A Self-Inflicted Wound
Following the inspection of the experimental factory, Zinoviev’s schedule for the next two weeks was entirely devoted to the rubber plant in Red Triangle.
Galoshi output remained unchanged from the previous year, yet he demanded even higher production quotas from the workers, presenting them with “alternatives” that went far beyond the norm.
“Listen here, comrade factory director! Isn’t the temperature in this kiln too high?”
“Comrade First Secretary, this is just right…”
He was not satisfied with the directive and instead toured the factories himself, personally inspecting what was dragging down production. What caught his eye most was the temperature of the vulcanization kilns.
“You’re wrong! Have you ever been to the experimental factory? They bake galoshi there for forty minutes at 120 degrees and produce an astonishing quantity!”
“Forty minutes at 120 degrees? That’s simply impossible. Please reconsider, Comrade First Secretary!”
“So why is it impossible?!”
Zinoviev tapped the thermometer with his finger.
—Thud!
Irritated, he kicked the kiln door with his foot. The sound of the wooden door creaking echoed through the entire vulcanization hall.
Haa… I really can’t stand this…
Smirnov, the director of the first factory in Red Triangle, let out a long sigh in his mind.
Where on earth is Yerzov… what is he even doing?
The fact that Yerzov, who had usually managed to restrain Zinoviev’s excesses, had gone to Moscow for a short time was unfortunate,
or perhaps the results from the experimental factory had far surpassed all expectations.
No one knew why the usually silent Zinoviev was behaving this way.
“I heard it clearly! The factories in Red Triangle bake rubber at an average temperature of 155 degrees!”
A vein bulged on Zinoviev’s neck.
“You only heard it? I saw it with my own eyes! The director bakes galoshi for four hours at 140 degrees? That makes no sense!”
What doesn’t make sense? This is the industry average.
The directors shook their heads inwardly.
Red Triangle, built in the former capital, was the place that produced the finest, toughest galoshi among all factories in the federation. The directors were men who had mastered their operations and possessed skilled workers with decades of experience. Yet Zinoviev could not understand why such skilled workers could only maintain this level of output.
Instead, a suspicion began to form in his mind.
Could it be that they are shirking? The experimental factory was running normally.
If two factories produced the same number of galoshi per hour with identical manpower and time—one producing eighty or ninety and the other one thousand—which one would be considered wrong? It was obvious.
And there was another reason Zinoviev could not accept: that young brat who had opposed him could possibly be right.
Impossible! I can never accept that!
He did not want to lose to anyone, especially not Yakov.
He himself did not know why, but he thought that way.
Therefore, Zinoviev chose the easiest way to win the competition.
Aristotle believed humans learn through imitation and derive pleasure from it… Excellent creation or innovation usually begins in the process of learning and following existing things.
“Following precedent, from now on the vulcanization kiln temperature in all factories of Red Triangle will be fixed at 120 degrees, and the baking time at 40 minutes! Remember that!”
So, Zinoviev, chairman of the Comintern and First Secretary of Leningrad, became an expert on galoshi after only half a day of instruction and began teaching the skilled workers who had spent forty years standing before the kiln.
Of course, the skilled workers rebelled.
“No, I clearly said, Comrade First Secretary! With that temperature and time, galoshi will not be made!”
“Hah, since you opposed me in Leningrad, make your excuses in Siberia? Comrade factory director.”
“……”
The factory director fell silent.
Before power, justice and righteous words were useless.
“Adjust the thermometer to 120 degrees.”
“… Yes.”
“The clock?”
“… I will set it to 40 minutes.”
“Good. I will return tomorrow morning.”
—Creak… Clang!
“Haa…”
When the door closed, no one moved, and sighs continued to escape.
—Thud, thud
After a while, the factory director himself walked to the thermometer and adjusted it to 120 degrees. Then he turned to the young female worker beside him.
“For now, only put in the galoshi with the messed-up mixture.”
“… Really? Is that all right?”
“Other factories will do the same anyway. When failure cases appear, the First Secretary will realize his mistake and revert the process to normal. Thinking about that, running the process with defective products might be better. And…”
Whether complete products or defective ones, they all received the same monthly salary.
The factory director forced the words that had risen to his chin down his throat.
Most people in the federation had one such bomb in their minds.
Everyone knew it, but no one acted on it or spoke of it.
After about forty minutes, the vulcanization kiln opened.
“Kya… Kyaat…!”
“Haa, as expected.”
What emerged from the kiln was not galoshi, but some gray dough stuck to the colotka.
—Clunk!
The workers frowned and used wooden tongs to remove the rubber from the colotka, and the dropped piece flattened on the floor.
“……”
The smell was so foul that everyone there covered their noses and frowned.
“… How many pairs were produced this time?”
“50… no, 60.”
“Record it. 120 degrees for 40 minutes, all 60 galoshi defective.”
—Scratch, scratch.
Next to the factory director, the work team leader recorded the entry in the ledger.
He thought for a moment and instructed to add the phrase “following the First Secretary’s instructions” in the remarks column.
The work team leader stopped his pen.
“… Is this really all right?”
“Can’t I? We proletarians have to express it this way.”
The factory director took the ledger and walked wearily to the factory director’s office.
On the way up, his gaze drifted to the window.
The tire tracks of the car Zinoviev had arrived in were filling with rainwater and losing their shape.
“The damned rasputitsa is starting.”
Please let him pass safely…
The factory director silently prayed to Mother Russia (Bogoroditsa, Holy Mother Maria) and made the sign of the cross so no one would see.
***
“If it failed like that, couldn’t we have simply stopped in the middle?”
“I thought so too… but the First Secretary does not seem to think that way.”
Zinoviev had probably realized his mistake.
However, the unfortunate aspect for Leningrad citizens and the workers of Red Triangle was that he was a man who did not easily admit his errors.
“As a result, galoshi have disappeared from stores in Leningrad, and there is a shortage of galoshi in the city.”
“The cause of this shortage is not only reduced production, but fundamentally the fear that galoshi will not be available for the foreseeable future. Everyone is competing to buy galoshi no matter the price, and in areas with unpaved roads such as the outskirts and the Vyborg factories, goods are out of stock even if people want to purchase them.”
In August last year, Red Triangle produced about one million pairs of galoshi, the highest in the federation, but this year, even after mid-August, only two thousand pairs were produced, it is said.
“Among them, most are defective, so people are no longer trusting the newly made galoshi.”
Ivan, the team leader, said with a serious expression.
“No, if things have come to this, why is Zinoviev just watching quietly?”
“These high lords of Leningrad can be called new nobility. They would not know about the difficulties of the lower classes.”
“New nobility…”
Do we need nobility in the federation?
I do not think so.
Golitsin, the factory director, set down the documents.
“Even now, if we produce as before, it would be fine, wouldn’t it?”
Ivan said.
Golitsin shook his head.
“Zinoviev rejected it. He insists his words are right and is stubbornly holding on. Moreover, he sent us a warning letter. He notified that galoshi produced at the experimental factory will not be shipped until the verification of the Council of Innovation is complete.”
“Eh?!”
“He must have gone senile. He’s gone senile…”
“Haa…”
“At forty-two, one can think they have lived long enough.”
Golitsin, seventy-two, nodded.
“Then, the galoshi shortage in Leningrad… will it grow out of control?”
“Yes. And the most urgent matter here is that autumn rasputitsa is coming soon.”
Rasputitsa?
It was not only in spring, was it?
“Does rasputitsa come in autumn too?”
“Of course, Comrade Supervisor Svanyze. Autumn rasputitsa is much more vicious and terrifying than spring’s.”
“In Leningrad, it rains continuously from August. But the sun is short and the temperature low, so the rain does not dry on the ground.”
Moreover, originally Leningrad was built to fill the Ingria swamps.
So water does not drain, and the ground turns into a muddy slush.
“Unlike Moscow, Leningrad does not freeze until November, or early December at latest, so the damage is more serious. Moreover, last year, due to floods, more than seventy percent of the wooden-paved roads were washed away by water… the situation will be even worse.”
Golitsin explained with a pained expression.
“Then, people without galoshi will have to trudge through the mud.”
“More than that? Think about how those who stepped into the mud of trenches in the last great war fared… This old man cannot even express it with words.”
I had my foot slip into the mud this morning on my way to work.
Mud water seeped into my shoes, and water leaked between my toes the whole way to the office.
And the people in this city, the lower-class people without galoshi, have to experience something similar for two months.
Until the ground freezes.
Galoshi was a more important daily necessity in Leningrad than I had expected.
And ironically, I had this galoshi in my hand.
I turned my head and looked out the window.
“Comrade Ivan, and… Comrade Golitsin.”
“Yes!”
“Speak, Supervisor Svanyze.”
The distant landscape of Leningrad came into view.
“I wonder if I can issue factory instructions for the next two months until rasputitsa ends?”
“… Of course, Comrade Svanyze!”
“Hoo, it is only right for an old man to follow a young man’s good advice.”
A long rainy season would come to Leningrad in the future.
“I understand. Then, our factory is……”
I prayed that there would be no one crying tears of misfortune during this rasputitsa period.
And during the period when this rasputitsa ends.
Coincidentally, the 14th Congress of the All-Union Communist Party was scheduled in Moscow.