Reincarnated: Vive La France-Chapter 191: "Now the living will pay for the truth."

6 January 1937

Morning snow stuck stubbornly to the edges of Moscow’s rooftops.

A beautiful scenery that makes you wonder the power of nature mixed with human ingenuity.

For many in later generation visiting Moscow in snow became a beautiful dream.

But today it was a nightmare of many and soon to be grave of those who worked hard for this nation but unfortunately spoke the truth.

Truth so harsh that it will continue to remind the world of what happened inside USSR under Stalin.

Inside the Kremlin, the air was warmer but sharper and deadlier.

A bad premonition ran through the hearts of those who were called.

Staff whispered in corners, secretaries shuffled papers with trembling fingers.

They all knew, something was coming.

The precedent of past made it more believable.

In the high-ceilinged briefing chamber of the Council of People’s Commissars, the lights flickered overhead as a group of statisticians and party officials sat rigidly at a long oak table.

At its head, sat Stalin.

He didn’t speak at first. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓

Just stared.

Because according to him a act more worse than treason has happened.

In front of him lay the final results of the long-awaited 1937 census.

"One hundred sixty-two million," he said at last, his voice devoid of any emotion.

A cough.

Silence.

"Where," Stalin asked, lifting his eyes slowly, "are the missing eighteen million?"

No one moved.

A few chairs creaked.

Olimpiy Kvitkin, the head of the Central Census Bureau, cleared his throat and stood.

"Comrade Stalin, the census was conducted according to the scientific methods approved by the Presidium. The enumerators followed strict guidelines. It is our conclusion that this number reflects the true count of living Soviet citizens. I assure you that we have worked hard to recheck everything, so as to present a stats that represents the truth."

"That," Stalin said softly, "is a lie."

Kvitkin froze.

Around him, Mikhail Kurman, Lazar Brand, Ivan Oblomov, and Ivan Kraval sat pale-faced.

Somehow they saw themselves at the gate of hell.

They could feel it, death slowly creeping on themselves.

For too many have died in past few years because Stalin believed they have lied.

Stalin held up the report with two fingers, like it was a dead rat.

For him people are stats whether they live or die he doesn’t care.

It was not 18 million lives missing that was the problem.

"Eighteen million. Did they vanish into thin air? Or are you suggesting my industrial plans, my food policies, my war preparations... have cost the Soviet Union eighteen million lives?"

"Comrade Stalin," Brand spoke, cautiously, "we verified everything. Double-counted regions, adjusted for border changes... the loss may also reflect the demographic aftershocks of civil war, the famine, the relocation of peoples..."

"So you admit," Stalin interjected, his eyes narrowing.

"That the state has lost control of its people. That the people I am purging are innocent?"

"No, Comrade. We merely counted what is there. We didn’t interpret the results."

A laugh.

Not from Stalin.

It came from the shadowed corner of the room where Nikolai Yezhov, head of the NKVD, sat sipping tea.

He didn’t hide his amusement.

But deep within that was something nobody ever saw.

Fear.

For only he has seen how worthless human life was.

But if he wants to live, he has to play this game.

"Fascinating, isn’t it?" Yezhov said. "These men spent months counting heads, and now they’ve made themselves political martyrs without even realizing."

Stalin remained seated.

"Comrade Yezhov," he said, without turning, "do you believe these men are merely incompetent? Or worse?"

"I believe," Yezhov replied, rising with a smile, "that some snakes have slithered into our statistical bureaus. And if a snake gives you bad numbers, it is not miscalculation. It is sabotage."

Kvitkin stepped forward raising in his voice, sounding utterly helpless.

"Comrade Stalin, this is madness! We followed the Party’s orders. This data belongs to the Party. To the people!"

Stalin stood.

"And yet it embarrasses the Party. It undermines our success. It gives ammunition to our enemies."

He walked slowly down the length of the table.

"Eighteen million people," he said, softly, as if repeating a bedtime story. "That is not an error. That is a political crime."

Kurman tried to speak. "Comrade Stalin, I implore you to understand what we have done and how....."

"Save it for your interrogator," Yezhov cut in, already gesturing.

Two NKVD officers entered the room.

"What are you doing?!" Oblomov shouted, rising.

Brand grabbed the table. "You can’t arrest us for numbers!"

Stalin turned. "Oh, but I can. Because in this state, gentlemen, numbers are power. And you have just committed treason with your abacus."

The officers dragged Kvitkin and Kurman from the room, kicking.

Oblomov fell silent as he was pinned against the wall.

Yezhov watched calmly. "Take them to Lubyanka. No food. No sleep. I want to know who told them to sabotage the census."

As the doors closed, Stalin returned to his seat.

"We will redo the census," he said, staring at the remaining ministers. "And this time, the numbers will be correct."

A long silence followed.

Then one official dared to ask, "Comrade Stalin, what if the next census finds the same results?"

Stalin looked at him without blinking.

"Then we will find new statisticians."

Outside the Kremlin, the day moved on.

But inside every statistical office, every regional bureau, the chill of that morning passed faster than any snowfall.

Typewriters fell silent.

Files were burned.

Heads of offices resigned or disappeared.

One man, a regional census supervisor in Saratov, sat in his cramped room and whispered to his wife.

"They counted wrong because they told us not to count the dead. Now the living will pay for the truth."

The next day, he turned himself in.

The same day, the NKVD raided offices in Smolensk, Kiev, Baku, Minsk.

The census had asked.

Who are you

Where are you

How many are you?

Stalin had asked.

Why do the answers not please me?