Chapter 409 Postscript
In early autumn, a misty drizzle covered the quiet Moscow River.
On the eastern side of Batagelov Village in the outskirts of the city, on the forested riverbank next to the Moscow River, guards in Ministry of Internal Affairs uniforms were stationed between the riverbank and the woodland, with one guard standing every four or five meters, watching the direction of the woods with vigilance. This heavily guarded cordon stretched nearly a kilometer from south to north.
On the gently sloping riverbank, a naughty boy in a small windbreaker, holding a small windmill in one hand, ran up the riverbank while laughing. No matter how the beautiful woman behind him shouted, he refused to stop.
Below the riverbank, Yuri, dressed in a military uniform, sat calmly on a chair, grilling a skewer of meat on the charcoal fire in front of him, while speaking to the person sitting opposite him: "I have submitted a report to the Presidium, suggesting that you resume your work at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in the near future. As for other positions, I can't do anything about it. You also know the current situation of the Presidium. In many matters, I can ask them to make some concessions, but in some matters, their persistence is frustrating."
"That's good," Molotov took off his hat, smoothed his gray hair, and smiled, "At least I can get back to work. Compared to Lavrenti and the others, what else can I be dissatisfied with?"
Yuri pursed his lips and tried to give some of the skewer in his hand to Molotov, but was rejected by the other party.
"As for Comrades Beria and Malenkov," Yuri said, "yes, I still think they are comrades. In my opinion, there is no need to make the political struggle so bloody. No matter who is the winner, the loser must be given a chance to survive . But you know, Comrade Beria's situation is rather special. Although I have done some work, even those who support me did not choose to stand on my side on this issue. 1,219 party representatives participated in the vote, and the result of 1,216 votes in favor is enough to explain the problem. Comrade Khrushchev was very skillful. He tied Malenkov and Beria together for the vote, which caught us off guard."
Molotov smiled and turned his gaze to the river not far away.
As an old man in the political arena, he would not believe what the young man said about being "caught off guard". After all, he just didn't want to take the political risk. As he himself said, those who supported him wanted to kill Beria. With his cleverness, how could he stand against everyone?
Politics will never be the politics of one person, but the politics of a group of people, a community. The person who is high above is just the representative of the countless supporters behind him. Comrade Stalin was like this in the past. After losing those supporters behind him, he withdrew from the stage of history. The same is true for the young man in front of him.
The sound of a car engine pulled Molotov back to his senses. He looked back and saw several jeeps parked near the woods. Then, a dozen generals in military uniforms got out of the cars. He saw Rokossovsky, Malinin, who had just been promoted to commander of the Kiev Military District, Chuikov, Meretskov, Vasilevsky and others.
"Well, I won't disturb you and your friends." Molotov stood up tactfully, stretched out his hand to Yuri, and said, "I wish you... all the best."
Yuri stood up, shook hands with the other party, and said with a smile: "Everything goes well."
Without stopping, Molotov walked in another direction. He climbed up the river bank and watched the bright woman dragging the child past him. He nodded to the woman, and the woman smiled at him.
"Are you leaving?" The naughty boy stopped and said to him while biting his finger.
"Yes, I'm leaving now," Molotov reached out and touched the child's head, pinched his tender little face, then waved his hand and said with a smile, "Goodbye!"
When saying "goodbye", he couldn't help but look back. Not far from the river bank, Yuri was hugging those who walked down the river bank one by one.
Comrade Molotov sighed slowly and thought to himself: The status of soldiers in this country is getting higher and higher, and their political presence is getting stronger and stronger. I don't know whether this is a good thing or a bad thing.
After thinking about it, he couldn't help but laugh at himself: What does that have to do with me? After all, the era that belonged to me had completely gone away with the death of Comrade Stalin.
(End of the book)
