One evening, Berman came to my office and asked me to go to the NKVD club, where a costume party was being held. Since Stalin’s “Let’s make life better. Comrades. Let’s make life happier!” Since Stalin’s call to “Make life better, comrades, make life happier!”, the Soviet hierarchy no longer held secret parties for drinking, dancing and playing cards, but carried out similar events openly and without fear. The leaders of the Ministry of Internal Affairs responded to the call of their leader. They devoted themselves to the “sweet life” with extraordinary energy. The luxurious furnishings of the Interior Ministry club resembled those of the pre-revolutionary clubs of the officers of the privileged Praetorian Guard. The chiefs of the internal affairs departments were trying to overwhelm each other by holding more grand balls. The first two balls, held by the Secret Service and the Border Division respectively, were quite successful and caused a strong reaction among the staff of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. The wives of the new Soviet nobility rushed to the dressmakers to order evening dresses. Now, they were eagerly looking forward to another ball.
Slutsky, the head of the Foreign Service, decided to show the “uncivilized Muscovites” a real Western-style masquerade. He was determined to outshine the luxurious nightclubs of European capitals. He had spent a lot of American money in those places during his business trips abroad.
When Berman and I entered the club, we saw a sight unlike anything we had ever seen in Moscow. The club’s large ballroom was hazily lit. Under the ceiling, a spherical lamp made of countless pieces of glass, constantly rotating, countless light and shadow falling to the ground, giving the illusion of snowflakes. The men were dressed in uniforms and evening gowns, and the wives wore party dresses or small opera singers’ suits, dancing to the accompaniment of jazz music. Many wives wore masks and very fancy opera costumes. Slutsky had borrowed these costumes for them from the Bolshoi Theatre. The tables were piled high with champagne, liqueurs and vodka. Shouts of joy. Laughter, from time to time, overpowered the music. A colonel of the border guards shouted in ecstasy: “This is the life; men! Thank Stalin for this happy advent!”
The host of the party spotted me and Berman and shouted, “Let them judge! These two are regular visitors to Europe.” Then he turned to us and continued, “Please tell us frankly, have you seen such scenes in Paris or Berlin? I despise all the countesses and duchesses there!”
We had to nod our heads and say that the foreign affairs branch had organized this ball. It was far better than any ball we had ever had the pleasure of seeing in Europe. Slutsky was all aglow and poured a glass of champagne for each of us. Mironov happened to be sitting at the table as well. He exclaimed, “You’ll make a great boss of a Parisian brothel!”
Really, that role was far more suitable for Slutsky than his role as head of the Soviet spy agency, and even better than his three years as party secretary of the Ministry of Internal Affairs.
The dance floor was stuffy and we soon left. Directly across from the club was the eerie, bottom-up building of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, embedded with black granite. Behind these granite walls, in a cell, Lenin’s close comrades, who had become Stalin’s hostages, were suffering inhuman torture.
Berman and I wandered through the dimly lit streets of Moscow. I thought of Par Vaganian, and Berman, as if he had guessed what was in my mind, suddenly said to me: “I always have Par Vaganian in my head. What a remarkable, thoughtful man. Unfortunately, he got involved with the opposition and ended up suffering this crime. He was a man who was ready to die. He was only thinking about the fate of the revolution and the question of whether he had the moral right, as a Bolshevik, to sign the confessions that he was asked to sign,” said Berman, with a sigh. “Those whom we just ran into at the club did not do nearly one hundredth as much for the revolution as Par Vaganian did. I have often lamented how I managed to take care of this case. But on the other hand, it’s a blessing that he at least didn’t fall into the hands of a bad guy like Chertok.” Berman was silent for a while, and said in another, less depressed tone: “If only you could hear what he calls me: Dearest Be-er-Man!”
I drew a conclusion from his words; Berman used a special tactic with Pal Varganyan. He did not know what to ask his interrogated man to do, whether to sign the required confession or to refuse to do so. Therefore, he did not put pressure on him. While Zinoviev and Kamenev were still resisting, Berman was inclined to think that Par Vaganian was right in his reluctance to sign the blatantly fabricated confessions. However, after learning that Stalin had sincerely promised Zinoviev and Kamenev not to shoot the old Bolsheviks and that Zinoviev and Kamenev had agreed to appear in court to “confess”, Berman changed his mind and thought it would be better for his interrogator to follow their example and sign. He tried to persuade Par Vaganian to sign the required confessions and to appear in court with them. During the trial, Par Vaganian had developed trust in Berman, so he did not consider Berman’s unconventional approach to be a concerted interrogation tactic. Besides, even Zinoviev and Kamenev, two of the most famous party activists, had already appeared in court to lie for Stalin. There was no point in him worrying that the reputation of the party and the revolution would be ruined.
And so Tir Vaganian surrendered.
After he signed the “confession”. Berman said.
“That’s good! …… Any resistance is useless. The main thing is to keep your courage and confidence, and in a few years I think I will see you fighting again in an important position in the Party!”
“Dearest Belman,” replied Pal Vaganian, “you don’t seem to understand me fully. I do not want to return to any important post in the least. Since the Party, for which I thought I was living and ready to die, has forced me to sign this thing, I don’t want to be a Party member anymore. Today, I really envy the most backward non-Party masses.”
Shortly before the trial, Prosecutor General Wisinski began taking over the case and the defendants from the Ministry of Internal Affairs. The “handover” procedure went like this: the defendant was escorted to Morchanov’s or Agranov’s office. There Vyshinsky questioned the defendants in the presence of the heads of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. Did they admit that the confession was true and had they signed it during the interrogation. After this less than ten-minute walk-through, the defendants were sent back to prison, still under the supervision of the same NKVD investigators who had interrogated them.
But there was a big surprise when Pal Vaganian was “handed over” to Vyshinsky. The accused was brought into Agranov’s office, where, in addition to the owner of the office, there were Vyshinsky, Molchanov and Berman. In answer to Vyshinsky’s set of questions, Pal Vaganian gave the other man a contemptuous stare and said, “Frankly, I have the legal right not to recognize you as any prosecutor general. I arrested you during the civil war because you were a real counter-revolutionary!” Vyshinsky became suddenly pale and speechless. Par Vaganian was very satisfied with the effect of these words. He looked around at those present, and then added magnanimously: “Ah, come on! Don’t be afraid, I can no longer arrest you.”
This transgression by Par Vaganian amused Yagoda and the entire head of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. For although Vyshinsky often slipped in front of the heads of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, the people here did not even think of him.
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