J.M. Coetzee - The Master of Petersburg

Now, ever since Pavel died, there has been nothing but turmoil. It is not good for a child. Matryona would not be sick today if the atmosphere at home were not so unpredictable. What the doctor said is true: she is excited, and excitement makes a child vulnerable.'

He is waiting for her to come to what is surely the heart of the matter: that Matryona is aware of what is passing between her mother and himself and is in a frenzy of possessive jealousy. But that, it seems, she is not yet prepared to bring into the open.

'I am sorry about the confusion, sorry about everything. It was impossible for me to leave tonight as I had planned – I won't go into the reasons, they are not important. I will be here for another day or two at most, till my friends help me with money. Then I will pay what I owe and be gone.'

'To Dresden?'

'To Dresden or to other lodgings – I can't say yet.'

'Very well, Fyodor Mikhailovich. But as for money, let us wipe the slate clean between the two of us right now. I don't want to belong to a long list of people you are in debt to.'

There is something about her anger he does not understand. She has never spoken so woundingly before.

He sits down at once to write to Maykov. 'You will be surprised to hear, dear Apollon Grigorevich, that I am still in Petersburg. This is the last time, I hope, that I will need to appeal to your kindness. The fact is, I find myself in such straits that, short of pawning my coat, I have no means of paying for my lodging, to say nothing of returning to my family. Two hundred roubles will see me through.'

To his wife he writes: 'I stupidly allowed a friend of Pavel's to prevail on me for a loan. Maykov will again : have to come to the rescue. As soon as my obligations are settled I will telegraph.'

So the blame is shifted again to Fedya's generous heart. But the truth is, Fedya's heart is not generous. Fedya's heart -

There is a loud knocking at the door of the apartment. Before Anna Sergeyevna can open it, he is at her side. 'It must be the police,' he whispers, 'only they would come at this hour. Let me try to deal with them. Stay with Matryona. It is best that they do not question her.'

He opens the door. Before him stands the Finnish girl, flanked by two blue-uniformed policemen, one of them an officer.

'Is this the man?' the officer asks.

The girl nods.

He stands aside and they enter, pushing the girl before them. He is shocked by the change in her appearance. Her face is a pasty white, she moves like a doll whose limbs are pulled by strings.

'Can we go to my room?' he says. 'There is a sick child here who shouldn't be disturbed.'

The officer strides across the room and whips open the curtain. Anna Sergeyevna is revealed, bending protectively over her daughter. She whirls around, eyes blazing. 'Leave us alone!' she hisses. Slowly he draws the curtain to.

He ushers them into his own room. There is something familiar about the way the Finn shuffles. Then he sees: her ankles are shackled.

The officer inspects the shrine and the photograph. 'Who is this?'

'My son.'

There is something wrong, something has changed about the shrine. His blood runs cold when he recognizes what it is.

The questioning begins.

'Has a man named Sergei Gennadevich Nechaev been here today?'

'A person whom I suspect to be Nechaev, but who does not go under that name, has been here, yes.'

'What name does he go under?'

'Under a woman's name. He was disguised as a woman. He was wearing a dark coat over a dark-blue dress.'

'And why did this person call on you?'

'To ask for money.'

'For no other reason?'

'For no other reason that I am aware of. I am no friend of his.'

'Did you give him money?'

'I refused. However, he took what I had, and I did not stop him.'

'You are saying that he robbed you?'

'He took the money against my wishes. I did not think it prudent to try to recover it. Call that robbery if you wish.'

'How much was it?'

'About thirty roubles.'

'What else happened?'

He risks a glance at the Finn. Her lips quiver soundlessly. Whatever they have done to her in the time she has been in their hands has changed her demeanour entirely. She stands like a beast in the slaughterhouse waiting for the axe to fall.

'We spoke about my son. Nechaev was a friend of my son's, of a kind. That is how he came to know this house.

My son used to lodge here. Otherwise he would not have come.'

'What do you mean – "otherwise he would not have come"? Are you saying he expected to see your son?'

'No. None of my son's friends expects to see him again. I mean that Nechaev came not because he expected sympathy from me but because of that past friendship.'

'Yes, we know all about your son's culpable associations.'

He shrugs. 'Perhaps not culpable. Perhaps not associations – perhaps only friendships. But let it rest there. It is a question that will never come to trial.'

'Do you know where Nechaev went from here?'

'I have no idea.'

'Show me your papers.'

He hands over his passport – his own, not Isaev's. The officer pockets it and puts on his cap. 'You will report to the station on Sadovaya Street tomorrow morning to make a full declaration. You will report to the same station each day before noon, seven days a week, until further notice. You will not leave Petersburg. Is that clear?'

'And at whose expense am I to remain here?'

'That is not my concern.'

He signals to his companion to remove their prisoner. But at the front door the Finn, who has up to this point not uttered a word, balks. 'I'm hungry!' she says plaintively, and when her guard grasps her and tries to force her out, plants her feet and holds on to the door-jamb: 'I'm hungry, I want something to eat!'

There is something wailing and desperate about her cry. Though Anna Sergeyevna is nearer to her, it is an appeal unmistakably addressed to the child, who has quietly crept out of bed and, thumb in mouth, stands watching.

'Let me!' says Matryona, and in a flash has darted to the cupboard. She returns with a wedge of rye bread and a cucumber; she has brought her little purse too. 'You can have all of it!' she says excitedly, and thrusts food and money together into the Finn's hands. Then she takes a step back and, bobbing her head, drops an odd, old-fashioned curtsy.

'No money!' the guard objects fiercely, and makes her take the purse back.

Not a word of thanks from the Finn, who after her moment's rebellion has relapsed into passivity. As though, he thinks, the spark has been beaten out of her. Have they indeed been beating her – or worse? And does Matryona somehow know it? Is that the source of her pity? Yet how can a child know such things?

As soon as they are gone he returns to his room, blows out the candle, sets icon, pictures, candle on the floor, and removes the three-barred flag that has been spread over the dressing-table. Then he returns to the apartment. Anna Sergeyevna is sitting at Matryona's bedside, sewing. He tosses the flag on to the bed. 'If I speak to your daughter I am sure to lose my temper again,' he says, 'so perhaps you can ask on my behalf how this comes to be in my room.'

'What are you talking about? What is this?'

'Ask her.'

'It's a flag,' says Matryona sullenly.

Anna Sergeyevna spreads the flag out on the bed. It is over a metre in length and evidently well-used, for the colours – white, red, black in equal vertical bars – are weathered and faded. Where can they have been flying it – from the roof of Madame la Fay's establishment?

'Who does this belong to?' asks Anna Sergeyevna.

He waits for the child to answer.

'The people. It's the people's flag,' she says at last, reluctantly.