The Margin of Evil! (26 page)

A few days later Peter got a glimpse of his employers, Compstone, Compstone, Compstone & Weeks – Importers and
Exporters since sixteen ninety-five. An elderly lady, who appeared to be chaperoning a young boy, entered the building. The Architect's were fawning all over them.

As they went past him he heard the woman say,
'That 'Mr Stephen' is away in the Orient right now, so it has fallen to me, in his absence, to take charge of things.'

'
How is Miss Geraldine,' the Architect said.

The old woman replied,
'Miss Geraldine has been sent to a sanatorium you know.'  She then gestured her finger towards her mouth.  The old woman lowered her tone.'  As regards her brain ... informed opinion says it has turned to sponge! Turned to sponge through lack of abstinence! Tis the Devils work!  Lack of abstinence!' She shook her head and added.  'Very sad affair, very sad indeed .... ' Her voice just tapered off.

'
Come on Peter, you`re slacking today,' Alf said.

Whilst the
'Old' woman had temporarily distracted Peter, the charge-hand had come around on his rounds.

'
The Guv's, going to have your bits on toast, if you two don't shake a leg! Aint he mate!'

The signs were all there
you could tell that the building was nearing completion. As the weeks went by there seemed to be fewer and fewer tradesman working there. In the end there were no major jobs to be done, Peter found himself 'Snagging' around the building tidying up loose ends. Some days there was not much to be done. On those days Peter and Alf would take extended breaks. It was during those times, and away from prying eyes, that Peter Piaktow really got to know Alfred Horner. They often held 'Why did you come here', and 'What have you done in your life' conversations. These were often conducted over a Mrs Brown sandwich or a mug of tea got from one of the barrows over the road.

Peter was amazed to find out
that Alf had fought with the Middlesex Regiment in the Boer War and had seen action at Spion Kop where his unit had relieved Ladysmith. Alf regaled the young Peter with stories of bayonet skirmishes fought in the unforgiving heat on distant hilltops. Alf, too, wanted to know why Peter always corrected him on being Latvian when Alf called him Russian. Peter in his broken English told him why.

'
It's like his Alf', he paused while he collected his thoughts.  'How would you feel if someone walked into your house and started telling you what to do? Then they started telling you what you could do and what you couldn't do. And this is in your own house! The house that you have sweated and toiled for! Tell me Alf, how would you feel?'

'
Well I would be pretty aggrieved. There is no doubt that I'd be pretty aggrieved,' Alf said. 'I would want to do something about it!'

'
Easier said than done my friend! Easier said than done ... O.k. let's look at it another way. Maybe I'm not making myself clear,' Peter said.

'
No, no, you're doin' fine,' Alf said, as he got out some tobacco to chew.

'
In the beginning, we were a trading nation. We considered ourselves to be Northern Europeans, with a trace of the Scandinavian about us. We had our own language, customs and culture. We were, and still are, a very proud people. But we had a neighbour, whom over a long period of time became steadily more powerful. As his power grew so did his confidence. This neighbour was nothing more than a bear in sheep's clothing, all it craved was power. Power for the Russian bear meant the acquisition of more territory.'  Peter fixed Alf with a penetrating stare. Alf was chewing his tobacco and listening intently to the young man. Peter carried on, 'More than anything else this bear of the forest wanted to be taken seriously by its European neighbours. The one thing the creature wanted was credibility. Not that anyone wanted to deny it credibility; it was just that neighbours could not take a neighbour seriously that did not take itself seriously. Do you see?'  Alf nodded, 'Russia and Russians were obsessed by power, they wanted to move down, but they were always stopped. The only way for them to go was across. From Muscovy they headed east until they got to the Pacific. West from St Petersburg they took Finland and the Baltic states, but westward they could not achieve the cherished prize of a warm water port. They tried and tried but, to date, they have not succeeded.'

'
Yes, but how did you get overpowered by Russia?' Alf asked.

'
Well it was like this; in this part of the world tiny countries frequently changed hands. For a while we were part of Poland and then we were part of Sweden. When Sweden lost 'The Great Northern War' and the spoils were divided up; we found ourselves, grudgingly, part of Russia. There was nothing that we could do, we were simply too small to put up any real resistance. We could do nothing! So, overnight, we found ourselves swallowed up by the Great Russian bear and that's the way it is; but my friend we are a 'Stoic' enough people to believe that change will come soon.'

'
Spoils of war matey, have a lot to answer for don't they? It's about time we got back to work. Otherwise 'The Guv' will fire us for idlin'', the Boer War veteran said.

Work carried on and the snagging was nearing its end.
Alf had told Peter that he would have work until the end of the month and then he and the remaining tradesmen would be paid off. But he emphasised that the last day would be the best day. It would be a day of pomp and circumstance, brass bands and the Lord Mayor of London would be putting in an appearance. The day when a building gets signed off, Alf said, is always a grand day. He stressed for those who had been there from the beginning to the end, it kind of drew a line under everything.

At another
of their all too frequent, soul-searching, lunchtime conversations. Peter asked Alf a question; a question that he'd been dying to ask for the last few weeks.

'
What's it like to fight in a war?'

'
Well I'll tell you mate. I thought it was always going to be a privilege to fight for Queen and Country. But what I saw forced me to reconsider.'

Peter felt that maybe he had gone too far, that maybe he had touched on a tender nerve.
He looked across towards Alf. Alf was now looking at the ground; his boot was nervously playing with the dirt.

Alf continued,
'See I was young then. I wanted to see the world and the only way I could see it was to either join the army or the navy. I didn't like the idea of being stuck on a boat for three months. So I joined up and joined the Middlesex Regiment. Army to you son! I joined in ninety eight, and, by the time I'd finished me training, I was in time for the Boer war!'

Peter listened intently.
The charge-hand had recomposed himself and was now finding his stride.

'
It's been five years since I came out, but it still troubles me what I saw down in South Africa. It still troubles me a lot. I got on a troop ship from Dover and we disembarked in Cape Town. We were told that it was all going to be over in a month. In fact if we didn't step on it we might miss the action. When I think back on it now, I thinks to meself, how stupid we were! We were put on trains and we went on up country. Four days later we disembarked on the Veldt. Rolling grassland: North; East; South and West; goes on forever, we marched over it; all you could hear was the sound of the breeze blowing over this sea of grass. Then you heard it, in the distance, you could hear it. The sound of a shot, then another. Then there would be silence. Then another shot. At first we weren't that bothered by it. But it went on and on, you would be marching and there would be a loud crack of them 'Mauser' rifles and you would see one of your mates drop down dead in front of you. See, I remember the drill sergeant saying that an army fights on its stomach. But I'll tell you, Peter, the water was bad and so was the meat ...'

'
But what was it like to fight the enemy?' Peter said.

'
Well I'll tell yer. It's grim, for the most part we were fighting an unseen enemy. Distant silhouettes on horseback, twos and threes, on the horizon.  They weren't no ordinary army like we were. They were known as irregulars; basically they was civilians, given a gun and told to take a pot shot at us. And that's exactly what they did most of the time. They would lay up and wait for you, take a shot; then they would jump up on their horses and clear off. That's what it was like every day! Every day! After a while it gets to you. You gets to thinking that you can't take anymore, but for the oath and all of that, you keep on going. There but for the grace of god go I, you know what I mean lad. But when you gets one of them up close, so close as you can see the whites of their eyes; so that you can see the fear on his face as you stick him with your bayonet and you are pissing your pants thinking if I don't do something now he's going to run me through. That's tough Peter, that's very tough indeed!

'
But you still haven't told me,' Peter said.

'
There's a kind of unwritten law Peter. I suppose it's a mark of respect for the fallen, comrade in arms, even if he does fight for the other side. It's personal, you keeps it to yourself; if you really want to know, you will have to fight in a war yourself. It's different for everyone, that's all I can say mate. But I tell you one thing I found out Peter, you don't think about Queen and Country, you just think of your mates!  He looks out for your back and you look out for his! That's all that matters ... fuck Queen Victoria!

The day of the signing off ceremony was a strange one.
Peter had had the feeling that at times he was being watched. Initially he had put it down to paranoia, but more recently he'd had the distinct feeling that he was being watched. Maybe it was all those years spent dodging the Okhrana.  In his mind you just got a feeling for it, it was a sixth sense and there was definitely that feeling.

Mid-
morning people had started to arrive at Compstone, Compstone, Compstone & Weeks new building on the corner of ... The band was striking up a nice Polonaise and the Lord Mayor was strutting around in all of his finery. Peter had decided to attach himself to Alfred Horner; the two of them stood at the back and made small talk. There was a tap on the upper part of his leg, Peter ignored it, but the tap tapped again.  He looked down, to see a small street urchin staring up at him.

Before he could say anything the boy said,
'Bin' told ter give yer this.'

The bo
y thrust the note into his hand and, no sooner had he done so, then the brat was gone. Peter read the note.

Peter, the vacant seat has now been filled! Time to come home!

GG

'
Alf, something urgent has happened. I have to go ... I will be in touch.'

With that, he screwed the letter up into a tight ball; got his things together and left.
Alfred Horner would never see Peter Piaktow again, but he would hear all about what Peter did. Fortunately for Peter he would never put 'Two' and 'Two' together.

Chapter Seventeen

When she was a child, Nina Milstein had but one ambition in life. She wanted to be an actress. Miss Milstein also prided herself on the fact that she was a survivor. She had learned the hard way. The one lesson that life had taught her, was that everyone had their price. After the nineteen hundred and five revolutions, Nina had discovered, shortly after 'The Okhrana' had 'Turned'
[19]
her, that everyone had theirs; hers was freedom at any price. So a deal had been struck with an Auguste Gerhardt, that she would supply him regularly with information on Latvian revolutionaries and, in return she would be left alone. Occasionally she might be ruffed up, but that was purely for effect; she went on to become one of his prized agents.

Nina
's story was a familiar one. She was born an only child. Her father was a travelling salesman, and her mother was disinterested in children. The mother saw children as a labour and not a love; as far as she was concerned she had done her duty and ruined her figure in the process. The father was always away on business, when he was home he usually spent time with his mistress. Her mother, who herself had been spoiled rotten as a child, spent most of the day locked away in her bedroom.  When she was not there, she was running up accounts all over Riga.

As far as the mother, Mrs Milstein
'Senior' was concerned, her only daughter could just 'Get on with it.'  She had convinced herself that with minimal input from her, her one and only daughter would one day thank her for being the marvellous mother Mrs Milstein always knew she had been.  So for Nina, left wanting in the 'Social Skills' department, it really was a case of trial and error. As a result, coming from both sides, of the lack of parental interest, Nina's social skills were not that well developed; the direct consequences of this were, she became surly and withdrawn. But that did not mean that she had no 'Social Skills', it was simply a case that her values were not like everybody else's; they were slightly different.

She was self-centred, this selfish streak estranged
all
would be friends, and practically alienated everybody, child and adult, else. So, coupled with the parents disinterest, the young Nina Milstein found herself spending more and more time on her own; just herself in her room, staring out of the window, all alone with her thoughts.