SCENE 1
In the dim glow of the streetlamps, shadows danced across the cobblestones as Ivan sprinted through the labyrinthine alleys of the city. The year was 1947, and the air was thick with tension. The authorities had intensified their crackdown on communists, and Ivan, a fervent believer in the cause, found himself at the top of their list. His heart pounded in his chest, not just from the exertion, but from the gnawing fear of capture.
As he navigated the narrow passageways, a sudden message reached him—a hushed whisper carried by a trusted comrade. His wife, Anna, was in labor. The news struck him like a bolt of lightning, momentarily halting his flight. A war raged within him: the instinct to survive clashed with the overwhelming pull of love and duty. He knew that turning back meant almost certain capture, but the thought of not being there for Anna, not seeing his child take their first breath, was unbearable.
With a resolute heart, Ivan changed course, his feet pounding the pavement with renewed purpose. The city seemed to conspire against him, each corner he turned echoing with the distant wail of sirens. Yet, his determination was unwavering. He reached the modest apartment building, its façade worn and weary like the souls within. He slipped inside, his breath ragged, and climbed the stairs two at a time.
Bursting into the room, he found Anna, her face a portrait of strength and vulnerability, cradled by the midwife’s care. Their eyes met, and in that moment, the world outside ceased to exist. Ivan knelt beside her, his hand clasping hers with a tenderness that belied the turmoil outside.
“You’re here,” Anna whispered, her voice a fragile thread of relief and love.
“I’m here,” Ivan replied, his voice thick with emotion, as he brushed a damp lock of hair from her forehead. For a fleeting moment, they were a family, untouched by the chaos beyond those walls.
But the moment shattered as the door burst open, the room flooding with harsh light and the heavy presence of the police. Ivan stood, instinctively shielding Anna and their newborn child. The officers moved in, their expressions a mix of duty and regret.
“Please,” Ivan implored, his voice a desperate plea. “Let me stay. Just a moment longer.”
The officer hesitated, a flicker of humanity breaking through the rigid façade. But duty prevailed. With a nod, Ivan was taken, his wrists bound, his heart breaking with every step that took him away from his family.
As he was led out into the night, Ivan cast one last look back at the window, where Anna stood, their child in her arms. Her silhouette was a beacon of hope and defiance, a promise that their fight, their love, would endure beyond the bars that now awaited him.
SCENE 2
As Ivan raced through the winding streets of Ivanovo, the city seemed to pulse with a life of its own. The roads were narrow and uneven, cobblestones worn smooth by the passage of countless feet over the years. Buildings loomed on either side, their facades a mix of crumbling plaster and sturdy brick, remnants of the city’s industrial past. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and the distant hum of machinery—a testament to Ivanovo’s legacy as the “Russian Manchester” with its once-thriving textile mills.
Each step echoed in the quiet night, the sound swallowed by the towering structures that lined the street. Dimly lit windows flickered with the glow of candlelight, casting long shadows that seemed to reach out and grasp at Ivan as he passed. The city was a maze, a labyrinth of history and hardship, and Ivan’s heart raced not just from exertion but from the urgency of his mission.
Reaching the modest house where Anna was laboring, Ivan paused to catch his breath. The building was small and unassuming, its wooden exterior weathered by time and the elements. Inside, the air was warm and filled with the quiet murmurs of the midwife’s encouragement. The room was sparsely furnished, a simple bed where Anna lay, surrounded by the comforting presence of familiar, well-worn objects. The walls, though bare, seemed to hold the echoes of countless stories, a silent witness to the life and love that had unfolded within.
Power and Pelf 