In Search of a Substitute (1)
The man set the folder on the desk with a thud.
“Please, take this.”
— Tap.
“This is the June production plan under the name of the Red Triangle Trust.”
I picked up the folder.
And read the first line aloud.
“Galoshi production compared to American Taragoblya (American Trade, Dami Trade)…?”
“That’s right. You should be honored. Where else would such an opportunity come to a factory on the verge of collapse?”
The man continued with a smug tone.
“Comrade Zinoviev ordered us to show the superiority of Soviet Galoshis to the heart of capitalism. This is a special favor, so prepare to be grateful, hahaha…!!!”
Galoshi exports…
The Red Triangle Factory, whose origins were a joint venture between a ‘German’-founded company of ‘America’ and ‘Russia’ established in the 1860s, was one of the world’s largest rubber product manufacturers.
Quality matched world standards, so it was exported in large quantities, monopolized domestic production, and by the early 20th century, Galoshi production had increased from 10 million to 20 million pairs annually, with a quarter exported to Europe and America.
Before the First World War, exports exceeded 5 million rubles annually, and it had won prizes at international exhibitions, its excellence widely known globally.
Also, at the time, Galoshis symbolized wealth and status.
In 1925, Galoshis were traded in the Soviet black market for about 4–5 rubles each.
That was more than a month’s salary for a peasant and a significant amount even for city workers.
It had become essential for urban intellectuals as a necessity of daily life and hygiene, and there was even the saying “Those without Galoshis are paupers.”
But the mention of Galoshi production for export to America still raised doubts.
Why? Because after the Revolution, the Civil War, and the Polish-Soviet War, skilled workers had been depleted by the war’s flames, and the quality of Galoshis had fallen below previous levels.
To regain export advantage, the Red Triangle Rubber Trust had increased production, but due to inferior quality, Soviet Galoshis weren’t sought in the American market.
But at this point, why would they be exporting Galoshis?
Zinoviev… what’s his scheme?
I couldn’t understand why he was doing this to me.
It was so much that he might have noticed my identity and was taking revenge on Stalin whom he couldn’t touch.
Of course, if he knew I was Stalin’s son, it wouldn’t end like this.
Moreover, there was another issue besides the export itself.
“With only 30 people, how are we supposed to produce 30,000 pairs?”
“That’s why we extended the delivery date to two months. Normally, such contracts are for one month. If we receive special treatment, we could just thank you and end it. Why are you being so picky?”
Special treatment…?
My eyebrows furrowed.
Producing 30,000 pairs in two months at a factory where 25 people had barely managed 10,000 pairs in three weeks was special treatment?
Did our comrade and the Leningrad Soviet chairman not know math?
I should go back to elementary school.
I wanted to curse profusely.
But I could hold back this far.
Adding more cauldrons, adding extra money, and making them work night shifts would make it impossible to fail.
Moreover, the Soviet Union was a great country where skilled workers could be scraped from the fields.
Manpower could be gathered somehow.
The real problem was the clause below.
“Use of benzene is prohibited…? Are you kidding me?”
I pointed to the clause with my fingertip and questioned.
The man’s mouth curled up slightly then down.
… As if waiting for me to say that.
“Ah, that’s it?”
The man shrugged and said it spitefully.
“Reports have come in that multiple worker accidents due to benzene have been detected at the Third Galoshi Factory. For the safety and human rights of workers, we have decided to temporarily suspend benzene distribution at that factory. ‘Above’ is very concerned about this.”
Benzene accidents.
It wasn’t fabricated.
Worker accidents due to benzene had indeed happened at this factory.
Before I took over the Galoshi factory, the female workers here had been falling one by one after inhaling vapors of tar mixed in the poor adhesive supplied by Zvereva.
“But that incident was resolved when the person in charge was sent to a labor camp, right? Our factory’s benzene is now completely clean, and disinfection and ventilation are performed periodically. In fact, since the last incident, no one has fallen for three weeks. But why…!”
— Bang!
I couldn’t hold back and slammed the folder down.
Slightly, with emotion.
“What… How are our superiors supposed to understand our situation? We lowly ones can only be scolded if scolded.”
But the man didn’t care and just shrugged indifferently.
“Then I’ll take my leave. Ah, the benzene distribution suspension takes effect today. So the remaining stock in the warehouse will be the last, right? Please use it carefully. … Or perhaps try using another product instead of benzene. Like ‘tar’, for example.”
— Tap.
The man left the office after saying that.
I stared at the closed door for a moment, then sat back in the chair.
Zinoviev, you bastard…!
“Sigh…”
It was clear now that Zinoviev had not given me an ‘opportunity’ but had induced a ‘failure’.
“You started this, Zinoviev. Don’t regret it.”
This was the worst bullying.
But I couldn’t just sit down.
My personal failure was no longer just my own.
It was a matter of the lives of many female workers at the Third Galoshi Factory, including Ivan’s team.
And above all, my pride wouldn’t allow it.
I had the justification to stomp on Zinoviev and rise up, so why give up now?
“I absolutely cannot.”
Incompetent and indecisive people cannot survive in a country of steel and great purges.
So I would show them.
That the supervisor of this shabby factory you are trying to trample is the son of the Secretary who will purge you in the future.
***
I left the office.
On the stairs down to the workshop, the familiar smell rose.
The smell of rubber and benzene mixed.
The female workers were still happily working with smiles on their faces.
Now I was the grim reaper bringing them news filled with worry and concern, and the painful emotions were indescribable.
But they had to know what they needed to know.
And who knows? Maybe with some clever idea, they could turn this situation around.
“How concerned ‘above’ is for our safety, they’re even eliminating our jobs!”
“Sob… If I had known, I would have bought a coffin instead of a Premiya.”
“Sisters and Comrade Supervisor! We’ll meet again on the unemployment line…”
Yes, that’s right.
Brother knew this would happen.
“Everyone, calm down.”
I said it sharply.
And raised both hands to quell the commotion.
“We will absolutely not fail.”
But how could one gesture calm the tears and sighs that had burst out.
That was something even a battalion commander couldn’t do.
“G, Supervisor. But if benzene runs out, we can’t make Galoshis…”
“You can make them without benzene.”
“Do you have a good idea?”
“Well…”
The workshop fell silent.
The crying female workers, the sighing ones, even Ivan, the bright-eyed team leader, all looked at me.
“Now we have to find a way.”
……
“Less than a month since I started, and already unemployed?! This can’t be…!”
“Sob… What do I do? Is the factory closing…?”
“We’re finished, Supervisor…”
The words I said earlier were canceled.
Here, it seemed we couldn’t discuss countermeasures, so I told Ivan to produce Galoshis with the remaining benzene for now.
“Roughly 4,000 pairs can be produced. But the problem is in three days…”
“… I will somehow prepare a substitute.”
“A substitute…? Why not?”
All eyes turned to me.
“However, it will take some time to get the substitute. We have to endure with the remaining benzene in the warehouse, and even if we get it, I can’t guarantee that the compound will replace benzene. Yes. Honestly, it’s quite difficult.”
I didn’t think of comforting them with false hope and said it honestly.
“… But.”
I calmly looked around.
“I will not run away.”
(I will not flee.)
Just three weeks ago, Anna, who had been taken to the hospital due to benzene poisoning, came to mind.
“A month ago, this place was a shabby factory that couldn’t meet the delivery deadline. A cold place where even if a colleague fell from benzene poisoning, everyone turned their backs to produce Galoshis.”
You’ve safely returned.
“But now! Thanks to everyone working with one heart and mind, production has exceeded the target, and you have Premiya in your hands. The previously frustrating gray factory with broken windows outside is now equipped with several exhaust pipes and has been transformed into the Red Triangle’s best factory with newly installed modern windows.
Thank you.
“It’s just changing one adhesive. Compared to the hard work you’ve done so far, it’s not that great a deal.”
I said clearly to everyone.
“Using this crisis as a stepping stone, we will definitely succeed.”
I had no intention of giving up.
“So, please don’t give up either.”
Compared to Trotsky’s heart-pounding speech as the Federation’s best orator, or Zinoviev’s passionate words that would make fists clench, my eloquence would be pitiful.
But at this moment, I shouted more desperately than them.
To this…,
“… If Supervisor says so.”
Basha, a skilled worker who had worked at our factory since the Tsarist era, answered.
“You drove out the devil and chased away the illness. How can you not change one adhesive?”
Sophia, the youngest, the little comrade worker, also answered.
“Yes! We’ve already made 10,000 pairs in three weeks! That’s three times more!”
“Don’t worry about the factory. I’ll help until the end!”
“I’ll bring our daughter who’s resting at home. Don’t worry too much, Supervisor Svanidze!”
Voices came from all around.
They still had some lingering tears, but something else was starting to mix in.
Some might call it spirit, or determination.
But it wasn’t a word that could be lightly replaced with such meanings.
How could one define in one word the tough, dry kind of power that the workers of this country are raising from the bottom.
“Well, then…!”
Ivan clapped his hands and shouted.
“Everyone, back to your positions! Work as usual today until the benzene in the warehouse runs out! But don’t overdo it. Our goal is 30,000 Galoshis, not overwork for 30,000 people!”
The female workers laughed heartily at Ivan’s Soviet-style humor and returned to their places one by one.
Their faces were not completely free of worry.
But it was clearly different from when they first heard the news.
I left the workshop after seeing that scene.
… Outside the factory, Katerina was waiting.
“Yasha, which place should we go to first?”
Katerina asked while starting the engine.
Many people flashed through my mind.
“To the Leningrad Polytechnic Institute, please, Kacha.”
Among them, the first person I needed to meet was this one.
The head of the Leningrad Chemical Technology Research Institute and the founder of the Soviet school of organic chemistry.
Alexei Evgrafovich Favorsky.