R. Morris - The Cleansing Flames

It was only later, when Porfiry was installed in the room at the Obukhovksy Hospital, that Dr Pervoyedov had remembered, and attended to, the cut on his face, at last cleaning away the blood, a mixture of Porfiry’s own and that of the unknown pig. He had rinsed the wound with a solution of carbolic acid, in keeping with the best advice of the renowned Edinburgh surgeon, Joseph Lister. ‘There must have been something lodged in the barrel, or perhaps it was a piece of the cartridge shell that broke off.’ He could find nothing of the kind in the wound now. Whatever had caused the injury was long gone.

‘It’s nothing,’ Porfiry had protested.

‘Tell me, did he really point the gun at your head?’

‘But it was loaded with a blank cartridge. There was no danger.’

‘Could he not just as easily have fired into the air?’

‘He had to make it convincing.’

‘But there was no one else in the room with you at the time. And your door was closed. Who was there to be convinced?’

‘Someone might have come in just as he was firing the gun.’

‘In which case, your ruse most certainly would have backfired. Pavel Pavlovich would have been detained.’

Porfiry had pursed his lips as he thought about Dr Pervoyedov’s objections. ‘Perhaps he needed to convince himself.’

Now, a day after ‘the ruse’, Dr Pervoyedov was less than happy with what that graze was turning into. The skin around the wound was red, the flesh swollen, and sore, judging by Porfiry’s winces when Dr Pervoyedov probed it. The wound itself was tiny. But it was moist and gaping, like the mouth of a small bloodthirsty fish.

Porfiry himself, however, seemed little troubled by it, and so the doctor affected to be equally unconcerned. ‘I’ll just take a look at that cut,’ he said, avoiding Porfiry’s eyes, and still maintaining his pinched, resentful expression.

‘Stop fussing. It’s nothing, I tell you. It’s the way you keep pulling off that dressing that’s made it sore.’

At Dr Pervoyedov’s smile as he studied the minuscule wound, Porfiry wondered if he had at last been forgiven. But the smile was a mask. The truth was that Dr Pervoyedov did not like what he saw at all. The flesh was angry and more inflamed than ever. And in the lips of the little fish, he saw morsels of yellow pus.

The doctor felt a weight of shame and grief, his conscience pounding his memory with the sight of Porfiry’s pig-bloodied hand touching his face. He knew very well what they might expect if the infection took hold in earnest.

And so his resentment vanished — what a trifling thing it turned out to be, after all! — and he was restored to Porfiry as the smiling friend of old. If Porfiry was suspicious at the speed of this transformation, he kept it to himself.

As Dr Pervoyedov cleaned out the wound now, Porfiry’s winces were more deeply felt and longer lasting than they had been.

*

Porfiry let out a small wimper of protest as he slumbered, waking himself up with a start. His arms felt down the bed and pulled a sheet of newspaper up to read. He quickly tired of the paper and let it fall to the floor, casting a glance towards Dr Pervoyedov. ‘What are you doing still here? Don’t you have proper patients to see to?’

For some reason, Dr Pervoyedov was grinning in a most unconvincing manner, affecting an insouciance that he clearly did not feel. ‘Oh, I have completed my rounds. I was just passing, and so I thought I would look in on you.’

There was a diffident knock at the door. Porfiry looked up to see Nikodim Fomich enter.

‘How is our patient ?’ Nikodim Fomich gave the last word an ironic emphasis. His face wrinkled with pleasure. He had never shared Dr Pervoyedov’s disapproval of ‘the ruse’, and had in fact given his secret assent to Virginsky’s mission beforehand.

‘The wound is not healing as cleanly as I might have hoped,’ said Dr Pervoyedov, who seemed to be irritated by Nikodim Fomich’s joviality.

‘Wound? But I understood the weapon was loaded with blanks?’

‘The good doctor has rather made a mess of my face with all his fussing,’ said Porfiry.

‘I. .!’ But Dr Pervoyedov decided against articulating his protest further.

‘Exercise more care, Pervoyedov! We must look after this man. He is the jewel in our crown.’ Nikodim Fomich patted Porfiry’s leg solicitously. ‘Now then, what do you think of this? We have received a message. From Pavel Pavlovich, our man in the field. The system you set up has worked, Porfiry Petrovich!’

Porfiry waved away the compliment.

Nikodim Fomich handed a much-folded sheet of paper to Porfiry. Porfiry looked briefly at the note but handed it back to Nikodim Fomich almost immediately. ‘Read it to me.’ His hands fell heavily when the note was taken from him and he closed his eyes.

Nikodim Fomich frowned distractedly at this unexpected reaction but did as Porfiry directed. ‘Have read Dolgoruky’s printed confession. He confesses rape of child. Child subsequently killed self. Dolgoruky makes no mention of suicide in confession. I believe this provides Dolgoruky with motive to kill Pseldonimov: to suppress the confession that he came to regret. Printing press at workshop off Kalashnikovsky Prospect. Also serves as bomb-making factory. Dolgoruky promised to introduce me to 1 known as “Dyavol.” Failed. I believe Dyavol head of cell including Pseldonimov, Rakitin, Dolgoruky, Kozodavlev and three others. My first contact, Botkin. Totsky = “Bazarov” from Affair . And Tatyana Ruslanovna Vakhrameva! (Remember?) If I can meet Dyavol, will find out more. Dyavol is key to it all. We could arrest Dolgoruky for child rape. He will confess. But if he remains at liberty for present he may lead me to Dyavol. Cell is planning major atrocity involving explosives. I need to infiltrate cell further find out what. Some suspicion (of me) by revolutionists. They would be more convinced if P.P. had died! (Consider announcement to that effect? Staged funeral?) If I am discovered, they will kill me. Botkin ruthless, Dolgoruky mad. Totsky angry. Vakhrameva damaged. Dyavol? Worst of all? I sincerely hope that I am not mistaken in the man I have chosen to deliver this message. (However, advise you change man as he is becoming conspicuous.)

‘P.S.: Tatiscev lied. Did know Kozodavlev. “Stole” K’s wife many years ago.’ Nikodim Fomich directed his attention expectantly onto Porfiry.

‘Pavel Pavlovich has done well,’ declared Porfiry without opening his eyes.

‘Shall we raid the workshop?’ asked Nikodim Fomich. ‘Seize the illegal printing press and whatever materiel is there? Virginsky has very helpfully drawn a map of the location.’

‘If we do that now, the members of the cell will without doubt vanish into the night. We must allow Pavel Pavlovich to continue his operation.’

‘With all respect, Porfiry Petrovich,’ began Dr Pervoyedov, ominously. The doctor had a tendency to formality when agitated. ‘With all respect, I say, would it not be wiser to extract him now before he comes to any harm?’

‘Extracting Pavel Pavlovich prematurely will only have the same effect. The terrorists will realise they have had an agent in their midst and, once again, disappear without trace. And so, we have no choice but to ensure Pavel Pavlovich’s further advancement in the movement.’

‘You are not thinking — I hope to God you are not thinking this! — you are not thinking of taking up his preposterous suggestion?’

‘It may be possible to make an announcement along the lines that he has suggested.’

‘You would announce your own death? And would you also stage a funeral? Surely even you would hesitate to perpetrate a prank as tasteless as that .’