Mightier Than the Sword

Stalin’s arrogance and insecurity reached the most farcical proportions when the great motion picture director, Sergei Eisenstein, was chosen to make a film called “October,” to be shown at the Bolshoi Theatre to mark the tenth anniversary of the October Revolution. Stalin turned up the day before the first screening and, after seeing the film, ordered Eisenstein to remove any reference to Trotsky, the man acknowledged by the Bolshevik Party as the genius behind the October coup, but now regarded by Stalin as his most dangerous rival. When the film was screened for the general public the following day, there was no mention of Trotsky from beginning to end, because he’d been consigned to the cutting-room floor. Pravda described the film as a masterpiece, and made no mention of the missing Trotsky. The paper’s previous editor, Sergei Peresky, was among those who had disappeared overnight for criticizing Stalin.

“We’ve run out of paper,” said the steward.

“How far are we from Stockholm?” asked Harry.

“About another hour, sir.” He hesitated. “I have one other source you might consider.”

“I’ll consider anything, rather than lose an hour.”

“We have two varieties,” said the steward. “First class or economy, but I think economy will serve your purpose better—a heavier texture and less absorbent.”

Both of them giggled like schoolboys as the steward produced a roll in one hand and a box in the other. Henry took his advice and chose economy.

“By the way, sir, I love your books.”

“This isn’t my book,” said Harry, as he continued writing.

Another persistent rumor his enemies spread was that during his youth Stalin was a double agent, working for the tsar’s secret police at the same time as being one of Lenin’s most trusted lieutenants. When Stalin’s enemies found out about his regular meetings with the tsar’s secret police, he simply claimed he was turning them into double agents so they could work for the revolutionaries, and whenever anyone reported him, they mysteriously disappeared soon afterward. So no one could ever be sure which side Stalin was working for; one cynic suggested whichever side looked like winning. Someone else who was never seen or heard of again.

Harry paused as he tried to remember the opening line of the next chapter.

By now, you will be asking yourself if I feared for my own life. No, because I was like wallpaper: I simply blended into the background, so no one ever noticed me. Very few of Stalin’s inner circle even knew my name. No one ever sought my opinion on anything, let alone my support. I was an apparatchik, a junior civil servant of no significance, and had I been replaced by a different colored wallpaper, I would have been forgotten within the hour.