Vasily Grossman - Life And Fate

And what had once been unimaginable – an attitude of envious rivalry towards the achievements and theories of other scientists – had begun to seem quite normal. He was like an athlete – afraid of being overtaken, afraid that someone might beat his record.

He didn't really want to talk to Chepyzhin now; he didn't have the strength for what would be a long and difficult conversation. He and Chepyzhin had oversimplified when they talked about the dependence of science on the State. He himself was quite free; no one any longer thought of his theories as absurdities straight out of the Talmud. No one dared attack them now. The State needed theoretical physics; Badin and Shishakov understood that now. For Markov to show his true talent for setting up experiments, for Kochkurov to show his talent for seeing their practical applications, you needed a theoretician. Now, after Stalin's telephone call, that was generally understood. But how could he explain to Dmitry Petrovich that this telephone call had brought him freedom? Why had he suddenly become so intolerant of Lyudmila's failings? And why was he now so well-disposed towards Shishakov?

He had grown particularly fond of Markov – perhaps because he had now become genuinely interested in the personal lives of his bosses, in everything secret or half-secret, in every act of harmless cunning or outright treachery, in all the various humiliations arising from invitations or absence of invitations to the Presidium, in who figured on a special list or who merely heard the fateful words: 'You're not on the list.' Yes, he would much sooner spend a free evening chatting with Markov than be arguing with Madyarov at one of their Kazan gatherings.

Markov had an extraordinarily sharp eye for people's absurdities; he could make fun of their weaknesses lethally but without malice. His mind was very elegant and he was a first-class scientist. He was possibly the most talented experimental physicist in the country.

Viktor already had his coat on when Lyudmila said: 'Marya Ivanovna phoned yesterday.'

'Yes?' said Viktor immediately.

His face must have changed.

'What's the matter?' asked Lyudmila.

'Nothing. Nothing at all,' he said, coming back into the room.

'I didn't quite understand. Some unpleasantness at the Institute. I think Kovchenko phoned them. Anyway it's the usual story. She's worried about you. She's afraid you're going to put your foot in it again.'

'How?' asked Viktor impatiently. 'I don't understand.'

'I don't understand myself. I've already told you. She evidently didn't want to go into it at length on the phone.'

'Tell me all that again,' said Viktor. He unbuttoned his coat and sat down on a chair by the door.

Lyudmila looked at him, shaking her head from side to side. He thought her eyes seemed sad and reproachful. As though to confirm this, Lyudmila said: 'Vitya, Vitya… You didn't have time to phone Chepyzhin, but you're always ready to hear about dear Masha, aren't you? I thought you were late.'

Viktor gave her an odd, sideways look and said: 'Yes, I am late.'

He went up to her, took her hand and kissed it. She patted him on the head and ruffled his hair.

'You see how interesting and important Masha's become,' said Lyudmila quietly. She gave a wry smile and added: 'The same Masha who couldn't tell the difference between Balzac and Flaubert.'

Viktor looked at her: her eyes were moist, her lips almost trembling.

He shrugged his shoulders helplessly and walked out. In the doorway he turned round again.

He felt quite shaken by the look on Lyudmila's face. It was a look of utter exhaustion, touching helplessness, and shame – both on his behalf and on her own. On his way down the stairs, he thought that, if he were to break with Lyudmila and never see her again, he would remember that look until his dying day. He realized that something very important had just happened: his wife had informed him that she knew of his love for Marya Ivanovna and he had confirmed it.

All he knew for sure was that, if he saw Masha, he felt happy, and if he promised himself never to see her again, he felt he could hardly breathe.

As Viktor's car arrived at the Institute, Shishakov's drew up alongside it. The two cars stopped by the door almost simultaneously.

Viktor and Shishakov then walked side by side down the corridor. Shishakov took Viktor by the arm. 'Are you going to the Urals then?'

'I think so.'

'Soon we'll be saying goodbye for good. You'll become an independent sovereign,' said Shishakov with a smile.

'What if I ask if he's ever been in love with someone else's wife?' thought Viktor suddenly.

'Viktor Pavlovich,' said Shishakov, 'can you come round to my office about two o'clock?'

'Certainly. I'll be free by then.'

Viktor found it hard to concentrate on his work that morning.

In the laboratory Markov came up to him in his shirt-sleeves and said excitedly: 'If you'll allow me, Viktor Pavlovich, I'll come and see you a bit later. I've got something interesting to tell you.'

'I'm seeing Shishakov at two,' said Viktor. 'Come round after that. I've got something to tell you myself.'

'You're seeing Aleksey Alekseyevich,' said Markov thoughtfully. 'I think I know what about.'

Seeing Viktor come in, Shishakov said: 'I was just going to phone and remind you of our metting.'

Viktor looked at his watch. 'I'm not late, am I?'

Shishakov looked quite enormous as he stood there in his grey suit, his huge head covered in silvery hair. But his eyes no longer seemed cold and arrogant; they were more like the eyes of a little boy brought up on Dumas and Mayne Reid.

'My dear Viktor Pavlovich, I've got something important to discuss with you,' said Shishakov with a smile. He took Viktor by the arm and led him towards an easy chair.

'It's something very serious and rather unpleasant.'

'Well,' said Viktor, looking mournfully round the office, 'let's get down to it then.'

'What's happened,' Shishakov began, 'is that a disgusting campaign's been started up abroad, mainly in England. In spite of the fact that we're bearing nearly the whole weight of the war on our own shoulders, certain English scientists – instead of demanding the immediate opening of a Second Front – have begun an extraordinary campaign with the aim of arousing hostility towards the Soviet Union.'

He looked Viktor straight in the eye. Viktor knew this open, frank look; it was characteristic of people who were doing something dishonest.

'I see, I see,' he said. 'But what exactly is this campaign?'

'A campaign of slanders,' said Shishakov. 'They've published a list of Soviet writers and scientists they allege to have been shot. They're making out that some quite fantastic number of people have been imprisoned for political reasons. With extraordinary – and really very suspicious – vehemence, they contest the verdict – established by due process of law – on Doctors Pletnyov and Levin, the assassins of Aleksey Maximovich Gorky. All this has been published in a newspaper close to government circles.'

'I see, I see,' said Viktor. 'And is that it?'

'More or less. There's also something about the geneticist Chet-verikov. A committee's been established for his defence.'

'But my dear Aleksey Alekseyevich, Chetverikov has been arrested.'

Shishakov shrugged his shoulders.

'As I'm sure you're aware, Viktor Pavlovich, I know nothing about the workings of the security organs. But if, as you say, he has been arrested, then it must be with good reason. You and I haven't been arrested, have we?'

Just then Badin and Kovchenko came in. Shishakov was evidently expecting them; Viktor realized they must have arranged this beforehand. Without stopping to put them in the picture, Shishakov just said: 'Sit down comrades, sit down!' and turned back to Viktor.