The Commissariat of Enlightenment by Ken Kalfus Read Free Book Online

tanner by trade, formerly at the Leskov industrial concern in Lipetsk-town…”
    “When did you join the Party?”
    “The Red October, your honor. Oh-five. I was on the strike committee at the plant.”
    “Ah, yes, the Leskov strike.” For the first time in their conversation, Ivanov spread his lips and showed his teeth. This was his smile. “I understand that the gendarmes cracked some heads.”
    “And we cracked a few of theirs, sir, if you beg my pardon.”
    As a matter of fact, in 1905, at the time of the aborted revolution, the tally at the Leskov plant had been woefully uneven. Perhaps fourteen strikers had either been shot or bludgeoned to death, as against the three policemen who had lost their own lives. This imbalance had been redressed somehow (the equation was mysterious) late that night when the surviving workers, with police consent, rampaged through Lipetsk’s small Jewish quarter.
    “And Comrade Tarass, in your experienced judgment, what is the level of discontent at the plant today?”
    “Are there more heads to crack, your honor?”
    “No, no, no…” Ivanov said emphatically. “This is not the right moment, the revolutionary forces have not been assembled. It is criminal to act before the workers are prepared, it is a path of action that can be espoused only by agents provocateurs !”
    “Yes, sir,” said Tarass, baffled by the outburst. “You’re right, no one’s in the mood to fight now, not even the gendarmes, I dare say. The Count is a man of peace. He’s made a big impression, sir: Christian Love and Brotherhood, the True Gospel. We’re all greatly honored by his visit to Astapovo. He’s with us, your honor.”
    “You call it a ‘visit’?” Ivanov squinted at the tanner, looking for some glimmer of irony.
    Tarass stared down at the floor, sensing Ivanov’s disapproval.
    Ivanov declared, “The Tsar fears the Count. That’s enough for now. He’s sent police and troops and spies. Let’s see what effect the Count’s death produces on the population. There’ll be a funeral and perhaps mass demonstrations against the rotten-to-the-core church. How will the police react? And the workers? This is a perfect test. We’re in a hunter’s blind; we’re demonstrating revolutionary patience. Let’s see where the ducks fly when they get a scare.” He glared at the sheet of figures. “Telephones! Where are the figures relating to the telephones?”
    Tarass leaned forward and very tentatively brought his hand toward the table, as if fearing that it might be bit off.
    “Here. Your honor, here.”
    “Three hundred and twelve private call boxes, is that what this means?” Without turning his head, Ivanov muttered to the woman, “Approximate to Samara.” He asked Tarass, “And the number and locations of the telephone exchanges?”
    “That wasn’t available. At least not yet, so far. Um, the ministry seems to be keeping the information under its hat, so to speak.”
    Ivanov smirked. “One doesn’t expect such wisdom from one of Nicky’s ministers. Can it be that some official, some petty bureaucrat, has developed a vague notion that this is precisely the information we need? Do you reckon that this man comprehends that every private call box in the district lies at the end of a living electrical nerve that connects it instantaneously with every other call box in the district, and throughout Russia itself? Does he see that these private call boxes, when taken together, are like a kind of animal that moves with the collective will of its users? Does he have any conception about the beast he’s riding? He must. He must realize that the only way to harness this beast is through the physical control of the exchanges, and he’s keeping their number and locations from us. Ha-ha, it’s a point in our favor that he’s but one petty bureaucrat with limited influence, and we know what he knows, and we’re a movement. You must get me a list of the district’s exchanges. Surely