Moscow, July 1946
Upon arriving at the Kremlin, Boris hurried toward the Yellow Palace. Guards, recognizing Boris Alexandrov’s striking resemblance to his father, immediately opened the gates and ushered him in without a word of questioning. As he entered the ground-floor corridor, Voroshilov descended the stairs with his aide to greet him cheerfully.
"Comrade Boris! You are just like your father; always arriving ahead of schedule," Voroshilov praised, shaking Boris’s hand.
"Oh, forgive me. I thought I was late," Boris said, breathless. Voroshilov smiled faintly, almost childlike, "A man like you could never be late for the Yellow Palace! Not the son of the highly disciplined Comrade Alexandrov himself. Shall we head upstairs?" He immediately turned back up the staircase toward the second floor, followed by Boris and the aide, heading for Voroshilov’s office.
Arriving at the office door, Voroshilov stepped back and signaled his aide to open it. The aide nodded, opened the door, and ushered the two uniformed men inside. Just as the aide was about to close the door from the outside, Voroshilov called him back. "Oh, and tell the maid to prepare two cups of tea. Make it quick," he ordered firmly. The aide nodded and closed the door fully. The moment the door clicked shut, the man who had appeared so cheerful and carefree transformed into the gloomiest man in the Soviet Union. He tidied the scattered papers on the red sofa facing Boris and then invited him to sit. "Please forgive my carelessness. I had so much work to do that I forgot to tidy up," the man said, still wearing a forced smile. Boris merely murmured an acknowledgment, then sat on the sofa the man had just cleared off.
"Well, thankfully Vozhd is still kind to me. I can keep this office even though I'm no longer the Commissar of Defense. He is the one who controls the armed forces, including your ensemble, hahaha..." babbled Voroshilov as he still tidied the rest of papers. Boris didn't say anything. He rather carefully watch the old man's attitude more than the words...
After Voroshilov finished tidying, he finally sits across Boris. The time is precise just as the maid enters with a teaset and two cups. The piping hot red tea carefully poured onto two cups, before served to two authorities who sat across each other. After the maid left, Voroshilov finally opened his lips.
"I think you also know my purpose to call you here."
Boris acknowledged, "I suppose the decision from the ensemble and Cultural Center of the Soviet Union has reach your ears too, Klim Efremovich."
"Yes, and I am intrigued because you are the one following your father's path. I thought it would be the concertmaster or the head conductor? Not that I am complained~" teased Voroshilov. The tense face from Boris carved bit by bit.
"Still, there still be someone who handle the concertmaster, chorusmaster, head conductor and choreographer. I am confident with my leadership skill."
"I appreciate that! Well, that was the only thing I want to confirm. And... well, I just want to meet the next leader of the ensemble, before you are busy forever in the future..."
He almost wants to relieved, until suddenly Voroshilov uttering something, "I promise this is the last question: As you will taking over the ensemble by tomorrow... do you feel the nervous? For the new duty, new life, and new task to lead the ensemble for concert tour that your father failed to continue?"
Boris fell silent once again, reflecting on Voroshilov’s words. He thinning his lips as he addressed, "I never mind to take my father's leadership. Just one thing: I am afraid I must cancel the plans for the concert tours for a while."
"And why is that, Comrade?"
"I would like some extra time to develop and adapt our ensemble."
"Develop and adapt? Hadn't your father already trained your ensemble extensively?"
"Yes, but the ensemble members and I need to learn to develop compositions in my own style. I cannot rely on my father's compositions and style forever, after all. And I am convinced that by doing this, my father's legacy will not go to waste..."
Voroshilov asked nothing further after that. He simply responded to Boris with a broad smile and a nod. "If that will further enhance your father's reputation, then do it. Well, you may go now."
***
Unknown to Boris himself after he left the Yellow Palace... Voroshilov sipping the cold tea while staring at the aide with straight face. Specifically, the same aide who has been accompanied Voroshilov from long ago.
"Totally different from the father, I see. He seems easier to be molded by the state," muttered Voroshilov.
"Is it for better, I hope?" asked the aide.
Voroshilov hummed, "Better for propagandist work and promoting the glory of Soviet Union. Vozhd would love the ensemble more than ever... But for my personal opinion, it will be a boring stuff that I can play with. I will let Vozhd had the toy entirely for him this time."
"Alas, it's not that fun anymore, then..."
Voroshilov chuckled at the aide's comment, then he said, "Anyway, just drink that other cup of tea. Comrade Boris didn't even touch the tea at all. Quite a rude, isn't he?"
Voroshilov put down the cup and let the aide to bring the teaset out of the room. And without more words, Voroshilov choose to just aimlessly checking the documents that he need to sign.