R. Morris - The Cleansing Flames

‘Yes, that’s it. That’s what I was doing. Looking after them. I have them downstairs.’

They descended to the yardkeeper’s cellar, which was like a peculiar reversal of Aladdin’s cave, in which it seemed items of the least possible value had been hoarded: empty pomade jars, chipped cups, broken figurines, cracked lanterns, handleless pans, shattered mirrors, as well as piles of old newspapers. The only explanation was that the yardkeeper’s instinct to purloin was greater than his ability to discriminate.

The yardkeeper led them to the back of his one-room apartment. An olive-green drape hid a shapeless mass of further objects. Virginsky naturally imagined that these must be the items of genuine value secreted amongst so much dross. He pictured the mountains of jewels and precious metals, heaped coins and polished lamps that would be revealed when the drab cloth was lifted. The reality was inevitably disappointing. It did seem to be the case that these objects were more valuable than those on open display, but in truth that was not saying much.

The yardkeeper bent down and pulled out a cardboard box from under a table. ‘These belonged to Pseldonimov.’

It was a box of handbills, printed on cheap paper. Porfiry pulled one out and handed it to Virginsky.

‘God the Nihilist,’ read Virginsky.

‘My dear friend,’ said Porfiry to the yardkeeper, his voice heavy with foreboding. ‘This puts a rather different complexion on the affair. Here you are in possession of illegal manifestos. How do we know you are not intending to distribute them?’

‘No, no! It’s not like that. It’s as you said. I have been keeping them. Looking after them. The reward! Don’t forget the reward!’

‘I’m afraid it is no longer a question of a reward. This is a very serious matter. As a yardkeeper, you are in a position of great position and influence. Why, it is almost the same as if I, or my colleague here, as if we magistrates, had such material in our possession. The courts come down very heavily on yardkeepers and magistrates who stray. An example must be set. Besides, the new juries do not like us, you see. They take great pleasure in punishing us.’

‘But it need not come to court, your Excellency. I am sure I can persuade you to overlook this. What would it take?’

‘Be careful, my friend. Do not add attempted corruption to the already serious charges you face.’

‘But in all honesty, I didn’t know anything about it. I hadn’t looked inside that infernal box until just now. These were Pseldonimov’s handbills, not mine.’

‘Was there anything else of Pseldonimov’s that you have been taking care of?’

‘Just this box. That was all. If he had any other possessions, I don’t know where he kept them.’ Fear made the yardkeeper’s words convincing.

‘Very well. We will let the matter go this time. I will send a police officer to collect this illegal material.’

‘And what about the reward?’

‘Don’t push your luck, my friend.’ Porfiry nodded tersely to Virginsky and the two magistrates left the yardkeeper to his grubby trove.

*

The following day, a Sunday, Porfiry attended mass at the Church of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary in Haymarket Square. Rumours passed through the congregation that Katya Mikhailovna Dolgorukaya had that day borne the Tsar a son, and that His Imperial Highness had given thanks to God. The news was indeed highly scandalous. Porfiry pretended to be affected by the general agitation, though in truth he was secretly pleased. After the ceremony, he was moved by the desire to visit old friends. In particular, he had long been troubled by a sense of estrangement that had entered his relations with Nikodim Fomich. He was greeted by the police chief and his wife like a prodigal son. That is to say, he was offered tea and honey-soaked pirozhky . The couple’s unmarried daughters entertained him with songs at the piano, performed with great exuberance and accomplishment. Fortunately, Porfiry was too old to feel obliged to choose between them. The afternoon was rounded off delightfully by a visit from the eldest daughter, accompanied by her husband and two small children. Porfiry was pressed to stay for dinner, but made his excuses in a private conversation with Nikodim Fomich in the latter’s study. There was one other call he wished to make that day, he explained.

Dr Pervoyedov was equally surprised, and delighted, to find the magistrate at the door of his Gorokhovaya Street apartment. He called excitedly to his wife, ‘Anya! Anya! Come and see! It’s Porfiry Petrovich!’

His wife came out from the kitchen to greet the magistrate with a shy smile, which was nonetheless illuminated by an ironic intelligence. She had never met Porfiry Petrovich before this day, a fact which seemed to have escaped her husband. But, in truth, he had talked so much about Porfiry over the years that she might have felt that she knew the magistrate as well as her husband seemed to assume she did. She smiled indulgently at Pervoyedov as he gabbled on; in her look, Porfiry detected a depth of love that for a moment exalted them all. The good doctor then insisted that Porfiry should be introduced to his son and demanded from his wife the boy’s whereabouts. She confessed that she hadn’t the least idea.

A search of the apartment was made and young Gorya was at last found, much to the adults’ delight, under the table in the dining room, completely hidden by the long fringed cloth that trailed the floor. He was coaxed out with offers of bonbons, and introduced to the magistrate whose hand he shook with appropriate solemnity. The little boy seemed in awe of the strange plump man, even frightened of him.

Porfiry dropped down onto his haunches with a grunt. ‘Close your eyes, Gorya.’

The little boy obeyed. Porfiry ducked under the table, disappearing behind the hanging tablecloth, with a wink to Dr Pervoyedov’s wife.

His parents’ laughter prompted Gorya to open his eyes. The stranger was nowhere to be seen. Of course, the first place he looked was under the table. Porfiry held a finger to his mouth, urging the boy to silence. Quick-witted Gorya played along, pretending that he had not seen the magistrate behind the tablecloth. The adults’ look of patronising amusement changed to confusion. They were forced to look for themselves, and seeing Porfiry with his hands over his face were only more bemused, until Gorya’s piping laughter told them that they had been taken in. Porfiry dropped his hands and leered triumphantly. After that, he and Gorya were firm friends.

This time he accepted the invitation to stay for dinner; indeed, an invitation was barely offered and it was simply assumed that he would eat with them. And it was hard to refuse as the zakuski were laid out on the table, dish after dish, all manner of pickled vegetables and salads topped with sour cream or served with vinaigrette, together with little dishes of smoked sturgeon, tender chicken roulade and rollmops of herring. The colours of the different zakuski delighted his eye. The table became a palette of dining, the rich reds of the tomatoes, beetroot, cranberries and red caviar giving way to the pinker hues of the boiled pork, and the gold of the carrots, smoked salmon and aspic, all contrasting with the white of the sour cream and potatoes. Porfiry could not help himself. But all this was just by way of an appetiser. The feast of zakuski merged into a second feast, of pelmeni , the little parcels of noodle dough stuffed with various fillings. Porfiry tasted meat pelmeni , fish and mushroom pelmeni , cabbage pelmeni and mashed potato pelmeni ; all perfectly cooked, the soft mouthfuls melting away in explosions of salivation. But Porfiry discovered the most surprising filling of all when his teeth clamped down on something unexpectedly hard and resistant to biting. He pulled out a button and showed it to the company, to the amusement of everyone, especially little Gorya.