Chapter 5: The October Revolution - The Lonely Wolf
"Teacher Alexandra Kim left yesterday."
"What? What did you say?"
The next day, after confirming I was still in Petrograd in 1917, I headed to Smolny with a heavy heart. I began the day with the shocking news. I thought she'd at least stay for another day or two, but she really left immediately?
Hearing that Kim Alexandra had left, I suddenly remembered the drunken rant I'd thrown yesterday, even though I hadn't been drinking.
Damn it, what was I thinking yesterday? Did I really spout off that nonsense? Should I really flee to the US in exile?
Just then, there were two knocks on the door of the Third Foreign Affairs Bureau, which had become my room. The door burst open, and the man who strode in was like a character straight out of a silent film—no, a silent film film.
Leon Trotsky, who had been thoroughly humiliated by me yesterday, was now glaring at me with a sinister smile.
"Hey, Comrade Lee. You made it to work? I was worried you wouldn't show up."
"Ah... hahaha, good morning, Comrade Trotsky. Now that you mention it, what should I be working on today?"
Trotsky, his Jewish-like malice plain for all to see, snickered as he slammed a stack of documents he'd brought onto my desk.
"What should you be working on? These are declarations and proclamations to be issued in the name of the Petrograd Soviet. Fix any awkward phrasing, correct grammar mistakes, and eliminate typos. When you're done, organize them by category and put them on my desk."
"Excuse me...? But isn't this usually the secretary's job?"
Wait, wasn't I supposed to be the Foreign Affairs Commissioner? Are they really making me do the grunt work that interns and low-ranking employees usually handle?
"Comrade Lee, you're the Foreign Affairs Commissioner, right?"
"Yes, of course."
"And these documents are official correspondence sent by the Petrograd Soviet both domestically and internationally, so they could be considered diplomatic documents, right?"
"Well, that's not entirely wrong, but..."
"Then get to work on them! I'll see you at lunchtime, Comrade Lee."
With that, Trotsky sauntered out of the room with a cheerful wave, leaving me buried under a mountain of paperwork.
"Damn it, even when I got stuck doing group project slackers' work, I never had to deal with this..."
And so began my bitter struggle with the accursed Russian language and Cyrillic script.
"It's all done."
"Already? I didn't expect you to finish so quickly."
Having triumphantly moved the stack of documents Trotsky had dumped on my desk six hours earlier back to his desk, I declared with self-satisfaction.
Trotsky seemed genuinely surprised. Damn it, why did you think you could pull a trick like this on me?
To be honest, the actual corrections weren't particularly laborious. It was just that reading the Russian text was excruciatingly difficult.
Even though I'd received Russian language proficiency as a perk from my trip, the Cyrillic script, more convoluted than the Latin alphabet, refused to register easily in my eyes. Had it been in Korean, I probably could have finished in less than three hours.
After all, I've always been confident in my writing skills. That's the advantage of a liberal arts education.
I expected Trotsky to immediately grab a document at random from the pile and unleash a rapid-fire barrage of criticism against me. Instead, he surprisingly remained calm. He pushed the stack aside and began to speak.
"Well, let's start with an apology. You were right. This is the kind of thing secretaries should be handling. It's not part of a Foreign Affairs Commissioner's duties."
What the hell? My fists trembled with rage.
I barely restrained myself from grabbing Trotsky by the collar and slamming him against the wall. My fists are itching to teach you a lesson, you bastard.
"Actually... um... this was a kind of test. I wanted to see if you were all talk, so I had you handle some practical work. Well, you passed. Congratulations."
Do you think I'm in the mood to celebrate?
My incredulous expression made Trotsky wince.
"At this point, you must be curious about your real duties. It's simple. Your 'real' job is to write editorials. You'll be writing pieces about the current state of world affairs under the name of the Petrograd Soviet. Easy, right?"
"Why bother assigning me this trivial task when you're just going to make me write the article anyway?"
"Well... Ugh, what's the point in beating around the bush? Fine, I'll tell you the truth."
He was going to try and justify himself in front of me again? I barely suppressed a scoff as Trotsky continued, barely able to ignore my incredulous expression.
"Yesterday, your question left a profound impression on me. I could see the potential in you. That's why I intend to cultivate you strategically. As you'll see, I don't have many allies."
So he subjects everyone he wants to recruit to these kinds of tests? No wonder he has so few allies. He tramples anyone who might be worth having on his side. It's a wonder he has any allies at all.
"Anyway, congratulations. You've passed my test. And since I feel a bit guilty, I'll make you a promise. If I rise to a higher position in the future, I'll grant you a corresponding rank. Recently, our Bolsheviks gained a majority in the Soviet. I'm sure I'll have opportunities to advance beyond my current position, and when that happens, I'll definitely reward you. This is a promise I make in the name of Leon Trotsky."
No, that's just an alias. He might as well declare himself "Fool Ivan" instead.
"..."
"Comrade Lee, I'm truly sorry. So, for Comrade Kim's sake, please..."
"Teacher Alexandra isn't here right now, is she?"
"Comrade Kim recommended me, didn't he? So please..."
Haa. I sighed. It felt pretty good to make Trotsky bow his head.
How many times in his life would this arrogant man ever lower his head like this? My anger remained, but Trotsky's subservient attitude slowly eroded it.
"Well, very well. I'll forgive you, if only for Teacher Alexandra's sake."
"Thank you! Thank you, Comrade Lee! I will never forget this kindness!"
But isn't his reaction a bit excessive? After all, he had merely passed a series of tests set by others.
It was as if a university professor were bowing to a college applicant, pleading with them to attend his institution.
"By the way, Comrade Trotsky, may I ask you something?"
"Yes, ask me anything."
"How many people have passed this test so far?"
Trotsky's mouth suddenly snapped shut. Could it be... this bastard...?
"You... you're the first. That's why I don't know what to do..."
Is this guy a complete psychopath? I wondered. Does he even intend to build his own power base? The reason Trotsky had lost in the power struggle now seemed crystal clear.
Can I really work for this guy? I thought. Wouldn't it be better to just start betting on Stalin now? Or... maybe I should just apply for asylum in the US right here...
I have no interest in supporting someone with the mental age of a grade schooler.
To get straight to the point, Trotsky kept his promise to promote me once he attained a higher position.
On September 25, 1917 (October 8, New Style), Leon Trotsky was elected chairman of the Petrograd Soviet, and I became his personal advisor.
Of course, I didn't lose my position as Foreign Affairs Commissioner. Initially, Trotsky considered appointing me as his secretary, but I vehemently opposed it, and the idea was abandoned. Had I become his secretary, I would have either ended up dead or fled to Finland, rather than remaining in my current role.
So what was my role as his advisor? It was simple.
After finishing my work writing editorials as the Foreign Affairs Commissioner, I would go to the chairman's office for "tea time" with Trotsky—more bluntly, for verbal sparring matches.
During the war, with rations reduced, the tea we drank was barely distinguishable from plain water—just a fleeting hint of flavor after the tea leaves had "swum" once through the water. We'd take a few sips of this weak brew before diving into our daily verbal sparring.
The topics varied daily: Why did the Second International fail? Which of Marx's theories are outdated? How can we prevent another war like this one? And so on.
Sparring daily with the skilled debater Trotsky naturally improved my own rhetorical skills. But despite my daily efforts to hone my arguments, I remained unable to defeat Trotsky, who had been KO'd by me on our first meeting and had been sharpening his blade ever since.
Sometimes I won by using my knowledge of the future to preempt Trotsky's arguments, but most of the time I lost.
As our conversations progressed, I realized that Trotsky was a better person than I'd initially thought. I'd always known he was intelligent, but...
In the past, I'd considered him a self-righteous sociopath, but as we clashed and debated over time, I began to develop a fondness for him.
It felt like we'd become true comrades in the deepest sense of the word.
Of course, our backgrounds and ways of thinking were fundamentally different. It's logically absurd for someone born in the 19th century to understand someone born in the 20th century.
But the combination of Trotsky's genius and my historical knowledge allowed us to build what they call a "good chemistry."
"...In essence, the failure of the Paris Commune can be attributed to two major mistakes: the Commune leadership's constant replacement of military leaders out of fear of a 'second Napoleon' arising, and their failure to properly cut off the Provisional Government's funding. Even Marx lamented this unfortunate outcome."
"You share my view. Jaroslav Dombrowski, the Commune Army's most capable commander, was unable to fully utilize his skills due to the leadership's incompetence and their relentless interference. While it's true they failed to completely sever the Provisional Government's financial lifeline, it's important to note that the gold reserves of the Bank of France were actually in the Commune's possession. Had the Commune demonstrated its military superiority, the Provisional Government's currency would never have gained credibility."
My conversation with Trotsky hadn't just planted a simple fondness in my heart. My trust in him had deepened considerably. And I began to think:
Could my coming here to meet Trotsky be some kind of fate?
Honestly, I didn't know who had sent me here, and I probably had no way of finding out. I'd just been struck by a reincarnation beer bottle and ended up here.
But the series of intricate events that led to my meeting Trotsky here felt like someone had meticulously planned a scenario.
I wasn't religious, but the surreal events unfolding before me could have turned even the staunchest atheist into a devout Orthodox believer.
As my relationship with Trotsky grew stronger, I began to feel an inexorable destiny, convincing me that this was my purpose here.
My mission: to help Trotsky succeed in the October Revolution and prevent it from becoming "The Revolution Betrayed." In other words, to transform the Soviet Union into a nation where Trotsky's pure ideals of Proletarian Dictatorship could breathe and thrive.
These ideals envisioned a true utopia on earth, where democracy flourished and the people were free from oppression, as the very name "Proletarian Dictatorship" implied.
Of course, this would be no easy task. In the worst-case scenario, I might end up like Trotsky himself—either frozen to death on an ice floe or beaten to a pulp by a dog's head, forced to retire prematurely.
Even if Trotsky seized power, it could have been problematic. Who knows if he would have started a personality cult and slipped into dictatorship like Stalin as soon as he came to power?
But one day, I suddenly found myself on a train, arriving in this city during this pivotal period. Then I should at least do something meaningful, shouldn't I?
I didn't want to see Stalin's dystopian Soviet Union. Personally, I was also curious about what a Trotskyist Soviet Union might look like.
"What are you thinking, Comrade Siyoung? Let's go into the meeting hall. The committee members are waiting for us."
"Ah, I was just daydreaming. My apologies, Comrade Trotsky."
"There's nothing to apologize for. Now, lead the way."
October 5, 1917 (October 18, New Style). A meeting of the Russian Social Democratic Labour Party's majority faction—the Bolsheviks—was convened.