And now, another tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
Tonight, Rukovsky's Rubles by William N. Robeson.
This is a story of old Russia.
Of Russia before Sputnik and Khrushchev and the Soviet.
Of the Russia of resplendent Tsars and the hopeless characters of Dostoevsky.
Our hero is such a character, intelligent but without hope.
We shall call him Ivan Ivanovich.
He is a student.
His sweetheart we call Anna Petrovna.
We find them in the Venice of the North before it was Leningrad, before it was Petrograd,
when it was still gloriously named St. Petersburg.
We find them in a basement room furnished only with a bed and a chair and a stove.
But there is no money for firewood, so they are cold.
They are also hungry and they are hopeless.
Hopeless, utterly hopeless.
What is hopeless, Ivan Ivanovich?
Life, Anna Petrovna.
The noble men and the half naked women dance the night away in their warm palaces while
we sit outside and shiver.
What have we got to live for?
Each other.
It is not...
It is not enough?
No, no, Anushka.
I would die for you, you know that.
But you would not live for me?
Living is more difficult.
This is not living.
This is existing like an animal.
But it will not always be like this.
You will graduate from the university soon.
And then what?
Position in the government office if my marks are good enough?
If not the army?
No, Anushka.
There is no place for me in this society without money, without a title.
You talk like a revolutionary.
Not me.
Where did it get them, those anarchists who tried to kill the little father of all the
Russians as he worshipped at Easter mass last year?
You know, we are all dead.
Or worse, they have been sent to Siberia for the rest of their lives.
No.
That Tsar is too mighty.
He will not topple easily.
And I have no stomach for martyrdom.
No Anya.
I am only interested in myself.
And you of course.
Anushka.
Do you love me?
You know I do.
Enough to wait for me?
Wait for you?
Yes, for twenty years.
Twenty years?
Where are you going?
To prison.
What are you talking about?
I have a plan that will make us rich twenty years from now.
I am going to steal a fortune.
Steal?
But the police will arrest you.
Indeed.
It is necessary to the plan that they do.
I do not understand you, Ivan Ivanovitch.
I do not need your understanding, my little dove.
Only your help.
Will you help me?
Yes, Ivan.
I will do anything you say.
Good.
And you must get me an interview with your employer.
The Prince Bolinian?
Yes.
Why do you want to see him?
I am going to work for him.
You are?
Yes.
What will you do for him?
I don't know.
Secretary Footman Ballot.
Whatever he needs me for, you will find out.
And so the devoted and willing Anna kept her tiny, closed-set eyes open.
And also her rather large ears.
And she reported all she saw and heard to Ivan Ivanovitch.
At last the day came.
Ivan Ivanovitch Marusak.
Anna has told me much of you.
You are from the Volga?
Yes, Excellency.
You are graduating from the University?
Yes, Excellency.
And you are looking for a position?
With you, Excellency, as your secretary.
I have all the qualifications, my grades at the University.
And you are without a secretary at the moment?
Yes, I am without a secretary.
The young man who has served me so well for the past several years was suddenly taken
ill.
So ill he nearly died.
It was almost as though he had been poisoned.
What a pity.
Anna speaks very highly of you.
Consider it done.
Only see that you don't become ill as your predecessor did.
Oh no, Excellency.
You need not worry.
I am sure there is no danger of that.
Ivan Ivanovitch insinuated himself into the good graces of the Prince Bolinan with the
celerity and precision of a Potemkin taking over the court of Catherine.
He soon knew all there was to know about the Prince.
All except one thing.
The combination to his safe.
No, my dear Ivan Ivanovitch.
No one.
No one but I opened that strong box.
But sire, what if you were to, God save you, die suddenly?
And the secret would go to the grave with me.
And all that money?
It would no longer be my problem, would it?
No, but as your confidential secretary, it would be mine.
I mean to pay off your creditors, to satisfy your heirs.
But it is not your problem now.
No, Excellency.
Then why worry about it, my little Ivan?
But Ivan did worry about it day and night.
All those rubles, all those jewels.
So close.
Just beyond that little iron door.
Anushka, you are aware that the Prince goes to his villa at the lake on Friday.
So I have been told.
And does not return until Monday.
That is what they say.
Good.
You go with him?
The whole household goes.
Good.
All except me.
But Ivan.
I shall be taken ill.
But you will be all alone in the house.
Exactly.
Who will look after you?
I will look after myself, Anya.
Don't worry about me.
I will look after myself handsomely.
In just a moment, we will return for the second act of...
Suspense.
One of the imponderable conundrums of philosophy is the old chestnut which asks if a falling
tree makes a sound if there is no one in the forest to hear it.
No one knows the answer.
And no one knows whether a muffled explosion was heard in the Marion Scolius street that
Sunday night so many years ago.
For certainly there was no one about to hear it.
Except Ivan Ivanovich, who stood in front of the Prince Bolinan's strong box as the
smoke cleared away and feasted his eyes on the fortune which would buy his future.
When the great bank of Byelorussia opened its doors Monday morning, its first customer
was Ivan Ivanovich, burdened with two bulging balisas.
Yes, sir.
What can I do for you?
I wish to rent a safe deposit box.
Your name, please.
Rokovsky.
Pyotr Rokovsky.
Very well, sir.
Here is your key.
Thank you.
I may have to go on a long journey.
My things will be safe.
Oh, yes, sir.
For how long?
We do not touch the contents of any unclean boxes until thirty years have elapsed.
Good, good.
I shall not be away that long.
But I do not understand.
You do not have to.
Just take this key.
Guard it with your life.
Wear it on a string around your neck.
Do not ever lose it.
Do you understand?
Yes, sir.
And one more thing.
Remember the name Pyotr Rokovsky.
Pyotr Rokovsky?
Yes.
Don't ever forget it.
But why?
Never mind why.
Just don't forget that name.
What is it?
Pyotr Rokovsky.
What?
Ivan Ivanovich.
It has come.
What has come, Ivan?
The moment of truth in which the great lie is told in silence.
I don't understand the word you are saying.
Good.
Just remember that name.
Ivan Ivanovich.
I am coming, Your Excellency.
At the word, Anya.
Yes, Excellency?
I trust you're feeling better.
Feeling better?
Yes.
You were ill when I went away.
I was ill.
I was ill.
I was ill.
I was ill.
I was ill.
I was ill.
I was ill.
I was ill.
I was ill.
I was ill.
I was ill when I went away.
Oh, yes.
That... it passed.
I am feeling fine now.
And you were here in the house the whole weekend?
Yes, Your Excellency.
You did not go out at any time?
No, Your Excellency.
Then perhaps you can explain this.
Explain what, Your Excellency?
Look you dunderhead.
Look for yourself.
This strong box.
It has been blown apart.
Why, so it has?
What do you know about this?
Nothing, Your Excellency.
Nothing at all.
But you admit that you were alone in the house the whole weekend.
Yes, Your Excellency.
You did not go out at any time?
No, Your Excellency.
Then perhaps you can explain this.
Explain what, Your Excellency?
Look you dunderhead.
Look for yourself.
But you admit that you were alone in the house the whole weekend.
spoke for themselves in the loudest of talks.
And so at last, the tribunal did just as Ivan Navanovich hoped they would.
We find the defendant guilty and sentence him to 20 years
at hard labor in the salt mines of Siberia.
Time is relative. For the child, a day is an eternity.
For the old one, it is but a dull and painful tick of a faceless clock.
In the salt mines of Siberia, time stands still.
There, nothing happens.
In the flickering torchlight, there is neither day nor night.
In the constant clammy 40 degree temperature, there is neither summer nor winter.
The brain softens here. The mind wanders away and is lost.
Unless a man has a dream.
A drushki with the finest of horses and a coachman
and a great house in the town and another in the country.
Ah, Yuri, the millionaire is counting his money again.
Tell me when he gets to the dancing girls.
You laugh. Go on and laugh.
You are the foolish one.
If you are so rich, what are you doing here?
I am here so I will be rich. I stole it. I am paying for it.
And where is this fortune of yours while you are paying for it?
It is in a safe place, locked away, waiting for me to claim it.
It is all right, Ivan Ivanovich. We understand.
You understand why?
These salt mines, we all need something to help us get through.
With you, it is this dream of riches. There is nothing wrong with it.
It is good if it helps the days go by and fills the night
with something more than the snores of your comrades.
But it is true, I tell you. I am rich. I have the money and the jewels.
They are mine. They are hidden away, waiting for me.
I know, Tuvarich. I know.
No, you don't. It is true. It is true. Why don't you believe me?
But no one would believe him. And as the years slowly passed,
Ivan Ivanovich told his story less and less. And more and more he began to doubt it himself.
At first, Anna had written to him. But then her letters came further and further apart.
And at last, it ceased altogether. And Ivan Ivanovich was alone with a fading dream.
But at last, the day came when Ivan Ivanovich's account was settled, his debt to society paid.
Look at him now, shuffling up the Marion Scolia Street.
A graying, stoop-shouldered middle-aged man.
He stops at the door of number 33 and pulls the bell knob.
The door is opened by a young girl with largest ears and eyes set too close together.
Anushinka, you have not changed a bit. You are even prettier.
You must be mistaken. My name is Natasha.
Natasha? How old are you?
Eighteen.
Then your mother? Is her name Anya?
Yes, it is.
Is she home? Would you call her? I'm an old friend of hers.
Mama? Mama?
Da, Natasha. I have ears to hear you with. What do you want?
There's an old man at the door. He says he's a friend of yours.
A friend of mine? I have no old men for friends.
Eh, what is it? What do you want?
You do not remember me, Anya?
No, I never saw you before in my life.
You do not remember Ivan Ivanovich?
No, I cannot be. I thought you were dead.
Is that why you married? You said you would wait for me.
A girl cannot wait her whole girlhood out.
You didn't wait very long.
I never expected you to come back.
So little faith. After all our plans. The key. You still have the key?
What key?
The key. I gave you the key. I told you to keep it for me.
Oh, that key. My husband was jealous of it.
He found it hanging around my neck on our wedding night.
Oh no.
He yanked it off me. He threw it away.
Oh no. The key to all my riches. I told you. You promised.
I never understood about that. Except it was dangerous.
My man said it was dangerous when I told him about it.
Dangerous? It was the key to our life together.
It could have gotten me into trouble. Receiving stolen goods or something, he said.
Your husband is a fool. At least the name.
You remember the name?
What name?
When I gave you the key, I told you a name.
I told you to repeat it after me. I told you to remember it always. Remember?
I remember you telling me.
Then what was the name?
I have not the slightest idea.
Oh no. You have not forgotten.
Why should I remember?
I told you to.
But you did not tell me why. You said I need not know.
I should not have my head cluttered with such things.
So I did not clutter my head at all.
Yes. I said you are stupid then.
Now is that right? You are as stupid as your husband is a fool.
Careful, Ivana Ivanovich.
Fool, fool, stupid, stupid.
Natasha, go fetch your father. He will know how to deal with this madman.
Yes, madman.
No Anya, forgive me. I let myself go too far. Forgive me.
And just remember that name.
I will give you a third of all my wealth if you will only remember that name.
I have not the slightest idea.
You must. You must. Without the name I cannot realize the fortune you... you must.
You... you... you must.
I cannot, Ivana. I have forgotten it completely.
I will give you half a new shkot, half of it all for the name.
It is no use. Twenty years is too long a time.
You drive a hard bargain. Very well.
Three quarters of the rubies and jewels are yours.
Just to remember the name.
Remember it Anya. Remember it. Remember it.
Stop me you maniac.
I don't remember, I tell you. I can't remember.
In just a moment we will return for the concluding act of...
Suspense.
Yes, sir. What can I do for you?
I have a question.
Yes, sir. What can I do for you?
I want to speak to someone about the safe deposit box.
Yes, sir.
I have a box here. I rented it twenty years ago.
I have been out of the country and I have lost the key.
Well, if you can identify...
Yes, yes. It was on the first Monday in March, twenty years ago.
You just look up your records.
Well, I suppose we could go about it that way.
What is your name?
I don't remember. I'm Nisha or something.
I'm Mentor Blocker. I don't remember.
I'm sorry. There is nothing I can do until you do remember.
A bitter wind swept down from Lake Ladoga carrying night and snow out of the north...
as Ivan Ivanovich stepped out the great bank of Vylo-Russia into the empty street.
Empty, empty like his life.
Useless, meaningless.
And the sooner over the better.
Ivan Ivanovich shuffled across the wide boulevard to the bridge...
where Katarina Street crosses the River Nevia.
And here he stood, looking down on the black, freezing water...
choked with cakes of ice slowly slipping seaward.
Ivan Ivanovich was numbed in body and in spirit.
As a person apart, he watched himself climb to the top of the parapet...
stand irresolutely for an instant, lose his balance, slip...
and plummet into the black and icy water.
The shock of the freezing water brought him back to his senses.
He flailed his arms widely.
And then in a blinding flash he remembered.
Piotr Kovsky! Piotr Kovsky!
But no one heard about the whining of the arctic wind.
Alone there in the icy water, Ivan Ivanovich fought vainly to save himself...
and his glorious memory of the name.
But there was too much against him.
Time and his age and the cold of the Russian winter.
And so it was that Ivan Ivanovich died by drowning...
with his now useless alias on his lips.
Piotr Kovsky!
Suspense.
You've been listening to Rokovsky's Rubels.
Written for Suspense by William N. Robeson.
Heard in tonight's story was Santos Ortega as Ivan Ivanovich.
Others featured in the cast were Bob Reddick, Reiner Rabin...
Roger DeKoven, Ivor Francis, William Redfield and Lynn Loring.