Free Apricot Jam: And Other Stories by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn Page A

serving such brazen falsehood to the peasants. But once he had taken his first steps across this shaky little bridge, there was no stopping. Looking at Kotovsky, he said: “ Here ’ s the head of their detachment, Lieutenant Colonel Frolov . ” (So as not to overdo it, Kotovsky had not donned a Cossack colonel ’ s insignia, though he could easily have done so.)
     
    Matyukhin insisted that Ego come with him to a place a few versts away to meet his elder brother, who could confirm his identity. This was no problem for the Chekists, and they never hesitated; they had good cavalry horses and a stock of ammunition for their Nagans .
     
    They rode first along a cutting through the forest, then across a field, under a starry sky. In the darkness and moving at a brisk trot, no one wondered why Ego ’ s horse was so wretched in comparison with those of his aides.
     
    As he jolted along in his saddle, Pavel Vasilyevich kept thinking, desperately thinking, that soon he would tell Matyukhin the truth; he would be killed, but these four Chekists would be slaughtered along with him! And Matyukhin ’ s 500 troops would be saved. They were an elite force!
     
    But still—and how many times he had gone through this, forming logical arguments in his head, while his heart overflowed with pain. Not pain for himself , of course—there was none of that. But they would take it out on Polina, as they had threatened, and perhaps on his little daughter as well. For a long time now he had known what the Chekists were capable of, and after those months in the Lubyanka and those days traveling here, he knew it even better. So how could he save his family? How could he do it himself, with only his own hands?
     
    Antonov ’ s military campaign had failed, after all. If you took a broader view and put it in a larger context, the whole province might be better off if peace at last did come. The merciless requisitions of food had now been stopped and would be replaced by a fair tax on food. Perhaps it would be better, then, to end the fighting as soon as possible. The wounds would heal gradually. It would simply take time. And life, an entirely new way of life, would somehow come to rights, would it not?
     
    We ’ ve been through enough pain, every one of us.
     
    They came to a new hut, much better lit up.
     
    Ivan Matyukhin, a sturdy, powerful man with a thick moustache the color of ripe wheat, a tireless warrior, strode up to meet them, recognized Ego, and swung his arm forward to clasp his hand.
     
    Ektov felt the ache of a Judas in his hand! Who could understand his pain unless he himself had experienced it? But he had to carry on, confidently and without hesitation, looking like a commander.
     
    The honest and straightforward Matyukhin, with plump, rosy cheeks and a thick, fair forelock slanting across his forehead, had a powerful grip—a warrior from head to toe.
     
    He trusted Ektov, and he was overjoyed: Our ranks have filled out! A new chance to thrash the Bolsheviks! He grinned like a man who knew his strength.
     
    They talked of their plans. Tomorrow evening both detachments would assemble in one of the large villages, and the next day they would begin an offensive.
     
    Now was the moment! Like a lightning flash, Ektov thought: No! I tell you, no! Shoot me, torture my family, but I can ’ t betray these honest men!
     
    But at the same moment, his throat seized as if it had been scalded.
     
    As he swallowed, someone interrupted to put in his word. And then someone else. (The Chekists were playing their roles well, and each one of them had his own story about why no one had seen him in the uprising before. All of them had the bearing of soldiers or sailors.)
     
    And now this moment of decisiveness had flown past and dissolved into impotence.
     
    At this, the two groups parted.
     
    ~ * ~
     
    Then he spent an endless and agonizing day with Kotovsky ’ s detachment.
     
    He despised himself. His treachery had plunged him