Mightier Than the Sword

“Yes, I thought that if I could fool the people at the Sarkoski Press, how much easier it would be to convince the Americans and the British that I had been a party official working alongside the chairman. After all, how many people from the West have ever visited the Soviet Union, let alone spoken to the comrade chairman, who everyone knows didn’t speak a word of English?”

Harry put his head in his hands and, when he looked up, he stared at Babakov with contempt. The chairman made another note on her pad.

“Once you’d completed the book, why didn’t you defect at the first opportunity?”

“I didn’t have enough money. I had been promised an advance on the day of publication, but I was arrested before I could collect it.”

“But your wife did defect.”

“Yes, I sent her ahead of me with our life savings, hoping I would be able to join her later.”

Harry was appalled by how the prosecutor was mixing half-truths with lies, and wondered how they could possibly think, even for a moment, that he might be deceived by this pantomime. But that was their weakness. Clearly all of them were taken in by their own propaganda, so he decided to play them at their own game.

He nodded whenever the prosecutor seemed to have scored a point. But then he recalled his drama teacher at school chastising him, on more than one occasion, for overacting, so he reined it in.

“Did your wife take a copy of the book with her?” demanded the prosecutor.

“No. It hadn’t been published by the time she left, and in any case she would have been searched when she tried to cross the border, and if she’d had the book with her she would have been arrested and sent straight back to Moscow.”

“But thanks to some brilliant detective work, you were arrested, charged, and sentenced before even one copy of your book reached the shops.”

“Yes,” said Babakov, bowing his head again.

“And when you were charged with offenses against the State, how did you plead?”

“Guilty to all charges.”

“And the people’s court sentenced you to twenty years’ hard labor.”

“Yes, sir. I was lucky to receive such a light sentence for the despicable crime I had committed against the nation.”

Once again Harry realized that Babakov was letting him know he considered the whole trial to be a sham. But it was still important for Harry to look as if he was being taken in by the play within a play.

“That concludes my examination of this witness, comrade chairman,” said the prosecutor, who then bowed low and sat down.

The chairman glanced at the young man who was seated at the other end of the bench.

“Do you have any questions for this witness?”

The young man rose unsteadily to his feet. “No, I do not, comrade chairman. The prisoner Babakov is clearly an enemy of the state.”

Harry felt sorry for the young man, who probably believed every word he’d heard in the courtroom that morning. Harry gave a slight nod to show he also agreed, although the young man’s inexperience had once again given the game away. If he had read more Chekhov he would have realized that silence can often be more powerful than the spoken word.

“Take him away,” said the tribunal chairman.

As Babakov was led out of the courtroom, Harry bowed his head as if he no longer wanted anything to do with the man.

“Comrades, it has been a long day,” said the chairman, turning to the jury. “As Monday is a national holiday, on which we will all remember those brave men and women who sacrificed their lives in the Siege of Leningrad, this court will not reconvene until Tuesday morning, when I will sum up the State’s position, so you can decide if the prisoner is guilty.”

Harry wanted to laugh. He wasn’t even going to be allowed to give evidence, but he was now well aware that this was a tragedy, not a comedy, and he still had his part to play.

The tribunal president rose from her chair and led her colleagues out of the courtroom. No sooner had the door closed behind them than two prison guards grabbed Harry by the arms, and dragged him out of the room.

As he had nearly four days of solitude ahead of him, he was already looking forward to the challenge of seeing how much more he could remember of Uncle Joe. Chapter three. He began mouthing the words as they bundled him out of court.