Life And Fate

'I don't understand myself. I've already told you. She evidently didn't want to go into it at length on the phone.'

'Tell me all that again,' said Viktor. He unbuttoned his coat and sat down on a chair by the door.

Lyudmila looked at him, shaking her head from side to side. He thought her eyes seemed sad and reproachful. As though to confirm this, Lyudmila said: 'Vitya, Vitya… You didn't have time to phone Chepyzhin, but you're always ready to hear about dear Masha, aren't you? I thought you were late.'

Viktor gave her an odd, sideways look and said: 'Yes, I am late.'

He went up to her, took her hand and kissed it. She patted him on the head and ruffled his hair.

'You see how interesting and important Masha's become,' said Lyudmila quietly. She gave a wry smile and added: 'The same Masha who couldn't tell the difference between Balzac and Flaubert.'

Viktor looked at her: her eyes were moist, her lips almost trembling.

He shrugged his shoulders helplessly and walked out. In the doorway he turned round again.

He felt quite shaken by the look on Lyudmila's face. It was a look of utter exhaustion, touching helplessness, and shame – both on his behalf and on her own. On his way down the stairs, he thought that, if he were to break with Lyudmila and never see her again, he would remember that look until his dying day. He realized that something very important had just happened: his wife had informed him that she knew of his love for Marya Ivanovna and he had confirmed it.

All he knew for sure was that, if he saw Masha, he felt happy, and if he promised himself never to see her again, he felt he could hardly breathe.

As Viktor's car arrived at the Institute, Shishakov's drew up alongside it. The two cars stopped by the door almost simultaneously.

Viktor and Shishakov then walked side by side down the corridor. Shishakov took Viktor by the arm. 'Are you going to the Urals then?'

'I think so.'

'Soon we'll be saying goodbye for good. You'll become an independent sovereign,' said Shishakov with a smile.

'What if I ask if he's ever been in love with someone else's wife?' thought Viktor suddenly.

'Viktor Pavlovich,' said Shishakov, 'can you come round to my office about two o'clock?'

'Certainly. I'll be free by then.'

Viktor found it hard to concentrate on his work that morning.

In the laboratory Markov came up to him in his shirt-sleeves and said excitedly: 'If you'll allow me, Viktor Pavlovich, I'll come and see you a bit later. I've got something interesting to tell you.'

'I'm seeing Shishakov at two,' said Viktor. 'Come round after that. I've got something to tell you myself.'

'You're seeing Aleksey Alekseyevich,' said Markov thoughtfully. 'I think I know what about.'

54

Seeing Viktor come in, Shishakov said: 'I was just going to phone and remind you of our metting.'

Viktor looked at his watch. 'I'm not late, am I?'

Shishakov looked quite enormous as he stood there in his grey suit, his huge head covered in silvery hair. But his eyes no longer seemed cold and arrogant; they were more like the eyes of a little boy brought up on Dumas and Mayne Reid.

'My dear Viktor Pavlovich, I've got something important to discuss with you,' said Shishakov with a smile. He took Viktor by the arm and led him towards an easy chair.

'It's something very serious and rather unpleasant.'

'Well,' said Viktor, looking mournfully round the office, 'let's get down to it then.'

'What's happened,' Shishakov began, 'is that a disgusting campaign's been started up abroad, mainly in England. In spite of the fact that we're bearing nearly the whole weight of the war on our own shoulders, certain English scientists – instead of demanding the immediate opening of a Second Front – have begun an extraordinary campaign with the aim of arousing hostility towards the Soviet Union.'

He looked Viktor straight in the eye. Viktor knew this open, frank look; it was characteristic of people who were doing something dishonest.

'I see, I see,' he said. 'But what exactly is this campaign?'

'A campaign of slanders,' said Shishakov. 'They've published a list of Soviet writers and scientists they allege to have been shot. They're making out that some quite fantastic number of people have been imprisoned for political reasons. With extraordinary – and really very suspicious – vehemence, they contest the verdict – established by due process of law – on Doctors Pletnyov and Levin, the assassins of Aleksey Maximovich Gorky. All this has been published in a newspaper close to government circles.'

'I see, I see,' said Viktor. 'And is that it?'

'More or less. There's also something about the geneticist Chet-verikov. A committee's been established for his defence.'

'But my dear Aleksey Alekseyevich, Chetverikov has been arrested.'

Shishakov shrugged his shoulders.

'As I'm sure you're aware, Viktor Pavlovich, I know nothing about the workings of the security organs. But if, as you say, he has been arrested, then it must be with good reason. You and I haven't been arrested, have we?'

Just then Badin and Kovchenko came in. Shishakov was evidently expecting them; Viktor realized they must have arranged this beforehand. Without stopping to put them in the picture, Shishakov just said: 'Sit down comrades, sit down!' and turned back to Viktor.

'So, Viktor Pavlovich, these slanders have now reached America and been published in the pages of the New York Times. This, naturally, has aroused indignation among the Soviet intelligentsia.'

'Of course,' said Kovchenko. 'What else could one expect?'

He looked directly at Viktor. His own brown eyes seemed so warm and friendly that Viktor was unable to come out with the thought that had immediately occurred to him: 'How can the Soviet intelligentsia be so indignant if they've never once set eyes on the New York Times?'

He grunted and shrugged his shoulders. This, he was aware, could be taken as a sign of agreement.

'Naturally,' Shishakov went on, 'a desire has arisen to refute these calumnies. And so we have drawn up a document.'

'You haven't done anything of the sort,' thought Viktor. 'You weren't even present when it was drawn up.'

'This document is in the form of a letter.'

'I've read it myself,' added Badin in a quiet voice. 'It's just what's needed. We want to have it signed by a small number of our most important scientists, people who are known in Europe and America.'

Viktor had known right from the begi

He began to feel sick. It was just like when they'd wanted him to make a public confession; he suddenly felt miserable, base, pathetic.

Once again, millions of tons of granite were about to come down on his shoulders… Professor Pletnyov! Viktor remembered an article in Pravda, written by some hysterical woman, full of wild accusations against the old doctor. To begin with, as so often, he had believed it all. Gogol, Tolstoy, Chekhov and Korolenko appeared to have instilled in Russians an almost religious reverence for the printed word. Finally, however, Viktor had realized that it was a calumny.

Pletnyov had then been arrested, together with Levin – another famous doctor from the Kremlin hospital. The two of them confessed to having murdered Aleksey Maximovich Gorky.

The three men were all looking at Viktor. Their eyes were warm, friendly and trusting. They accepted him as one of them. Shishakov looked on him as a brother; he understood the immense significance of Viktor's work. Kovchenko looked up to him. Badin's eyes said: 'Yes, everything you did and said seemed alien to me. But I was wrong. I didn't understand. The Party corrected me.'