Джеймс Хилтон - Time And Time Again

‘Then God must also know how long ago you began to be liquidated, my friend. But as you say, it does not matter. Successful survival is what counts—more than victory.’

‘Successful survival, in this world, IS victory.’

‘You are doubtless right—and that is another reason why the real joke is on me… May I?’ He put his hand to the whisky bottle, adding: ‘You said it is an acquired taste. I have already acquired it.’

Charles smiled, but watched with some dismay while Palan poured himself a very generous amount. Palan then raised his glass with ceremony. ‘A toast… will you permit one?’

‘If you like.’

‘A toast, then, M’sieur Anderson, to your country—where they liquidate you alive and imperceptibly—so that you can remain so useful as well as ornamental for such a long time.’

‘Palan, that’s all very amusing, I’m sure, but I’m still in the dark about the real purpose of your visit at this time of night.’ Charles then realized he had dropped the prefix to Palan’s name—with him a rather significant stage of intimacy. What he really wanted to convey, as a fellow professional, was that he was sorry for Palan’s personal predicament; but as a diplomat he was much more skilled in expressing regrets he did not feel than those he sincerely did. He compromised, therefore, on a remark that could have any meaning Palan chose to give it. He said quietly: ‘It’s very late—but don’t let that discourage you.’

Palan stirred restlessly, as if probed by one or other of the possible meanings, then put his hands to his temples in a sudden access of emotion. ‘M’sieur Anderson, have you ever—in your life—been AFRAID —of anything?’

‘Why, of course.’

‘When? Of what?’

‘During the war—in some of the air-raids. And other times too.’

‘Did you ever—do you ever—have dreams in which you are afraid—and when you wake up you are afraid even to remember them?’

‘I don’t know about that, but I sometimes dream I’m at some important function without the right clothes. Embarrassing enough.’

‘Without the right clothes? And that is all?’

‘Sometimes without ANY clothes. I think the psychiatrists would call it a recurrent anxiety dream. Most people have one kind or another—actors, I understand, dream of forgetting their lines—’

‘And what kind do you suppose is mine?’ Charles noticed that Palan’s breathing had become heavy, as if he were under increasing stress—or else, perhaps, the half tumbler of whisky was beginning to take effect. ‘I will tell you, my friend. I will tell you of the dream I have had lately, time and time again.’ Palan leaned forward with hands clenching and unclenching. ‘I have dreamed that I am back in my own country—in the city of Gorki where I was born—Nizhni-Novgorod it was in those days —but I am there again and it is today in my dream—No, it is not a dream, it is already a nightmare—I am there, and yet I cannot remember how I made the journey or what possessed me to do it—and I keep saying to myself in my nightmare—Why did you do it? Are you MAD? Why are you here? There is no chance now that you will ever leave again —why did you come back? Why?—Why?—WHY?’ Globes of perspiration swelled out on Palan’s forehead as he repeated the word.

‘But then you wake up and find yourself in Paris.’

‘For the time. But there is not much more time.’

‘When are you supposed to leave?’

‘My replacement is due to arrive by air tomorrow. I am expected to return by a plane that leaves tomorrow also.’

‘Expected to?’

‘You said “supposed to”. I said “expected to”. What we both mean is “ordered to”… After tomorrow, if I am still in Paris, I shall have burned my boats. Perhaps I have already begun to do that. There were men in the street just now… and after all, it would not be surprising… I have been careless at times—I have the old kind of brain, the European kind, the brain that slips its leash and scampers off for adventure and the fun of things… I have perhaps laughed too much… and you may have noticed, M’sieur Anderson, that in your excellent company I am still able to laugh. So if they have followed me here there can be little doubt in their minds.’

‘But there are still some doubts in mine.’

‘I know. It has been rather sudden—I mean, my decision what to do. I did not reach it, finally, till I walked past Rocher’s by chance last night. By chance. Utterly by chance. My body was wandering with my mind —not far, but suddenly too far ever to return. I was under a considerable strain, you understand, and to see you there so comfortable, so gemütlich, eating your ice cream like a good bourgeois—to see you there so—so en famille… for I took the lady to be attached to you and not to your son till you explained. But perhaps I was right after all. If so, I congratulate you. Only in America could anyone so charming be still unmarried. It is a great country and they are a great people. Just think—they call this city Paris, France, in order to avoid any possible confusion with Paris, Texas, and Paris, Illinois.’

Charles smiled. ‘I think your mind’s still wandering. Let’s get back to the point. Where were we?’

‘In the Paris streets. You cannot imagine what my emotions were. I had walked for hours—and miles.’

Charles said quietly, as to himself: ‘“It is not many miles to Mantua, no further than the end of this mad world”.’

‘Pardon?’

‘A quotation… nothing… MY mind was doing it then… Go on.’

‘There is no more to say. I am just waiting… for courage… to destroy by a single act the work and faith of a lifetime.’

‘Perhaps the faith, at least, is already destroyed.’

‘Yes… dissolved in fear.’

‘And disappointment. I don’t think, Palan, fear alone would have brought you.’

‘You are kind to say that. It is why I have come to you instead of Sir Malcolm—a whim, I admit—just as the condemned man in one of your English prisons is allowed to choose what he wants for his last breakfast—how truly civilized that is!… Forgive me—I am overwrought, near the breaking point, and at such a time I cannot help seeming to take these matters lightly.’

‘I understand. I’m a little bit like that myself.’

‘I have noticed it, and it makes you simpatico—whereas I do not find Sir Malcolm simpatico.’

Charles could not repress a sharp twinge of pleasure, for he too had never found Sir Malcolm simpatico. He said: ‘Sir Malcolm’s indisposed, anyway, so perhaps—’

‘Perhaps it is even en rčgle then, as well as a whim, that I should put myself in your hands?’

‘In MY hands?’

Palan bowed slightly. ‘If you do not object, M’sieur.’

‘Oh, not at all, not at all.’ Charles muttered the formula with which an Englishman sloughs off anything that causes him too little concern—or too much. As he did so he returned Palan’s glance levelly and with a good deal of shrewdness. The situation was clearly of a kind he had read about lately, in newspapers and books and also in official reports; it had not happened to him before, but it had to a few others, though perhaps never so disconcertingly as to that Scottish nobleman when Rudolf Hess suddenly dropped into his back garden… Charles said, as casually as he could to cover the flurry of his thoughts: ‘Very well, Palan… but of course you know I can’t promise anything officially—I’ll have to talk to Sir Malcolm tomorrow, and he’ll no doubt refer the matter to London… Though naturally if there’s anything on your mind I’m at your service for as long as you wish —all night if necessary.’

‘So now at last you are willing to lose your sleep?’