Khrustalev, who drank himself to death after watching the autopsy), or had died soon afterwards, or had disappeared.
The accounts all differed in detail but were in essence the same. Stalin had suffered a catastrophic haemorrhage in the left cerebral hemisphere some time when he was alone in his room between 4 a.m. and 10 p.m. on Sunday March 1 1953. Academician Vinogradov, who examined the brain after death, found serious hardening of the cerebral arteries which suggested Stalin had probably been half-crazy for a long while, maybe even years. Nobody could tell what time the stroke had hit. His door had stayed closed all day and his staff had been too scared to enter his room. The bodyguard Lozgachev told the writer Radzinsky that he had been the first to pluck up the courage:
I opened the door. . . and there was the Boss lying on the floor holding up his right hand like this. I was petrified. My hands and legs wouldn't obey me. He had probably not yet lost consciousness but he couldn't speak. He had good hearing, he'd obviously heard me coming, and probably raised his hand slightly to call me in to help him. I hurried up to him and said 'Comrade Stalin, what's wrong?' He'd - you know - wet himself while he was lying there, and was trying to straighten something with his left hand. I said, 'Shall I call the doctor, maybe?' He made some incoherent noise – like 'Dz - dz. . . ,'all he could do was keep on 'dz'-ing.
It was immediately after this that the guards had called in Malenkov. Malenkov had called in Beria. And Beria's order, tantamount to murder by negligence, had been that Stalin was drunk and should be left to sleep it off.
Kelso made a careful note of the passage. Nothing here contradicted Rapava. That didn't prove Rapava was telling the truth, of course - he could have got hold of Lozgachev's testimony for himself, and tailored his story to fit. But it didn't suggest he was lying, either, and certainly the details tallied - the time frame, the order not to call for medical help, the way Stalin had wet himself, the way he would regain consciousness but be unable to speak. This happened at least twice over the three days it took Stalin to die. Once, according to Khrushchev, when the doctors at last brought in by the Politburo were spoon-feeding him soup and weak tea, he had raised his hand and pointed at one of the pictures of children on the wall. The second return to consciousness occurred just before the end and was noted by everyone, especially h is daughter, Svetlana:
At what seemed like the very last moment he suddenly opened his eyes and cast a glance over everyone in the room. It was a terrible glance, insane or perhaps angry and full of fear of death and the unfamiliar faces of the doctors bent over him. The glance swept over everyone in a second. Then something incomprehensible and terrible happened that to this day I can't forget and don't understand. He suddenly lifted his left hand as though he were pointing to something up above and bringing down a curse on us all. The gesture was incomprehensible and full of menace, and no one could say to whom or what it might be directed. The next moment, after a final effort, the spirit wrenched itself free of the flesh.
That had been written in 1967. After his heart had stopped, the doctors had ordered the resuscitator, Chesnokova - a strong young woman - to pound at Stalin's chest and blow into his mouth, until Khrushchev had heard the old man ’ s ribs snap and had told her to pack it i n. N o one could say to whom or what it might be directed. . .' Kelso underlined the words lightly with his pencil. If Rapava was telling the truth, it was fairly obvious whom Stalin must have been cursing: the man who had stolen the key to his private safe -Lavrenty Beria. Why he should have pointed at a picture of a child was less clear.
Kelso tapped the pencil against his teeth. It was all very circumstantial. He could imagine Adelman's reaction if he tried to
The accounts all differed in detail but were in essence the same. Stalin had suffered a catastrophic haemorrhage in the left cerebral hemisphere some time when he was alone in his room between 4 a.m. and 10 p.m. on Sunday March 1 1953. Academician Vinogradov, who examined the brain after death, found serious hardening of the cerebral arteries which suggested Stalin had probably been half-crazy for a long while, maybe even years. Nobody could tell what time the stroke had hit. His door had stayed closed all day and his staff had been too scared to enter his room. The bodyguard Lozgachev told the writer Radzinsky that he had been the first to pluck up the courage:
I opened the door. . . and there was the Boss lying on the floor holding up his right hand like this. I was petrified. My hands and legs wouldn't obey me. He had probably not yet lost consciousness but he couldn't speak. He had good hearing, he'd obviously heard me coming, and probably raised his hand slightly to call me in to help him. I hurried up to him and said 'Comrade Stalin, what's wrong?' He'd - you know - wet himself while he was lying there, and was trying to straighten something with his left hand. I said, 'Shall I call the doctor, maybe?' He made some incoherent noise – like 'Dz - dz. . . ,'all he could do was keep on 'dz'-ing.
It was immediately after this that the guards had called in Malenkov. Malenkov had called in Beria. And Beria's order, tantamount to murder by negligence, had been that Stalin was drunk and should be left to sleep it off.
Kelso made a careful note of the passage. Nothing here contradicted Rapava. That didn't prove Rapava was telling the truth, of course - he could have got hold of Lozgachev's testimony for himself, and tailored his story to fit. But it didn't suggest he was lying, either, and certainly the details tallied - the time frame, the order not to call for medical help, the way Stalin had wet himself, the way he would regain consciousness but be unable to speak. This happened at least twice over the three days it took Stalin to die. Once, according to Khrushchev, when the doctors at last brought in by the Politburo were spoon-feeding him soup and weak tea, he had raised his hand and pointed at one of the pictures of children on the wall. The second return to consciousness occurred just before the end and was noted by everyone, especially h is daughter, Svetlana:
At what seemed like the very last moment he suddenly opened his eyes and cast a glance over everyone in the room. It was a terrible glance, insane or perhaps angry and full of fear of death and the unfamiliar faces of the doctors bent over him. The glance swept over everyone in a second. Then something incomprehensible and terrible happened that to this day I can't forget and don't understand. He suddenly lifted his left hand as though he were pointing to something up above and bringing down a curse on us all. The gesture was incomprehensible and full of menace, and no one could say to whom or what it might be directed. The next moment, after a final effort, the spirit wrenched itself free of the flesh.
That had been written in 1967. After his heart had stopped, the doctors had ordered the resuscitator, Chesnokova - a strong young woman - to pound at Stalin's chest and blow into his mouth, until Khrushchev had heard the old man ’ s ribs snap and had told her to pack it i n. N o one could say to whom or what it might be directed. . .' Kelso underlined the words lightly with his pencil. If Rapava was telling the truth, it was fairly obvious whom Stalin must have been cursing: the man who had stolen the key to his private safe -Lavrenty Beria. Why he should have pointed at a picture of a child was less clear.
Kelso tapped the pencil against his teeth. It was all very circumstantial. He could imagine Adelman's reaction if he tried to
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