I do not remember whether it was in 1932 or 1933 that a not-so-small incident took place. This incident, which was entrusted to Bokel, revealed a secret hobby of Stalin and the unique and subtle nature of some of the tasks undertaken by Bokel. It happened that Smirnov (Glinsky), the head of the NKVD intelligence station in Czechoslovakia, returned to Moscow from Prague. After hearing his report on his work, Slutsky asked him to go to Pauker, because Pauker had some mission that had something to do with Czechoslovakia. Paulkor warned Smirnov in advance; their conversation was not to be disclosed. Then, he took out and opened a book of unpleasant erotic pictures from the safe and handed it to Smirnov, which surprised him. Seeing that Smirnov was shocked and embarrassed, Pauker explained that the paintings were by a famous Russian painter before the revolution, and that some similar works by this painter could certainly be found among the Russian expatriates in Czechoslovakia, and that everything possible must be done to buy them; but only through an intermediary, so that no one would guess that the Soviet Embassy wanted to buy them. “For this reason, please don’t be stingy with your money.” Paulkor added.
Smirnov had grown up in a Family of exiled revolutionaries and had joined the party back in Tsarist times. He was furious that Pauker had actually asked him to complete such a task and refused to carry it out. Out of extreme anger, he told some of his friends about it. But Slutsky quickly silenced his anger and warned Smirnov again to keep his mouth shut: those paintings were bought exclusively for the master! On the same day, the People’s Commissar of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, Agranov, brought Smirnov to him again and repeated the warning in a threatening tone. Much later, Alexander Shanin, an old friend of Yagoda (to whom I was appointed deputy in 1936), told me that Paokel had purchased a number of similar works for Stalin in many Western and Eastern countries.
Stalin rewarded his faithful, willing and indispensable assistant generously. He gave Paulkor two cars – a car and a convertible – and awarded him six medals, including a Lenin medal. But Paokel’s Life could hardly be called happy. He often complained to his friends that he had no private life and basically no Time for himself. This was true. Whether Stalin needed him or not (and he could be needed at any time of the day, twenty-four hours a day), he had to stay at his post, or at least be nearby somewhere. Anything that happened in Moscow – a train derailment or a fire, the accidental death of a member of the government or a tunnel slide on the underground railroad – Pauker’s men should be the first on the scene, and Pauker himself had to report the full details of the incident immediately and accurately to Stalin.
However, there was a happy side to this life of Bokor’s, as he saw it, and there was a satisfaction that he alone enjoyed. For example, he was addicted to military uniforms and made a lot of jokes about them, which amused his friends. Whenever a military parade was held in Red Square, Bokor looked like a comic character in a light opera. He always stood on the steps of Lenin’s tomb, belly round, and tautly tied with a belt, blue breeches are particularly harsh, but also on a pair of shiny leather boots. That dress, like a tsarist-era police.
When the well-dressed Bokor sat in his open car and drove along the streets of Moscow, he kept honking his special electric horn. The traffic police interrupt the traffic and stand at attention with their hands down. The perpetrator, though smug with the realization of his status, let his small face show a majestic look and opened his eyes wide with malice.
Another hobby of Paul Kerr is to go to the theater. As long as he can get a few hours of free time, he will appear in the opera house his box. And during the interval, he had to run backstage to listen to the applause of the actors to welcome him. Probably, it was only during these few minutes that Bokor thought about how strange his path was: from a humble barber at the Budapest Light Opera to a high official under Stalin, to whom all Moscow’s theatrical celebrities had to pay respects.
One evening, while Stalin was drinking with Bokel, he received a report from the Foreign Ministry that Chiang Kai-shek had begun mass arrests of Chinese communists and that the Chinese authorities had raided the Soviet Embassy in Beijing. (The events took place in 1927). These atrocities were not unrelated to the lack of visionary policy towards China formulated by Stalin and his hypocritical flirtation with the Kuomintang. Angered by Chiang Kai-shek’s “duplicity”, Stalin ordered Bokel to arrest all Chinese in Moscow immediately.
“What about the Chinese Embassy?” Pauker wanted to know.
“Don’t spare any Chinese except diplomats!” Stalin gave clear instructions. “By tomorrow morning, every Chinese in Moscow must be in prison without missing a single one!”
Paul Kerr immediately set about carrying out the order. He mobilized the entire staff of the State Political Security Directorate that could be found and arrested them all night long. Everything from laundry owners to old professors teaching Chinese at the Army University fell into their hands.
The following morning, Bokor submitted a report to Stalin on the completion of his mission. While Stalin ate breakfast, Pauker recounted all the ridiculous details of the operation, which amused Stalin to no end. He also acted out the panic of the Chinese when they were suddenly captured as if in a comic opera, imitating their ridiculous accents.
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