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a Russian populist and lover of the people, Ektov saw no alternative but to join them and do as they were doing. Still: The great Civil War had ended, and what chances were there now for a peasant uprising? There was no doubt, though, that the peasants would have few competent leaders who could guide their movement. Granted, he was just a worker for the co-op and no soldier, but he was competent and clever. He could be very useful to them in some capacity.
     
    But then there was his wife, Polina, an inseparable part of his heart. And Marina, the little five-year-old with cornflower eyes. How could he abandon them? What trials and dangers would they face? He might well be leaving them to starve. Yes, indeed, family was the greatest worry—the source of our happiness and our weakness.
     
    Polina was deeply alarmed, but she forced herself to be strong and blessed him on his decision: You ’ re right. . . Yes, right. . . Go.
     
    He left her and their daughter in their city apartment with a small supply of food and firewood for the coming winter; and she, a teacher, was earning something.
     
    Pavel Vasilych left Tambov and set off to find what he supposed was the headquarters of the uprising.
     
    And he found it, a small, mobile group around Aleksandr Stepanovich Antonov. He was a Kirsanov townsman by origin and, in 1905, had been an “ expropriator ” (meaning he robbed banks) for the SR party. (You couldn ’ t close your eyes to that: So now you ’ re mixed up with criminals?) He ’ d come back from Siberian exile in 1917, and before the Bolshevik coup was the head of the Kirsanov militia that later collected a large stock of weapons during the disarming of the Czech Legions passing through Kirsanov. In the summer of 1919, with a small body of troops, he was raiding and destroying local communist cells here and there at a time when the SRs themselves could not resolve to stand up to the Bolsheviks for fear of aiding the Whites. Now Antonov was not acting for the SRs, he was acting on his own. The provincial Cheka searched for him all through the winter of 1919—20, but they couldn ’ t catch him. Antonov had no education to speak of and hadn ’ t even finished the district school, but he was bold, decisive, and sharp.
     
    In the headquarters that Antonov was forming—which could hardly be called a headquarters—there wasn ’ t a single officer with staff experience. There was a local fellow with a good deal of natural talent, Pyotr Mikhailovich Tokmakov, from the peasant village of Inokovka-1. He had been an NCO in the tsarist army, and on the German front had risen to the rank of warrant officer and then to second lieutenant. He was a first-class soldier, but had no more than three years of parish school. There was also a wild, combative warrant officer, another former NCO, bursting with energy: this was Terenty Chernega , who had joined the Bolsheviks in 1917 and served with them for two years, even in their special forces; but after he had seen the things that were happening he went back to the side of the peasants. Another NCO and artillery man, Arseny Blagodaryov , came from the same village of Kamenka where it had all begun; he was one of the people who had begun the revolt. Later, each of these three took command of a partisan regiment. Tokmakov would eventually command a brigade of four regiments, but not one of them was even close to being able to do staff work. Antonov ’ s adjutant wasn ’ t a soldier at all but a teacher named Starykh who came from Kalugino on the Sukhaya Panda.
     
    When Ektov reported to Antonov, it turned out that he was just the man to be his “ chief of staff, ” if only because he was a competent and smart fellow who could also read a topographical map. Antonov asked his name. Strangely enough, Ektov didn ’ t reveal himself. He began saying “ Ek …” and then caught himself: he mustn ’ t give his name! What came from his throat was only, “ a . . . ga . . .