Rachel's Hope by Shelly Sanders Page B

Gorky…the tyranny will fall…”
    â€œAnd the people will rise,” said Gorky.
    â€œAnd the people will rise,” Sergei echoed.
    âš“ ⚓ ⚓
    â€œThe tsar has signed an Imperial Manifesto!” shouted a jubilant man in the street. It was the thirtieth of October, almost a month since Gorky had proposed leaflets for the Russian people. “He’s guaranteed civil liberties for all Russian citizens and legal power for the Duma.”
    Sergei was on his way back to Gorky’s house after meeting with a new factory manager interested in receiving Iskra. He stopped and joined the crowd to hear what was being said. The man’s words sounded far away and muffled, as if he were speaking from the other side of a wall. Sergei strained to hear the fellow again, to make sure he’d heard correctly.
    â€œThe tsar has given in to the people,” came the same voice. “Freedom is ours!”
    Sergei stood on his toes to try and match the speaker with the voice, but to no avail. Too many people stood between him and the baritone-voiced man.
    â€œAn Imperial Manifesto…” “Our struggle is over…” “The tsar has answered the people…” Elated voices rippled through the mass of people as they digested the news.
    Sergei squeezed through the throng. “Have you heard?” he asked, darting inside Gorky’s house. “The tsar has signed a manifesto giving the people what we’ve been asking for.”
    â€œSavinkov is bringing a copy of this document,” said Gorky, looking up from his writing. “I will reserve judgement until I see the terms of this supposed manifesto.”
    â€œYou sound skeptical,” said Sergei, walking over to the bookshelves.
    â€œI don’t believe the tsar would bend so easily, my friend,” said Gorky.
    Sergei turned and faced him. “You are the smartest man I know, but I hope you’re wrong. I want to get on with my life, to do more with my time than protest.”
    An hour later, the door burst open. Savinkov marched in like a general preparing for battle. “Just as you thought, Gorky.” He spread a number of pages of foolscap on the table and pointed at one line. “It claims there will be freedom of conscience, speech, assembly, and association. There is the promise that all classes will be able to participate in the Duma, a group of people chosen to represent the people and limit the authority of the tsar.” Savinkov continued, “But the tsar can veto any legislation passed by the Duma, and authorities can continue arresting anyone for speaking or writing against the government.”
    â€œThis proclamation is merely a slight dilution of power, not a full reform in favor of the working people as we have demanded,” stated Gorky as he waved Savinkov away and examined each page of the copied document.
    Then he stepped back and poured himself a glass of vodka. He drained it in seconds. “I’m afraid this is exactly what I expected, a meager attempt to pacify the people.”
    â€œSo nothing has really changed?” said Sergei. “Out on the streets, people who don’t know the details of this proclamation are cheering the tsar and believing they have new rights.”
    Savinkov dropped heavily into his seat and folded his hands together. “When people find out the truth behind this document, things will get worse.”
    â€œMuch worse,” added Gorky.
    âš“ ⚓ ⚓
    Sergei couldn’t move his arms or his legs. Something hard and sharp dug into his skin, cut off his circulation. His hands and feet were shackled. When he tried to break free, the shackles grew tighter. The sound of chains clattering grew louder until they encircled him. An explosion. Smoke filled the air, and body parts, torn and bloody, flew past him—hands, legs, an ear, a foot. Chains slithered around him like snakes, squeezed him tighter and tighter