Together in Paris

2.

It was February, and it was terribly cold. The spy work was much more complicated than usual: since the name of the city had been changed from St. Petersburg to Leningrad, all citizens seemed more disgruntled than usual and, walking the streets, he had realized how difficult it was to differentiate a kind person from an unfaithful and traitorous one, a person ready to hit their country as soon as it would turn around from a loyal and good one. Ten years before, St. Petersburg had been celebrating the definitive death of the Romanovs for days, blessing the Bolsheviks for their actions because they had saved them from poverty and decay; but now that things were slowly changing, everybody appeared to have turned against the government, and it wasn't so obvious to be adored if wearing a military uniform. The Bolshevik Deputy Commissioner Gleb Vaganov, however, didn't make out of it much of a problem. He had something else to think about.

A rumor had been spreading throughout St. Petersburg for months, a rumor that had rekindled a strange spark into the population: it was said that the Princess Anastasiya could have had survived the attack of July 17,1918. He himself had been amazed by that hypothesis: how could she? Was it even possible?
He had seen her join her family, that night. She couldn't be alive.
Nonetheless, Gorlinsky, his superior, had summoned him to the office that very afternoon with his usual arrogant way of doing. He acted like that only because he had had distant -- very distant -- contacts with Lenin, once. Anyway, he had made him sit down reluctantly, just before of leaning forward on his desk, never breaking eye contact with him.

"Deputy commissioner Vaganov," he had called. Gleb had raised his gaze, quite perplexed.

"Have you heard of this story about the Grand Duchess still alive?"
"Of course, sir." he had replied "All St. Petersburg talks about it."
"Leningrad."
"Yes, Leningrad. Izvinitye."
Gorlinsky had therefore nodded, rubbed his eyes and then had turned back to him, a strange light gleaming into his eyes.

"Very well. You must put an end to this rumor. You must take away all hope from the white Russian people, they mustn't even remotely think that those tyrants are still alive!"
Gorlinsky had then stooped, had opened a drawer of his desk and had extracted a folder, which he had slammed on the table in his direction. Gleb had gazed at it, and again at his superior, a vague curiosity had lit his dark eyes.

"In there, you will find all the necessary information about two con men, Dmitry and Vladimir Popov." had explained the Commissioner, stirred by his interest "They're looking for a girl willing to pretend to be Anastasiya to snatch money from the old woman."
Gleb had stiffened in his chair when he had heard those words, and had clenched his jaw nervously. Gorlinsky had therefore explained to him what his task was and had dismissed him by putting the folder in his hands, ordering him to do his job in the best way.

Job, he thought to himself walking through the streets of the city, as if doing research on the basis of some gossip were a job.
In fact, all the Bolshevik procedures were based on stupid rumors: there were those who had said they had seen Nikolaj II walking through the city, who had claimed to have talked to some employee of the palace still alive, as Doctor Botkin, for example, or those who had believed to have seen the imperial dog roam the courtyard of the Winter Palace. And he, with his zeal, had captured every single one of those who had spread those spectral projections of the past; then, had them tried and, without any qualms, had them shot in the courtyard of the headquarters.

"They will be an example to all the others." he had told Gorlinsky, who had patted him on the back, satisfied by his carrying out his orders.

He didn't exactly know what had made him become a soldier. It had happened a long time ago, and he almost didn't remember what had happened to him before of his life as a comrade. Or at least this was his unconscious attempt to eclipse the truth that burned inside him.