Red Shadow Read Free Page A

eager to please, always spouting the Party line straight from Pravda . They all believed in the Soviet cause, but Yelena spoke of her duty as a communist with a religious reverence that made Misha uncomfortable. She had given a breaktime talk last month on ‘Comrade Stalin – the greatest genius of all times and all people’, which had made Misha’s toes curl with embarrassment. But that was the problem with living in the Kremlin. He’d seen Stalin in the flesh. His greying hair, pockmarked face and terrifying piercing stare were quite different from the friendly figure they read about in the magazines.
    Misha’s afternoon chemistry class was interminable and he even began to look forward to the break at 6.00, and Barikada’s speech. He walked over to the canteen with Yelena and they sat down on the sill of a large window. His friend Nikolay came over to join them.
    He and Nikolay had known each other since they were ten and Nikolay had been one of the few friends who hadn’t greeted his move to the Kremlin with sour envy.
    Barikada’s subject was one that Misha was wearily familiar with – ‘class enemies’, such as landlords, priests and nobles, who ‘lurked’ in factories and schools, hiding under false proletarian identities. Such ‘former people’, Barikada assured them, were intent on sabotaging the achievements of the Revolution and betraying the country to foreign enemies.
    Misha’s attention began to drift until he heard his name and anxiety twisted his guts. He realised everyone was looking at him. ‘And what I have to tell you, comrades, is that Komsomol cadet Mikhail Petrov was seen last Rest Day emerging from a church.’
    There were audible gasps around the room but Misha relaxed a little. This was serious but it wasn’t about his mother. He felt Yelena’s hand on his arm.
    ‘Comrade Kozlov,’ he said indignantly, ‘can you substantiate this accusation?’
    Misha wasn’t going to deny it but he would like to find out who had denounced him.
    ‘Comrade Petrov, you must know that a good communist would never reveal the name of the citizen who has done his duty to the Party in reporting this serious misdemeanour.’
    Misha shook his head. Before he could speak Barikada said, ‘I have spoken about this matter to the school Komsorg, and propose that Comrade Petrov be immediately deprived of his Komsomol membership.’
    A murmur of discontent went around the room.
    This was much more serious. The Komsorg was a sour young official with a tough peasant face, named Leonid Gribkov. Misha guessed he was about thirty. He oversaw the activities of all Komsomol members in the school. Misha disliked him as much as he disliked Barikada; they were two of a kind. He wondered how much Gribkov knew about his family.
    With these two ranged against him, he knew he needed a convincing defence.
    ‘Comrades, you all know I have no respect for religion. Only last month I wrote a piece for The Pioneer in support of the Union of the Godless. But my grandmother, like many older people, is still in thrall to the backward practices and beliefs of the old regime. As she can barely walk on her own, I went there to take her home.’
    The class cheered and Misha realised with relief that their discontent was directed at Barikada, not him. He felt his confidence growing. ‘Surely, comrades, we can show humanity towards those unlucky enough to be born before the Revolution, and who have not had the benefit of a sound, scientific education.’
    Barikada shot Misha an angry look. ‘I recognise the democratic will of the school comrades, and the reasoning of Comrade Petrov, and withdraw my demand,’ he said.
    The incident had taken the wind from Barikada’s sails. He made one or two more comments about the need for vigilance against class traitors and saboteurs, and then sat down to lukewarm applause.
    Misha felt uneasy. He had won this particular battle but what would happen next? Barikada was blushing red with