R. Morris - A Vengeful Longing

At last his fascination became too much for him. He sought his father’s eye and found its glance at once more complicated and more human than he had allowed for. He saw that his father was seeking him out, and seeking something from him too. But whether it was forgiveness or complicity, he could not tell. His only option was to shake his head and look away.

Porfiry’s greetings carried them over the moment: ‘Ah, welcome to you, madam. . sir. I am Porfiry Petrovich.’

‘Pavel Pavlovich the elder,’ said Virginsky’s father with a dignified bow. ‘Allow me to introduce my wife, Natalya Ivanovna.’

‘It is a pleasure to be able to extend the hand of friendship to the parents of my own dear Pavel Pavlovich the younger.’

Virginsky wanted to correct the misunderstanding, or misrepresentation, in this. ‘She is not my parent,’ he said, but his father spoke at the same time and it was his words that were attended to.

‘I am delighted to receive it. The hand of friendship, that is. I had been led to believe by my son that it would be the finger of suspicion that you would be extending towards us.’

This, Virginsky thought, was typical of his father: to defuse the issue by making a joke of it, as if he could extricate himself from any difficulty by the exercise of affability. How could such a charming fellow be guilty of involvement in a crime? The very idea was ridiculous, it seemed.

Porfiry smiled. ‘Yes, your son has informed me of your acquaintance with Colonel Setochkin.’

‘A terrible business,’ said Virginsky’s father, suddenly solemn, as if his earlier witticism had been about something entirely different.

‘Indeed. Was he a good friend of yours?’

‘More of a business associate.’ Virginsky’s father nodded, as if this helped to make his meaning clearer.

‘So I understand,’ said Porfiry, unconsciously mirroring the nodding motion.

‘Still, it is a shock,’ said Virginsky’s father. His eyes widened emphatically, as if he were experiencing the shock at that moment.

‘Had you known him long?’ Porfiry’s tone was casual.

‘Not long, really,’ answered Virginsky’s father vaguely. He assumed a carefully judged expression of mild sadness. There was a moment of respectful quiet, which left nowhere else for Porfiry’s enquiries to go, without belying the pretence of conversation.

‘Shall we have some tea?’ said Porfiry, to everyone’s relief, it seemed, even Virginsky’s. He discovered that he had little appetite for his father’s cross-examination and potential incrimination after all.

Natalya Ivanovna and Virginsky’s father bowed and smiled their assent. Porfiry opened the door that led to his private apartment and called out for Zakhar. He turned and smiled reassuringly to the room as they waited for the servant to appear. A kind of embarrassment descended on them. They seemed suspended, unable to move or speak until the business of the tea had been settled. Even Natalya Ivanovna’s smile appeared strained.

At last Zakhar appeared at the door. It was the first time Virginsky had seen Porfiry’s manservant in person, although he had known of his existence through the services he performed for Porfiry. The man’s advanced age shocked him and provoked a quickening of indignation. Zakhar had that habit, which Virginsky had often observed in older people, of continually wincing and grimacing, apparently for no reason, though undoubtedly at the private agonies of longevity.

‘Zakhar, would you be so good as to bring out some tea?’ Dressed in politeness, disguised as a question, this was nevertheless a command from Porfiry.

The old man’s eyes were barely open, as though he had just been roused from a nap, as well he might have been. To dispel any impression that he was too old for his duties, he gave a rather overdone spring to his step as he set off on his return. He had to grab the doorframe to steady himself.

They watched him go in some trepidation.

‘Should someone not — ?’ began Natalya Ivanovna anxiously.

‘No. He would take it as an insult.’ Porfiry smiled tensely. ‘Please, do sit down.’

Virginsky’s father and stepmother took the brown sofa. Virginsky, taking his cue from Porfiry, remained standing.

‘So tell me,’ began Porfiry, the tension in his smile easing. ‘How much longer are you staying in St Petersburg?’

‘Well, my son tells me I mustn’t consider leaving,’ said Virginsky’s father quickly, again with pointed humour. ‘Which is all very well, although he does not also tell me how I am to meet the continued expense of the hotel.’

‘Perhaps if you had chosen a less expensive hotel in the first place,’ muttered Virginsky.

‘What was that?’

Natalya Ivanovna reached out a hand to soothe her husband.

‘I am sure there will be no need to detain you longer than is necessary. It is unfortunate that you have been tangled in this messy business. If you wish, we could clear up a few things now?’ Porfiry’s face registered surprise, as if the thought had only just occurred to him.

‘I would be glad to.’

‘Your son tells me that you were a pupil at the Chermak High School in Moscow.’

‘What? What has that got to do with Setochkin?’

Porfiry ignored the question. ‘How did you meet Setochkin? It was not at Chermak High School.’

‘Of course not. I told you, he was a. . business associate of mine.’

‘A business associate, yes. But if you will forgive me, that doesn’t tell me where or how you met him, only in what relationship he stood to you.’

‘Does it matter where I met him? One meets people. One is introduced. One becomes acquainted. It is a normal enough occurrence, I would have thought.’ The elder Virginsky’s tone was pleading rather than recalcitrant.

Porfiry bowed slightly with fluttering eyelids. ‘Do you remember a boy at Chermak School called Golyadkin?’

‘Golyadkin? Gol- yadkin ?’ Virginsky’s father frowned doubtfully.

‘He was in the year below you,’ put in Virginsky flatly.

‘What? How do you know that?’ Startled, Virginsky’s father swivelled his gaze between his son and the magistrate.

Porfiry picked up the question: ‘The name Golyadkin came up in an interview with another. . gentleman, one Vakhramev. Do you know him?’

‘No.’

‘Or his daughter, Tatyana Ruslanovna?’

‘No.’

‘But Golyadkin? Do you remember Golyadkin?’

‘Perhaps I do remember the name. That’s all. It was such a long time ago.’

‘You have not seen Golyadkin more recently, since leaving Chermak School?’

‘Certainly not. I hardly remember him at all.’

Porfiry nodded thoughtfully. ‘It would help us greatly if you could try to remember him a little.’

‘Of course, I wish to help you as much as I am able. Golyadkin, you say? You must understand that my memories of my schooldays are not happy. I have tried as much as I might to put them behind me. There was a certain brutality of mind amongst the masters, which transmitted itself to some of the boys. I was myself guilty of it at times, much to my shame. It is far worse, in later life, to look back on one’s self as the perpetrator rather than the victim of injustice. It was a school of bullies and the older boys had little to do with the younger ones except to terrorise them. Naturally, there were those, either lacking in the necessary stature or malevolence, or possibly simply intelligence, who were inevitably and eternally the recipients of such attentions. Golyadkin, I do not think was one of those. I would have remembered him if that were the case. I find I have the faces of the unhappy ones etched upon my conscience and I do not associate that name with any of those.’ His narrative faltered. Natalya Ivanovna laid her hand consolingly on his arm. He patted it appreciatively and smiled at her alone. ‘There was one boy in particular. Yes, he was from the year below, a quite unfortunate boy, sallow-faced, weakly, he was always sickening for something, or pretending to. I imagine that it was nothing other than misery that he was suffering from. He sought escape from his tormentors in the infirmary. He had a particular terror of heights, I remember. And one day a few of his classmates blindfolded him and took him to an attic window from which they forced him to climb out on to the roof — there was a flat roof adjacent to this particular window I remember. They walked him to the edge of the flat roof and removed his blindfold. Then left him there. His screams filled the school grounds and stay with me even now. Of course, he was punished severely for his misdemeanour.’ Natalya Ivanovna shifted uneasily. Her husband avoided her eyes; his smile trembled into weakness, unable to console or explain. ‘That was not Golyadkin, though, I am sure of that. I cannot remember the boy’s real name but it was not Golyadkin. Everyone called him “Nobody”.’