Fenek Solère: Rising

‘British Consul, please’, she said loudly in Russian. The inquisitor threw Ekaterina a hateful look and, walking away, brushed the girl aside with a stab of his elbow. His sidekick spat in Tom’s face before following his boss into the fast-moving traffic on the Ligovsky Prospekt.

Tom glared after them. Ekaterina wiped his face with a handkerchief, kissing his cheek. ‘You look worried’, she said. ‘Don’t be scared, it’s going to happen.’

‘But those things he said—’

‘What things?’

‘About you!’

‘You already must know people think those things? Young Russian girl with a foreign man, it is in all the hotels and bars.’

‘I don’t think about us like that!’

‘Then don’t.’

They wandered down Nevsky, checking behind them to make sure they were not being followed. A large group of Nashi youth were gathered under red and white banners at the gaping black mouth of the Mayakovskaya metro station. A clean-cut commissar was regaling the crowd outside the Nevsky Forum hotel through a megaphone. ‘Our famous patriots, the United Russia party?’ Ekaterina cursed. ‘Shit for brains!’

‘What’s he saying?’

‘No Western interference in Russian affairs… the honour of our people…’

‘Sounds ominous!’

‘Sounds vacuous!’

‘You are not impressed?’

‘Not really. You do not need to be clairvoyant. Nashi, or Ours , are really Theirs. They are the antithesis of the old Ukrainian Pora, the Serbian Otpor, and Georgia’s Kmara movements. The original Nashi leader, Vasily Yakemenko, took $500,000 to re-invent Komsomol. What we need is another Narodnaya Volya or Mladorossitsi movement! There are groups called “the Shield” working in Moscow. They raid illegal’s barracks and work with the police to combat the Uzbeks.’

‘You don’t rate Putin’s legacy?’

‘Putin was a doorman for the oligarchs. His success rested on improving the lifestyles of the mafia. That’s why when the police clear the streets of our people, these charlatans are allowed to speak. Russian democracy is paper-thin.’

‘But…’

She shut him down. ‘No ifs or buts. We need people like Oleg Kasin and the Russian National Unity, Rodina and A Just Russia. Read Andrei Saveliev’s Political Mythology or his The Image of the Enemy , then all will be clear to you. Personally, I refuse to be a consumer, blindly following fashions and the global trends determined by one-worldists who manage our media for their own purposes!’

‘Look’, he said, ‘I wanted to hit that policeman!’

‘That is exactly what they hoped for, an excuse to get you alone in their car, take your wallet, everything!’

‘What made you think of calling the Consul?’

‘The cats hunt the mice, and the dogs chase the cats.’

‘Some things never change.’ They turned onto Malaya Morskaya. Passing number 17, Ekaterina’s eyes widened, pointing up to an apartment that looked down on the street through large, clear windows.

‘That is where Gogol wrote his satire, The Government Inspector. ’

‘True irony.’

‘ Plus ca change, plus c’est la meme chose. ’

They reached her grandfather’s place, a block typical of its period: three storeys high, topped with pigeon-grey metal. A stone balustrade ran the length of the first floor. Balconies were balanced with trepidation, supported on varicose-veined pillars, projecting out like Neanderthals’ foreheads.

Ekaterina punched a worn button on a rusted intercom buried in the wall. ‘We’ll be safe here’, she was saying. There was a buzz and crackle. Then she pushed the door open onto a big black belly full of foul air. The lift was out of order, twisted wire sealing the shaft. Stone stairwells were filled with the whimpering of scolded children.

A door slammed above. The weighty smell of yesterday’s potatoes swept down the hallway. This had once been a fashionable part of the city. Now, for so many of its tenants, the bitter years since Gorbachev’s glasnost had blown away the old certainties. The familiar communal routine of bygone years was a fond memory for the older generation, but complete bullshit to the young. Spray-paint and dog excrement smeared landings. Ekaterina led him through flickering lights, electric wiring hanging loose like cat entrails. The sparks tangoing on the ceiling were reflected in the putrid pools at their feet as they moved like a modern-day Theseus and Ariadne ever deeper into the Minotaur’s lair.

Eventually, halting in front of a dented door, she knocked hard twice. Then waited, rapping twice again, in some pre-arranged code. A moment later, Tom heard the grating grind of bolts being thrown and the rattle of a chain. Backlit by a naked bulb, a small, thin man came stooping over the doorstep. She hugged him tightly, speaking in familiar Russian. Then, gesturing to Tom, they were formally introduced. ‘Herman’, he said, handshakes exchanged before the Englishman stepped over the threshold.

Inquisitorial eyes set in rheumy crinkles scanned the Professor surreptitiously. Herman’s protective instincts caused him to check out the man his grand-daughter had brought to him.

‘You were caught in the troubles?’ he asked.

‘Only a little’, she said soothingly. ‘We got off Nevsky in time.’ Herman pointed towards the television with an arthritic finger.

‘Rossia One coverage has been interesting.’

• International news media report that the Russian Army is mounting a coup;

• A spokesman for the Utro Rossii movement is quoted as saying, ‘We are working with the armed forces in order to stabilise the situation after President Babel’s death’;

• Konstantin Poltoranin, former spokesman for the Federal Migratory Service, dismissed for stating ‘the survival of the White race is at stake’, is reinstated and his views become federal policy;

• Members of the 45th Special Reconnaissance Regiment storm Building 14 in Moscow’s Kremlin, where the new President, Viktor Akulov, was holding an emergency meeting to discuss the crisis with high-profile representatives from Brussels, New York, and Tel Aviv;

• Later, the attendees at the meeting are shown being frog-marched out into Ivanovskaya Square, where Tos-1A MRL missile launchers are seen aiming at the ionic columned neo-classical façade.

‘I see events are moving in our favour’, Tom said smugly.

‘Don’t be too sure’, Herman advised. ‘I saw how the last coup d’etat under Aleksandr Rutskoy ended after Yeltsin awarded himself Extraordinary Executive Powers. Tanks from the Taman Division shelled Moscow’s White House, the mayoral office closed, and the Ostankino TV centre was stormed. Tens of thousands of Russians took to the streets of Moscow, including members of the National Salvation Front and militants of Russian National Unity. But when General Grachev went over to Yeltsin, it was all over for the short-lived Rutskoy-Khasbulatov regime and all those who tried to preserve the Supreme Soviet and the Constitution. The White House was assaulted by Vympel and Alpha units. Within hours, Yeltsin declared “the fascistic-Communist armed rebellion in Moscow shall be suppressed within the shortest period”. Afterwards, legislation was enacted by presidential decree, applying heavy sanctions against fascism, chauvinism, and racial hatred. The rise of Vladimir Zhirinovsky’s ultra-nationalist Liberal Democratic Party scared Yeltsin, though. Newspapers like Den , Sovietskaya Rosiya , and Pravda were banned.’