Дэвид Салой - The Innocent

Perhaps, though, you don’t know yourself what you thought. Perhaps you did not know even at the time. In 1948 and then in 1960, you did not know whether what you were doing was wrong or not – you simply took your lead from those around you, from what they seemed to think, from what they seemed to want.

I don’t know why I wasn’t shot. I suspect because even in Khrushchev’s time there were people in positions of power who understood and sympathised with what I had done, and silently intervened to save me. So I was a KGB colonel for twelve more years. There was no work for me though. For the past twelve years I have done nothing. I don’t know if you knew that. You must have suspected it. And then, in February, the quiet event in the officers’ mess. Hushed-up, a poor turnout, no one senior there. I was presented with that watch you tell me I should wear, the Vostok or whatever it is, with the service insignia, the sword and shield, on its black face. And that was that.

And you? Since your performance in front of the judges you have prospered. True, there were a few years in the early sixties when you had a hunted look. You were moved from news to sport. That was a step down, of course – though you did a lot of travelling, which you seemed to like. You were moved back to news in sixty-four – I remember that New Year’s Eve party: you were jubilant, laughing and throwing snowballs like an excited teenager. Did you feel that you had been forgiven? What you have to understand is there is no forgiveness – that’s the stuff of Christianity. Our failings are unforgivable. We have to live with them forever. That is, until we die.

SOMETHING HAS HAPPENED in Munich. On the radio they say there has been ‘an incident’ which has led to the suspension of the Olympic Games. In Sverdlovsk it is early evening. He switches on the electric light in the kitchen, opens the mesh-fronted larder and takes out the simple elements of his evening meal. The Olympics have been satisfactory so far – in spite of the Jew Spitz’s seven world records in a week. His participation in proceedings was particularly infuriating on Monday when the United States won the men’s four-hundred-metre freestyle relay – with Spitz swimming the final leg, overtaking Grivennikov and forcing the Soviet team into the silver medal position. And something similar happened in the eight-hundred-metre event on Thursday – only there the Soviet Union did not even hold on for silver, which, sickeningly, went to West Germany. Earlier the same day, however, Aleksandr Medved had taken on the American Chris Taylor – a no-neck one-hundred-and-eighty-kilo monster – in the super-heavyweight wrestling, and somehow emerged victorious; and on Friday Valery Borzov triumphed on the track in the hundred metres. The USSR mopped up most of the medals in the women’s gymnastics; the men’s team, unfortunately, losing out to the nimble Japanese. And in the final of the eight hundred metres on Saturday, Yevgeni Arzhanov seemed certain to win only to ‘hit the wall’ near the finish, presenting first place to Dave Wottle – of the USA, naturally – and literally falling over the line. Nevertheless, the medals table now has a familiar look to it.

He is wondering what the ‘incident’ might be which has led to the suspension when his thoughts are unexpectedly interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. With his mouth full, he looks out of the living-room window and sees Ivan’s plum-black Lada parked in the autumn twilight.

He lets him in and leads him up the stairs. Ivan is very short-winded. This does not stop him lighting a cigarette.

‘Are you alright?’ Aleksandr says.

‘Yes, I’m fine. Well … something’s happened.’

‘Sit down.’

Ivan flops onto the sofa. ‘Can I have … some water, please?’ When he has had some water, he says, ‘Have you heard they’ve suspended the Olympic Games?’

‘Yes, of course. Why? What’s happened?’

‘What are they saying? On the radio.’

‘Nothing. They say there’s been an “incident”. What’s happened?’

‘Palestinian terrorists have taken fifteen Israeli athletes hostage,’ Ivan says. ‘They’ve already killed two of them. It’s been going on since this morning. They’re demanding the release of prisoners held in Israel.’

‘They’ve already killed two of them?’

‘They were threatening to kill them all at noon, then they said they’d kill one every hour until the prisoners were released. But the Israelis refused point blank to release them. Then the Germans got the deadline extended to five o’clock.’ He looks at his watch. ‘So nine o’clock here. In a couple of hours. I have to go back and see what happens. At the moment, we’ve been told not to report it. Not to talk about it. I’m going to be up all night – that’s obvious.’

‘You look tired,’ Aleksandr says.

‘I am tired. This all started this morning. And Kaminsky’s on holiday in Egypt. They can’t even get him on the phone.’ Oleg Kaminsky, managing editor of the Urals Worker . ‘I have to go back soon.’

‘Do you want some tea?’

‘Yes. Please.’

‘The Germans are going out of their minds,’ he says, when the tea is made. ‘They can’t believe this is happening. Some German politician even offered his own life in place of the Israelis’. It’s a nightmare for them. And an embarrassment for us. That’s why we’re not saying anything yet. They want to see how it ends before they decide what to say. What they want to say is: “Look how desperate the poor Palestinians are. If they weren’t so oppressed they wouldn’t be doing this.” And that’s what we will say, when it’s over, if it ends without a massacre. At the moment it’s all too ugly though. They threw the body of one of the dead athletes over a balcony. If it ends in a massacre you won’t hear about it. It won’t be political anyway. We’re supposed to portray the Palestinians as victims, not murderers.’

‘They are victims.’

‘They don’t look like victims today. I’ve seen the German TV pictures. The main terrorist is a weird-looking guy in a white suit and a white panama hat with black shoe polish on his face and a grenade in his hand at all times. The Germans are saying they’re from some fanatical extreme fringe group of the PLO. There’s just such a sense of shock. I’m in shock. The pictures are surreal. There’s people just going on with things in the Olympic village – sunbathing, playing table tennis, training.’ He shakes his head and lights a Golden Fleece. ‘The IOC didn’t want to suspend but there was such outrage that they had to. That was the last thing I heard. I’m not supposed to be talking about it.’

‘I won’t tell anyone.’

‘I know. I’d better get back.’ He stands up, and for a moment seems to sway unsteadily. He even puts out a hand, which Aleksandr seizes.

‘Are you sure you’re alright, Vanya?’

‘I’m tired, that’s all. And I haven’t eaten all day.’

‘Do you want something?’

‘No, thanks. I’m not hungry.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Thanks.’

He leaves, and a minute later Aleksandr hears the Lada start, and stall, and start, and drive away.

In the morning he walks to the news-stand. The radio had nothing more to say on the subject of the Olympic suspension the previous night; however the headline in the Urals Worker is ‘OLYMPIC HOSTAGES FREED’. He starts on the story as he walks home, walking slowly with his eyes on the newsprint. It says that the terrorists wanted a long-range jet to take them and the hostages to an unspecified Arab country. The Germans said they would provide one and flew them to the airport in helicopters. It was a trap and there was a firefight on the airport tarmac in which all the terrorists were killed and all the hostages freed. There is also a prominent op-ed piece – judging by the style, he thinks Ivan might have penned it himself – on the oppression that led the Palestinians to use such extreme means to make their plight known to the world.