Manhattan

United Nations Headquarters - The General Assembly Hall

1st Avenue & East 44th Street - Same Day

It was an audience of the most important diplomats in the world – every United Nations envoy had been invited. The assembly hall was full. The concert was due to start. Like a child before a school play, Raisa stole a glance from backstage, wondering if her nervousness about tonight’s performance had manifested itself as paranoia. Her imagination had run away with her, drawing inspiration from her past when every ord was loaded with danger and intrigue. It was not her clothes that had revealed her as provincial but the way in which she’d panicked, unsettled at being given such a grand platform. She was embarrassed at the way she’d behaved. The successful dress rehearsal had steadied her, calmed her down, given her a sense of proportion and made her earlier outburst feel ridiculous.

She regarded the Soviet students: they’d lined up and were ready to walk out onto the stage. Her job was to reassure them, not to be flustered. Passing each one with a smile and words of encouragement, she approached Elena. Raisa had reluctantly relented, allowing Elena to sing, fearing that if she did not, Elena would blame Leo and hate him. However, they’d barely spoken since the argument and a sense of awkwardness remained. Raisa crouched down, whispering:

—This is new for me too. The pressure became a little too much. I’m sorry. I know you’re going to be amazing. I hope you can enjoy the evening. I hope I haven’t spoiled this for you – that was never my intention.

Elena was crying. Raisa hastily wiped away her daughter’s tears.

—Don’t cry. Please, or I’ll start.

Raisa smiled, to cover the fact that she was close to tears, adding:

—It’s my fault. Not Leo’s, don’t be angry with him. Just concentrate on the performance. Have fun. Enjoy tonight.

Raisa was about to return to the front of the students when Elena took her hand, saying:

—Mother, I would never be involved in anything that wouldn’t make you proud of me.

The use of the word mother had been deliberate. Fearful that she would not be able to control her emotions, Raisa uttered a quick response:

—I know.

Raisa hurried back into position, composing herself, ready to lead her students onto the stage. She breathed deeply, determined to succeed. This was a remarkable event. Many years ago, in the Great Patriotic War, a refugee, her only thought had been to survive. As a teacher in Moscow during Stalin’s reign, her only ambition had been to avoid arrest. Were she to go back in time and show that fearful young woman a glimpse of her future – a prestigious international audience in this remarkable hall with two beautiful daughters by her side – it would be impossible to believe. Her only wish was that Leo could be here with her, not because of any plot or treachery – she bitterly regretted putting the idea into his head – but because no other person understood the journey she’d made.

The musical cue was given. The orchestra was ready. The audience fell silent. Side by side with the American head teacher, Raisa led her students out. The applause was polite and she sensed not without an undercurrent of uncertainty. No one was quite sure how this unprecedented performance was going to turn out.

***

Walking onto the stage, Elena reassured herself that she hadn’t lied: her mother was certain to be proud when she understood what she was trying to achieve – a much-needed show of love and admiration for Jesse Austin, a man wrongly persecuted for his convictions, a brilliant man beaten down by state oppression because of his belief in fairness and love. Of course, Raisa would be angry at first, furious by the fact that it had remained a secret. She would be angry that she’d not been told. Once that anger faded, then surely she would understand, perhaps she would even admire Elena’s courage.

Regarding the hall, the decorations, the flags and the elitist audience, the political aristocracy dressed in fine clothes, Elena considered the spectacle artificial, disconnected from any real problems or issues. The concert carried no promise of social change or progress, sterilized, stripped of any anger or outrage to avoid offending their hosts. The protests on the street were not against one government or another, they would be universal, against intolerance and hatred, against inequity and an approach to human life that was inhumane. The world needed a second Revolution, a revolution of civil rights. Communism was the best vehicle for that Revolution. How could Raisa not be proud of what she and Jesse Austin were about to achieve? The applause came to a stop.