II. TUMEN
19
Only five months ago—I had a wife, income, good food…. Only five months ago—I had a country.
The mean and envious beast that lived in our midst,—as it lives in every other country,—unseen, but felt, and always ready to crush the acquirements of existing civilization,—the mob came out from the underground world; criminal hands let the mob on the streets. Weak and shaky fingers unlocked the trap; a magnificent gesture of an ignorant Don Quixote invited the spies, the thieves, the murderers "to make the New Russia."
I see foreign faces around me; I hear foreign accents in every line of each new edict; I listen to the strange names of our new governors.
The Mob is in power; and the friendly faces of our Allies became dry and cold….
Looking backward—I try to find out whether there was a mistake of my own, or my own crime, for which some unknown and heartless Judge is now so severely punishing me?
* * * * *
Here I am, a graduate of the two best institutions in Russia and Germany, a man with five generations behind me,—all thoroughbred, all civilized, all gentlemen. Here I am in disguise—as apparently thousands and thousands of other Russians are, just as bearded as they, just as dirty, just as hungry, just as alone in the world.
My name is now Alexei Petrovich Syvorotka, formerly non-commissioned officer, 7th of Hussars, born in the province of Kursk. I dress in an old military overcoat, have a badly broken shoulder blade (second degree injury at Stanislau), and as my documents say—have been evacuated to Tumen, where I am supposed to receive my soldier's ration. Syvorotka! Would you talk to a man with such a name?