192
PARTISAN REVIEW
people. To care for them is our arch-important task . So get your
things together, and to the Crimea, dear fellow, to the Crimea!"
"It's still early, Vladimir Ilych, it's still early . Let us first finish
with the Mensheviks, decapitate the bourgeois cobra-"
"Not cobra, but hydra," Khuriev said.
"Same bugger," Dzerzhinsky said, and waved his hand.
Beyond that, everything went more or less smoothly. Lenin
reasoned, Dzerzhinsky wouldn't give in. A few times, Tsurikov
raised his voice shrilly.
Then Timofey came out on stage. Lieutenant Rodichev's
leather jacket did remind one of the double-breasted, chekist
tou–
jourka.
Polina asked him to go to the ends of the earth with her.
"To do in General Wrangel and the White Army, is it?" Timo–
fey asked, and grabbed his imaginary Mauser.
From the audience, zeks yelled, "Play your hearts, Clean-Up!
Drag her to your berth! Show us something's still clucking in your
pants!"
Lebedyeva stamped her foot wrathfully, straightened her velvet
dress, and again drew near Timofey. "You've ruined the best years
of my life! You've left me, I'm all alone now like a mountain ash in a
meadow."
But the sympathy of the public was with Timofey. Their cries
carried from the hall: "Look how she's laying it on, the bitch! You
can see her candle's burning out!"
Others yelled back, "Don't frighten the actress, you goats! Let
the showing continue!"
Then the barn door slammed open and Security Officer Bor–
tashevich cried, "Legal convoy, report for duty! Lopatin, Gusev,
Koralis - get your weapons! Sergeant Lakhno, go for documents on
the double!"
Four of the guards headed for the door. "Excuse me," Bortashe–
vich said.
"Continue," Khuriev said, and waved his hand.
The performance moved to the final scene . The suitcase was
stored away for better times. Felix Dzerzhinsky stayed at his battle
post. The merchant daughter Polina forgot her personal claims . ...
Khuriev sought me out with his eyes and nodded with satis–
faction.
In
the first row, Major Amosov squinted contentedly.
Finally, Vladimir Ilych stepped up to the microphone. For a
few seconds he was silent. Then his face lit up with the light of
historical prescience. "Who is this?" Gurin exclaimed. "Who is this?"
