Michael Pearce - Dmitri and the Milk-Drinkers

‘I’m looking for Marfa Nikolaevna,’ he said.

A man in a skull cap came forward.

‘Marfa Nikolaevna?’ he said, with a worried expression on his face. ‘But, Barin, she is no longer here.’

‘No longer here?’

‘She hasn’t been here for, oh, over three weeks now. Not since they came and took her away.’

‘Where is she now?’ said Dmitri harshly.

‘Her case came up yesterday,’ said the tailor, ‘in the District Court at Kursk.’

The following morning, Anna Semeonova had still not been found.

‘It’s bad,’ said Peter Ivanovich. ‘First, because she’s a nice girl. I’ve known her since she was six. At that time she looked like a dumpling and everyone was afraid she was going to take after her father. Recently, though, she has thinned out and is becoming a beauty like her mother. Second, because her father blames us. Thirdly, because so does everyone else.’

Dmitri was always irritated by the Presiding Judge’s pedantic habit of enumerating his points.

‘She did, after all, disappear from the Court House,’ he pointed out.

‘I know; very inconsiderate of her,’ said Peter Ivanovich. ‘Why couldn’t she have disappeared from her home? We would still have been blamed, but we wouldn’t have looked quite as stupid. And now I’m afraid they will send someone down from St Petersburg.’

‘To take charge of the case?’

Dmitri wasn’t sure that he liked this. It was his case; and thus far in his career he had not been assigned so many that he could afford to be blasé. This was, actually, if you included the ridiculous affair of the old woman and the cow, only his second case. And were they now going to take even that from him?

‘We must resist,’ he said sternly.

Peter Ivanovich looked at him pityingly.

‘Tell me how you get on’, he said, ‘as Examining Magistrate in Siberia. Let me talk to you as a father, Dmitri Alexandrovich: obstruct, but do not resist. That is the first rule of bureaucracy. Besides,’ he said, ‘they won’t take over the case. They will leave you in charge. So that you can be blamed if things go wrong. That is the second rule of bureaucracy: make sure that responsibility always lies elsewhere.’

The advice of a master, thought Dmitri. Peter Ivanovich was wrong, however. The first rule of bureaucracy was surely to keep your mouth shut; which Dmitri was grimly trying to do.

‘The answer is, of course,’ continued Peter Ivanovich, ‘to solve the case yourself before they get here. How are you getting on, incidentally?’

He listened to Dmitri’s account of yesterday’s inquiries.

‘Interesting,’ he commented. ‘Who would have thought it? A girl like Anna Semeonova – getting herself mixed up with such people!’

‘I’m not sure how far she is mixed up with such people,’ said Dmitri. ‘That’s one of the things I wanted to ask Marfa Nikolaevna.’

‘Ask her, by all means,’ said Peter Ivanovich generously, ‘although I doubt if it will help you much.’

‘I would if I could,’ said Dmitri, frowning. ‘But there’s been a bit of a mix-up.’

‘Another one?’ said Peter Ivanovich. ‘Oh dear! These people! What is it this time?’

‘They can’t trace her.’

‘Come, come!’ said Peter Ivanovich. ‘She was in court the day before yesterday, wasn’t she? And surely she was not acquitted?’

‘Oh, no. She was sentenced, all right. It’s what happened afterwards that’s not clear.’

‘It’s as clear as daylight,’ said Peter Ivanovich. ‘She was a political prisoner, wasn’t she? Then she would have been sent back to prison to await transportation.’

‘So one would have thought. But the prison denies readmitting her. And there’s a complication. Some of the prisoners that day were sent directly to join the Siberian convoy.’

‘Well, perhaps that’s what happened to her, then,’ said Peter Ivanovich patiently.

‘They’ve checked the lists,’ said Dmitri, ‘and they can’t find her.’

‘They’ve made a mistake. It’s always happening. A clerical error. Either there or at the prison. Get them to check it again!’

‘I have. There’s no record in either place of a person of that name.’

‘There must be! She must be either in the one place or in the other. Either in prison or in the convoy. She can’t be still in the Court House, can she?’

‘Well, no.’

‘I mean, you’ve searched the place thoroughly, haven’t you? For that other girl?’

‘Novikov has searched the place,’ said Dmitri, learning fast. ‘Thoroughly, he says.’

‘Well, then!’

‘So she must be either in the prison or with the convoy. Unless …’

‘Yes?’

‘She’s disappeared. Like the other one,’ said Dmitri with emphasis.

‘Oh, my God!’ said Peter Ivanovich, clapping his hands to his head.

‘If this woman has indeed disappeared,’ said Peter Ivanovich coldly, ‘I hold you responsible.’

‘Me, Your Honour?’

The Chief of Police reeled back.

‘You’re responsible for security arrangements, aren’t you?’

‘Only in the Court House, Your Excellency! Only in the Court House!’

‘But that’s where she’s disappeared from. ’

‘Ah, but did she, Your Honour?’ said Novikov, recovering quickly. ‘Did she? Perhaps she escaped as the carts were going back to the prison – ’

‘She’s not on the carts list,’ said Dmitri.

‘Or from the convoy – ’

‘She’s not on their list, either.’

‘She must be! She must be!’

‘What are these lists?’ asked Peter Ivanovich.

‘At the end of the sessions the Clerk of the Court prepares a list of all those sentenced,’ said Dmitri. ‘From it, an assistant clerk compiles two separate lists, one for the officer in charge of the prison carts, one for the officer in charge of the convoy. The prisoners are assembled in the yard and assigned to one set of carts or the other on the basis of the consolidated list. As they get to the carts their names are checked against those on the separate lists. Marfa Nikolaevna’s name appears on the consolidated list, but not, so far as I can tell, and I’ve asked both the Prison Administration and the Convoy Administration, on either of the separate lists.’

‘They must have made a mistake,’ said Novikov.

‘Exactly what I said!’ said Peter Ivanovich.

‘I got them to check,’ said Dmitri.

‘Ah, yes, Your Honour, but it will be different if I ask them. Saving Your Honour’s presence, but they won’t have bothered much for someone new like yourself. Let me have a word with them, Your Excellency,’ said Novikov, turning to Peter Ivanovich, ‘and I’ll soon sort this out.’

‘Do so; and don’t take too long about it, either. One can’t have people disappearing from the Court House. Really, one begins to feel quite nervous!’

Novikov returned, beaming, before the lawyers had finished their lunch.

‘There you are, sir, what did I tell you? Sorted it out in no time! A simple mistake, sir, as you supposed.’

He put a piece of paper on the table before Peter Ivanovich and smoothed it flat.

‘There you are, Your Excellency!’ He pointed with a stubby forefinger. ‘That’s what you want!’

Peter Ivanovich adjusted his pince-nez.

‘Is it?’

‘I know, sir. You’re having difficulty. And not just you alone, sir. Everyone else. That’s how the misunderstanding arose. No one’s fault, sir, except for that fat clerk who’ll be feeling the toe of my boot up his fundament if he doesn’t take more pains next time.’

Peter Ivanovich looked again.

‘I suppose you’re right,’ he said doubtfully.