The Fall of Berlin: The Missing Scene

Scene 13: Inside Stalin’s Dacha

At the table—Comrades Stalin, Molotov, Kalinin, Malenkov, Beria, Voroshilov, and Alesha. The table is already laid. There are no waiters. Everyone takes whatever he wants. Ivanov [that is, Alesha], so as not to put a foot wrong, eats only bread.

Stalin says to him: “When a guest doesn’t eat, the host feels hurt. Try this.” He places a fish on Alesha’s plate and pours him a glass of wine.

“Thank you. To your health, Comrade Stalin,” says Alesha.

“People are always drinking to my health,” Stalin replies. “Let’s drink to you, to your new successes.”

Everybody drinks. Beria refills the glasses and remarks, as if in passing, “It’s only Ivanov who keeps their plant going. Otherwise they’re not doing too well.”

“Our plant?” Ivanov has not appreciated the joke. He is agitated and replies proudly, “Our plant is strong, our people brave, bold, far-sighted … No, Comrade Beria, we haven’t been given the Order for nothing.”

“Their plant is alright,” says Stalin, “it’s just that their leadership is a little backward … Isn’t that so?”

Alesha shakes his head in disagreement. “No! You’d have to look all over the [Soviet] Union to find a director like Khmel’nitskii,” he declares with conviction. “We produce good steel, better than anyone else. We call it Khmel’nitskii’s steel.”

“A lot of people make steel, but many of them think about what it’s for or how much we need… What do your people think about war?” asks Molotov.

“They think it’s on its way, that it’s imminent,” Alesha replies.

“In the next war, steel will decide everything,”[3] says Stalin, “because the better equipped a soldier is, the more powerful his technology, the easier it is for him to win.”

“Our steel is good, Comrade Stalin, but it will get even better,” says Alesha. “I’ve made the first melt of the new grade and our old steel founder, Ermilov, will do better in a month or two, just you see. He’ll make a better melt. And then someone else will go one better…”

“And will you give up then?” asks Voroshilov.

Stalin smiles: “Of course he’ll give up. He’s happy with what he’s done and that’s it.”

“Me? Happy?!” exclaims Alesha. “I’ve never been happy with what I’ve done. None of our young people imagine that it’s possible, for instance, to do anything without competition. You have to use your head to smelt steel.” He is suddenly agitated. “They tell you, let’s say, that there’s a particular mix, you have only to be shown the technical process and that’s it―you make it.”

“And it’s not really like that?” asks Stalin, smiling.

“Not quite,” replies Alesha, pushing the plate, knife, and fork away from him so that his hands are free. “Steel is like a living organism, Comrade Stalin. Everything’s taken care of, you do everything according to the technical instructions and you take a look―and it’s all gone wrong. What’s the problem? … I tell you, you have to heat up the steel correctly, do it properly. No mother brings up her children like I make steel. That’s it! You go near the furnace, your heart trembling. All your thoughts are there in the furnace as if it’s you being smelted in the fire.”

Alesha stops.

“Tell us, tell us,” says Stalin, pushing Alesha’s plate towards him, but Alesha, not noticing, pushes it away in the rush of his impassioned eloquence.

“And when the melt is ready, I take one look at it and I can see straight away whether it’s been successful or not. At that moment you’d forget your own father and mother. When it is successful you are seized with such joy that you think nothing of bursting into song… All that noise and crashing sound and there you are, singing to yourself like a nightingale.”

They all leave the table and gather round Stalin and Alesha as they continue their conversation.

“Are you married, Comrade Ivanov?” asks Molotov.

“Almost,” Alesha replies mysteriously.

“Almost what?” Stalin asks.

“Almost … married, but it won’t work out. Please help me if you can, Comrade Stalin,” Alesha replies, sighing with embarrassment.

Everyone laughs. Stalin spreads his hands: “A hard case! But if it depends on me, of course I’ll help. What’s the problem?”

“She’s a real beauty!” says Alesha, “with a pure heart! And she’s clever! But she’s been torturing me with poetry… Suddenly, say, the phone will ring and it’s her: ‘Hello, Alesha! ‘The Caucasus below, I am alone on high…’ Complete the line!’ You understand?”

Smiling, Stalin stops him: “So what’s wrong?”

“Of course, I do my best, but who can remember so much poetry?”

“But it’s good poetry,” Stalin remarks thoughtfully and, closing his eyes, he softly recites by heart:

I stand above the snows on the edge of a ravine.
An eagle, rising from a distant peak,
Hovers motionless on a par with me.
From here I can see where the streams rise,
And the movement of the first awesome landslides. [4]

Alesha freezes.

“Do you study this as well?” He expresses his astonishment and his face shows his unhappiness.

“It’s nothing. Don’t be afraid of poetry,” says Stalin, smiling. “Try and be better at it than she is. The rest will follow.”

“I’ll do what I can…” Alesha smiles shyly, “but I don’t think the prospects are bright. Please excuse me, Comrade Stalin! I should never have mentioned it.”

Stalin lays his hand on Alesha’s shoulder.

“You’re among friends. We can say what we like to one another… Give my best wishes to the steelworkers. What we ask is that you don’t become complacent, don’t rest on your laurels, that you achieve new successes… That is also important in your personal life.” [5]

Alesha takes his leave.

“You can trust us steelworkers,” he tells Stalin. “We won’t let you down. We’re miles ahead of all those foreigners. I’m telling you straight.” He leaves, but turns back. “Thank you for everything, Comrade Stalin.” He shakes his hand. “Thanks!” And he quickly leaves the dining room.:::