“We don’t want to touch your stinking clothes. But if we have to, we’ll pick you up and throw you out bodily.”
“Just give me a few moments – please?”
“No.” It’s the older guard who is more aggressive; he glares at the beggar, then takes a step forward. The beggar doesn’t move. The older guard nods to the younger, who suddenly kicks out; his polished boot strikes the beggar’s knee. The man drops to the ground like a felled tree.
Emily stands up. “Maybe you weren’t joking, Agnes. I’ll go and talk to them. You stay there, though, and eat your pastry. Blood sugar, remember?”
Despite her words, I get up. We both go to the doorway of the café. It’s a horrible sight; both guards are now savagely kicking the fallen form of the beggar and shouting abuse. “Crawl out of here, scum! And don’t dream of ever coming back!” Ladies and gentlemen pass by, chatting politely and not even turning their heads to look at the unpleasant scuffle. I suppose it’s probably an everyday occurrence.
“Stop!”
Emily’s voice cuts like a knife through the busy hubbub of the mall. The guards’ eyes swivel in their heads towards her, as she continues.
“Let that poor man get to his feet. He’ll walk out of here – if you give him a chance.”
Like boys scolded by a schoolteacher, the two men stop their attack. They stare at us, first in anger, then in apologetic embarrassment. They say nothing. But I hear a muffled voice from the floor, emerging from the ragged coat and stained hat of the beggar. “Thank you.” Slowly and awkwardly, the man stumbles to his feet, then turns towards us. For the first time, I see his face.
His cheekbones and chin stick out gauntly through skin covered with coarse gray stubble. But I can tell that this haggard face was once round, like an owl’s. There’s glass in only one lens of the pince-nez that is perched, absurdly, on his nose.
It’s Mr Bukin.
16
Brave new world
Yuri appeared in the mall moments later. He took charge of his former employer, leading him away. When Emily and I got back to the Metropole, we found that Yuri had spoken to the hotel staff, taken Mr Bukin to his own room, and allowed him to have a bath. Meanwhile, Yuri went and used some of his own ‘allowance’ to buy a new set of clothes for Bukin. The four of us are now sitting in the hotel’s tea room, enjoying the now-familiar ritual of Russian tea. Yuri starts the conversation.
“What happened to you, sir?”
“I was at my office, on the day after the worst of the February revolutionary riots. I was very busy, in fact. Urgent orders had come through to me from General Aristarkhov: I had to pack up all the Okhrana files of suspects, and send them to him.
I finished the final set, and sent them off just before midday. Then, I was eating my lunch at my desk, when a gang of men with pistols and knives walked straight into the office, as bold as brass, and told me I was under arrest.”
“What did they do to you?”
“At first, it wasn’t too bad. I was taken to the Peter and Paul Fortress, along with many other employees of the imperial family, and we were handed over to the troops of the garrison. The soldiers treated us well. I was properly fed, and they even passed on to me a letter from my brother, who emigrated to France, and is my only living relative. I explained to the soldiers that although I had been employed by Okhrana, my main job had been security for the imperial family. Some of them even said that it was just a matter of time, I would soon be released.
Then one day, two men I’d never seen before – great hulking brutes – came to my cell and told me I was to be put on trial, and I’d better confess to them. I said I had nothing to confess, I have only ever done my work, which was to protect and serve the Tsar and his family. Then one of them hit me in the face. I remember other blows, there was just pain everywhere, then I blacked out.
The next day, I was taken for my trial. Some men put me in a cart. It looked like one of the tumbrils used for people about to guillotined in the French Revolution. The cart was driving along the Nevsky Prospect, and some kind of scuffle broke out ahead of us. There were lots of people fighting, I have no idea what was happening. The men who were supposed to be guarding me were shouting and jeering. Then they jumped down from the cart and joined the fight. So I got out of the cart and slipped away.
I knew I had to get out of St Petersburg. I was still wearing my suit, and in an inside pocket I had enough money for a train fare. The only trains running were to Moscow, so I caught the first one. When I got here, I went to the bank and asked if I could withdraw some money from my account. The bank clerk went away to check, then he came back and said my account didn’t exist any more.
It was March; there was lots of snow around. I was out on the streets; no hotel would accept me on credit, and I had no identity papers. The first night, I thought I would freeze to death, but then I found a blanket in an alley. Then a man came along and said it was his blanket. He called me a ‘stuck up toff’ and then he started hitting me. It was just the same as the previous beating; after a while I passed out. All I remember was waking, lying in the snow.
Since then, I’ve been begging, just going from street to street. There are countless beggars in Moscow – drifters from all over Russia, but also thousands of former policemen and civil servants, and wounded soldiers who are given no pensions. I saw one man who I used to know: Viktor Andropov. Before last February, he had been a senior official in the Tsar’s finance ministry. He said to me ‘This is the so-called brave new world of revolutionary Russia. Everyone who worked for the Tsar’s government is cast out, like rubbish.’ I never saw Andropov again, but a few weeks later I heard that he’d been beaten to death by a mob of other beggars, because he had a one-ruble note.”
Emily frowns. “You talk about revolutionary Russia. I understand your problems, Mr Bukin – but the Provisional Government was committed to trying to tackle homelessness.”
Mr Bukin laughs, like a deathly cough. “On the streets of Moscow, the Provisional Government didn’t exist! From the very start, the Red Guards were the ones who were really in charge, because they had the guns. They used to threaten me, calling me a looter and a thief. I’ve heard rumors that they shoot beggars now and then, just to keep all the rest of us scared. I try to keep out of trouble. I’m glad if I can beg a few kopeks a day from passers-by. But so far, it has been summertime. I dread the coming winter: I know that I will freeze, if I don’t starve to death first.
But then today, Captain Sirko, I saw you going into St Basil’s Cathedral. I went in and looked for you, but it was so busy in there, I couldn’t find you.
And then I saw you in the cathedral, Miss Frocester. I touched your hand, to try to get your attention.” He looks around at us, his eyes bleak and desperate. “I hope you can help me.”
“We will.” Yuri is clear and decisive. “I have rather a lot of money, which the Bolsheviks have given me for no apparent reason. I’ll use it to get some accommodation for you. I have enough to pay for a room for you until next summer, at least. So you won’t freeze this winter.”
“I’m so grateful. Truly, you have saved my life, Captain Sirko.”
Bukin shakes Yuri’s hand: intense relief is visible in his face. Then he looks at me. “There is also one thing you might do for me, Miss Frocester, because you are an impartial foreigner. You see, begging letters are common in Russia; every person of importance receives them and ignores them. But if you, an American, were to write to General Aristarkhov, who I understand is now quite a senior person in the new government?…”