Rachel's Hope by Shelly Sanders Page A

power…workers of Russia unite…” The words rang out continuously as Sergei made his way to Gorky’s house, weaving his way through the surging mob.
    A baby’s shrill cry pierced the early evening air. Sergei twisted his head and spotted a panicked mother trying to calm her baby in the crowded street. The child’s face appeared pale and drawn. Blue veins almost punctured his temple as he wailed. The infant was hungry.
    Sergei turned away in frustration. How terrible for a parent , not to be able to feed a child . He shoved his hands in his pockets and quickened his pace, not slowing until he reached Gorky’s house.
    â€œMoscow has fallen into chaos,” he said as soon as he walked inside.
    Savinkov and Gorky sat at the table with a bottle of vodka. The hum of the crowd outside filtered through the window.
    â€œSit, my friend,” said Gorky, pulling out a chair. “This is what we have been waiting for.”
    Savinkov poured himself a glass of vodka and ran the palm of his hand over his hair, which shone with pomade.
    â€œWe need to do something big,” said Gorky. “The streets are full of people demanding change. Moscow is paralyzed, but the authorities are hiding, waiting until our energy and resources are depleted.”
    â€œWhat do you propose?” asked Savinkov.
    â€œWe must form a soviet council in Moscow,” Gorky responded. “An organization, not controlled by the government, that speaks for workers. This has already been accomplished in Petersburg.”
    â€œWe have the Social Democratic Party,” said Sergei, referring to the revolutionary party established to combine the many rebellious Russian groups into one organization. “Why can’t we work within that?”
    â€œBecause we need an independent party, dedicated solely to obtaining democracy for all Russian people,” Gorky replied. “We need to organize strikers, and we must urge our supporters not to pay taxes to the government.”
    â€œThe time has come for big actions with even bigger consequences,” added Savinkov.
    â€œYou’ve said this before,” argued Sergei. “And we’ve committed the worst possible crimes in the name of the party. Yet nothing has changed.”
    â€œHow can you say that?” said Savinkov. “After all these protests! The people of Moscow have come together to demand freedom. This would not be possible without the revolutionary bombings and assassinations carried out by the Combat Organization.”
    â€œI disagree,” said Gorky. “The pen is the mightiest weapon, much more powerful than any bomb. It is the circulation of Iskra and the words of our fellow revolutionaries that have armed the people and given them the hope and courage to fight. This is precisely why everything written in Russia is censored,” continued Gorky in a voice filled with vigor. “Even the authorities recognize the power of language. Words have fired up the people.”
    â€œWe must continue circulating Iskra, but this is not enough,” said Savinkov. “More people need to know what’s happening and how they can join the fight for freedom.”
    â€œWhat do you propose?” asked Sergei. “More newspapers, until all of Russia is covered in ink?”
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous,” said Gorky. “I think we need a leaflet, smaller than Iskra, easy to conceal, that can be distributed more easily to the greater population of Russia.”
    â€œExcellent!” said Savinkov. “It could be used to announce upcoming strikes and the whereabouts of supplies to make protests successful.”
    â€œHow will we ever pay for this leaflet?” asked Sergei. “We can barely afford to publish Iskra .”
    â€œI will put up the money,” said Gorky without hesitation.
    Sergei’s eyebrows shot up. How could Gorky afford such an expense?
    Savinkov raised his glass. “To