"Were you followed, comrade?"
Ulyanov shook the Saint Petersburg snow from his coat, and shook his head. "Of course not. Do you think I am an an amateur Bronstein?"
"But the Okhrana - !" came the protest.
Ulyanov raised a hand and glared at his fellow revolutionary. "I know how to deal with the Guard," he said. "They hold no terrors for me. I have been interrogated by them before. Remember, they took my brother."
Bronstein peered over his glasses at Ulyanov. "Very well," he said, and pulled aside the thick burlap curtain that covered the door that led into the coffee house. "We are all gathered. Come on in."
The interior of the coffee house was warm. A great fire blazed in the hearth, and the steam from large copper jugs of coffee added to the thick atmosphere in the small room. A group of men - their expressions furtive and worried - were clustered around a table close to the fire. They looked up as Ulyanov greeted them. "Comrades."
There was a chorus of acknowledgement. Zederbaum waved at Ulyanov to sit down. "We are deciding our manifesto. There has been much debate about the values that we stand for."
"Really?" Ulyanov glared at Zederbaum. "I thought that we had decided to follow the tenets of Marx and Engels? Is there some dissent?"
"Not with those," Zederbaum replied. "But with the changes that you have proposed. There are some of our members who find your philosophy ideologically unsound."
"Unsound?" There was a menacing tone to Ulyanov's response. "There is nothing unsound about what I propose. We need to establish a dictatorship of the proletariat. It is a necessary step before we can bring about socialism." He glared at the people gathered around the table. Only two of them dared meet his gaze: Zederbaum and the Georgian, Jughashvili. The rest looked away.
"Perhaps," said Zederbaum calmly. "But surely Marxism is rule by the proletariat? When the workers hold the means of production, then their authority is a given. Who are we to oppose the will of the people?"
"And you would side with Makhno?"
"Of course not!" Zederbaum looked scandalised. "Anarchy is no solution to our problems. Yes, his followers are useful tools, but no more. No. We must raise the consciousness of the proletariat so they rebel against the imperialists. But we must not replace one tyranny with another."
"And what do you know of the proletariat?" Ulyanov pointed an accusing finger at Zederbaum. "You are a child of privilege. Do you know any workers? Do any of you know any workers?" He glared at the other revolutionaries.
Bronstein raised a hand. "I think I know one," he said.
