“I don’t know whether it’s important or not, and I didn’t think it was for me to decide,” Dimka said cautiously.

Khrushchev was dismissive. “Aleksandr Shelepin isn’t ready to be leader,” he said. Shelepin was a deputy prime minister and former head of the KGB. “Nikolai Podgorny is narrow. And Brezhnev isn’t suited either. Do you know they used to call him the Ballerina?”

“No,” said Dimka. It was hard to imagine anyone less like a dancer than the stocky, graceless Brezhnev.

“Before the war, when he was secretary of Dnepropetrovsk Province.”

Dimka saw that he was supposed to ask the obvious question. “Why?”

“Because anyone could turn him round!” said Khrushchev. He laughed heartily and put his jacket on.

So the threatened coup was dismissed with a joke. Dimka was relieved that he was not being condemned for crediting stupid reports. But one worry was replaced by another. Was Khrushchev’s intuition right? His instincts had proved reliable in the past. But Natalya always got news first, and Dimka had never known her to be wrong.

Then Khrushchev picked up another thread. His sly peasant eyes narrowed and he said: “Do these petty plotters have a reason for their discontent? The anonymous caller must have told you.”

This was an embarrassing question. Dimka did not dare tell Khrushchev that people thought he was mad. Desperately improvising, he said: “The harvest. They blame you for last year’s drought.” He hoped this was so implausible it would be inoffensive.

Khrushchev was not offended, but irritated. “We need new methods!” he said angrily. “They must listen to Lysenko!” He fumbled his jacket buttons, then let Tepper do them up.

Dimka kept his face expressionless. Trofim Lysenko was a scientific charlatan, a clever self-promoter who had won Khrushchev’s favor even though his research was worthless. He promised improved yields that never materialized, but he managed to persuade political leaders that his opponents were “anti-progress,” an accusation that was as fatal in the USSR as “Communist” was in the USA.

“Lysenko performs experiments on cows,” Khrushchev went on. “His rivals use fruit flies! Who gives a shit about fruit flies?”

Dimka recalled his aunt Zoya talking about scientific research. “I believe the genes evolve faster in fruit flies—”

“Genes?” said Khrushchev. “Rubbish! No one has ever seen a gene.”

“No one has ever seen an atom, but that bomb destroyed Hiroshima.” Dimka regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth.

“What do you know about it?” Khrushchev roared. “You’re just repeating what you’ve heard, parrot-fashion! Unscrupulous people use innocents like you to spread their lies.” He shook his fist. “We will get improved yields. You’ll see! Get out of my way.”

Khrushchev pushed past Dimka and left the room.

Ivan Tepper gave Dimka an apologetic shrug.

“Don’t worry,” said Dimka. “He’s got mad at me before. He won’t remember this tomorrow.” He hoped it was true.

Khrushchev’s rage was not as worrying as his misapprehensions. He was wrong about agriculture. Alexei Kosygin, who was the best economist in the Presidium, had plans for reform that involved loosening the grip that ministries held on agriculture and other industries. That was the way to go, in Dimka’s opinion; not miracle cures.