R. Morris - A Vengeful Longing

‘Nobody?’ Porfiry shot a glance at Virginsky.

‘Yes. Nikolai Nobody. The son of No One. I wonder whatever became of him.’

‘Is it possible, do you think, that Golyadkin was one of his abusers?’

‘Golyadkin, Golyadkin. . it really is so hard to remember, but I suppose it’s possible. You see, what you have to bear in mind is that each of us was known by a particular nickname, not always a flattering one, I have to say. My own was “Vomit”. I once had the misfortune to vomit in a corridor when I was coming down with a bout of fever, you see.’ There was a small sympathetic sound from Natalya Ivanovna. ‘It only happened once, quite early on in my time at the school, but I was never allowed to forget it in all the years I was there. The chief tormentor of this Nobody was known by the name of “Worms”, I seem to remember.’

‘Worms? How disgusting,’ said Natalya Ivanovna.

‘I think it was in reference to angling. It was his passion.’ Virginsky’s father narrowed his eyes as if looking into the distance, and spoke as if he dimly saw the boy in question approach. ‘It was all he ever talked about. His parents had a dacha by a lake, and apparently he would spend the whole of the summer holidays in a boat on that lake with only his worms for company. Hence the nickname.’

He paused. The hiatus in his narrative was filled by a light metallic rattle. There was a heavy clank against the inner door, then silence. Porfiry sprang to the door and opened it. Zakhar staggered forward, surprised by his release. He was bearing a tray with the metal teapot from the samovar and china, which he came dangerously close to losing.

‘Thank you, Zakhar. You may put it on my desk. I will serve us.’

This last information was received with a wince, as if it pained him greatly to be denied the pleasure of serving, which was after all his due. He shook his head as he withdrew into the apartment.

‘Dear Zakhar, what would I do without him?’

‘Do you not find it humiliating to be waited on by another human being?’ asked Virginsky with unexpected ferocity. ‘Besides which, there is the question of his age. He seems rather past it to me.’

‘As to the former question, I confess that I do not. The demands of my office make it rather a necessity. And that which is necessary. .’

‘Yes, yes — is always right,’ said Virginsky impatiently.

Porfiry hesitated and gave Virginsky a slow questioning gaze. ‘Quite. But yes, his advanced age is a great concern to me. It has come upon him with alarming rapidity, it seems to us all. I have tried to talk to him of retirement but he broke down in tears.’

‘Perhaps they were tears of joy,’ said Virginsky drily.

‘I think not. His position means everything to such a man. It is his purpose as well as place in life. Take it away and he is left with nothing.’

‘Such a man!’ Virginsky spat out contemptuously.

‘Yes, such a man,’ Porfiry insisted with an indulgent smile as he handed a teacup to Natalya Ivanovna. She and her husband were watching the exchange with startled fascination, like spectators at a scandalous play.

‘How is such a man different from you or me?’

‘He is not different at all. That is precisely my point. I include myself in the category of such men . I am a public servant. I live to serve. I cannot contemplate a future beyond service.’

‘You will move to the country and live out a long and happy retirement,’ said Virginsky’s father, with childlike optimism. ‘Away from all these sordid concerns,’ he added, with a note of rebuke.

Porfiry bowed acknowledgement of the wish.

‘Do people not murder one another in the country?’ asked Virginsky.

‘Well, yes. But it is usually a simple matter. A quarrel between peasants.’ Virginsky’s father looked to Porfiry for support as he took his tea from him.

‘Wherever there are human beings there is criminality,’ said Porfiry. ‘Even amongst gentlefolk.’

‘But surely not?’ protested Natalya Ivanovna.

‘I’m afraid so.’ Porfiry offered her the sugar bowl, which she regarded for a moment in horror. She recovered herself enough to place a large crystal on her saucer with the tongs, before putting it between her teeth with her fingers. ‘I have encountered criminals with every distinction of rank, every privilege of wealth, every advantage of education,’ continued Porfiry. ‘Indeed, all that they have lacked is moral compunction.’

Virginsky could not help looking at his father, who met his gaze then looked down sharply.

Natalya Ivanovna drank her tea through the sugar crystal. It seemed she sensed the tension and meaning of the silent exchange between her husband and stepson. She swallowed hurriedly and said, ‘You are referring to this fellow Golyadkin, are you not?’ She cast solicitous glances at her husband. ‘You believe he may be Colonel Setochkin’s murderer?’

‘Golyadkin cannot be Colonel Setochkin’s murderer, I am afraid. He himself died in a boating accident some years ago.’ Porfiry sipped from his tea. He closed his eyes for a moment, complacently almost, then suddenly stared over his cup, which he held to his mouth without drinking from it.

‘What is it?’ said Virginsky.

Porfiry lowered the cup slowly. He smiled but said nothing, basking in the speed of his eyelids’ oscillation. Instead he directed a mildly enquiring glance to Virginsky’s father.

He appeared discomfited by the magistrate’s attention. ‘But I don’t understand what all this has to do with Setochkin,’ he complained. ‘There is really nothing connecting Setochkin with Chermak School.’

‘Nothing?’ challenged Porfiry. ‘Apart from the fact that his murderer may have attended there?’ Porfiry sucked his tea up noisily and continued to watch Virginsky’s father with a greedy eye.

A distant rumble of thunder at first startled, then relieved, and, finally, depressed them.

The savagery of the storm cowed them. Hurled from a booming sky, the rain pelted the windowpanes in an angry fusillade. They could hear it hammering on the roof too, as if its rage was directed against them personally. The air was chill now; a stealthy gloom had taken away every memory of the sun.

Porfiry joined Virginsky at the window and watched the rain streak through the charged darkness. A flash of brilliance lit up the devastated patch of the city before them. Across the Yekaterininsky Canal, its surface frantic with motion, the tenement buildings behind the Haymarket seemed to shiver and flinch in the glare. Hunched figures on the embankments were momentarily frozen in their dash towards doorways. Another flash, a second later, and they had disappeared.

‘If this keeps up, the Ditch will flood,’ said Virginsky, as if he took pleasure from the prospect.

Virginsky’s father’s voice behind him reminded Porfiry of his guests. ‘It will be impossible to get a cab, of course.’

‘Oh, but you mustn’t think of going in this,’ said Porfiry turning, though in truth he was ready for them to go. He craved a cigarette and there was work to be done. In effect, it amounted to the same thing.

Virginsky’s father smiled weakly and cast an eye at the hostile weather. It seemed that he had merely been voicing a wish, the unattainability of which he well understood. There was resignation in his face and posture. ‘So. . it seems we are imprisoned by the storm.’

‘I for one am glad of the rain,’ said Natalya Ivanovna firmly. ‘It will lighten the oppression in the air. I hope it will freshen the generally noxious atmosphere of the city too.’

‘Indeed,’ said Porfiry. ‘If I may say so, you have not chosen to visit St Petersburg in its pleasantest season. Most people in fact choose to vacate the city in the summer.’