxist theory.
    Dimitri Nikiforov, a lady’s man, though his drab clothing would have argued otherwise, spoke with a nasal voice. He whined, “Although you say in your thesis that the intervention of Britain, France, the United States, and the eleven other foreign countries was in great part to stop the spread of Bolshevism to the Baltics and Finland and other countries, you seem to neglect the nefarious role played by Germany. Is this omission not a serious oversight?” But before Sasha could reply, Nikiforov said, “I would remind you that many Russians thought—erroneously—that since Germany’s own socialist revolution had failed, then Russia, a far less industrialized country, had no chance of succeeding.”
    As Sasha considered his reply, Dimitri took a comb to his fine hair and pointed beard. His long, elegant fingers, with which he stroked the air, tended to divert one’s attention from his slightly drooping eyes and captiousness. Placing his fingers in a prayerful attitude, he pressed his mouth against them and murmured:
    “Well?” But Nikiforov had no intention of listening to the explanation of a student. He wanted to confer on Sasha his expertise. “Trotsky and the Left Opposition were wrong. Stalin was right. You can have revolution in a single country. Isn’t that so?” Sasha, who had barely uttered a sentence, was again interrupted. “Admittedly, for a socialist country to be surrounded by capitalist ones is a problem, but hostile borders do not mean ipso facto that socialism cannot succeed in a nation like ours. Right?” Realizing that he would have little chance to respond, Sasha simply nodded. Professor Nikiforov continued. “Moreover, surrounded as we currently are by enemies of socialism unites the country. Correct?” Sasha nodded. “For example, an invasion of our motherland would bring out the best in people. Don’t you agree?”
    Quickly Sasha interjected, “Yes.”
    Nikiforov sighed audibly. “The naiveté that some people display about politics is simply incredible.” He inspected his well-groomed nails and then removed from his vest an unsmoked briar pipe that he used, like his fingers, to poke the vacant air when punctuating a point. Unwilling to be gainsaid in any argument, and especially not by students, he protected himself by refusing to let anyone else utter a word. Had Sasha tried to speak over Nikiforov, the professor would have told him that one had to earn the right to hold forth on such matters, and that Sasha’s modest learning did not qualify him.
    At this juncture, with Nikiforov waving his pipe and others taking issue with Dimitri on fine points, the committee members began to debate among themselves, an ideal situation for a candidate sitting exams, because attention is diverted from the student to the