in his Zis.
Viktor watched the conversation between Suslakov and the young man with dark hair. He could tell that it wasn't the young man who was asking a favour of Suslakov – however gracefully a man asks for a favour, you can always tell who is asking and who is being asked. On the contrary, the young man seemed quite ready to break off the conversation. And he greeted Chepyzhin coolly, with studied politeness.
'By the way, who is that young grandee?' asked Viktor.
In a low voice Postoev answered: 'He's been working for a while in the scientific section of the Central Committee.'
'Do you know,' said Viktor. 'I've got an extraordinary feeling. As though our determination at Stalingrad is the determination of Newton, the determination of Einstein. As though our victory on the Volga symbolizes the triumph of Einstein's ideas. Well, you know what I mean…'
Shishakov gave a perplexed smile and gently shook his head.
'Don't you understand me, Aleksey Alekseyevich?' said Viktor.
'It's as clear as mud,' said the young man from the scientific section, who was now standing beside Viktor. 'But I suppose the so-called theory of relativity can allow one to establish a link between the Russian Volga and Albert Einstein.'
'Why 'so-called'?' asked Viktor in astonishment. He turned to the pyramid-shaped Shishakov for support, but Shishakov's quiet contempt seemed to extend to Einstein as well.
Viktor felt a rush of anger. This was the way it sometimes happened – something would needle him and he would find it very difficult to restrain himself. At home in the evening, he would finally allow himself to reply. Sometimes he quite forgot himself, shouting and gesticulating, standing up for what he loved and ridiculing his enemies. 'Papa's making a speech again,' Lyudmila would say to Nadya.
This time, it wasn't only on Einstein's behalf that he was angry. Everyone he knew should be talking about his work – he himself should be the centre of attention. He felt upset and hurt. He knew it was ridiculous to take offence like this, but he did. No one but Chepyzhin had spoken to him about his work.
He began, rather timidly, to explain.
'The Fascists have exiled the brilliant Einstein and their physics has become the physics of monkeys. But we, thank God, have halted the advance of Fascism. It all goes together: the Volga, Stalingrad, Albert Einstein – the greatest genius of our epoch – the most remote little village, an illiterate old peasant woman, and the freedom we all need. This all goes together. I may sound confused, but perhaps there isn't anything clearer than this confusion.'
'I think, Viktor Pavlovich, that your panegyric to Einstein is a trifle exaggerated,' said Shishakov.
'Yes,' said Postoev lightly. 'On the whole I would say the same.'
The young man from the scientific section just looked at Viktor sadly.
'Well, comrade Shtrum,' he began, and Viktor once again felt the malevolence in his voice. 'To you it may seem natural, at a time of such importance for our people, to couple Albert Einstein and the Volga. These days, however, have awoken other sentiments in the hearts of those who disagree with you. Still, no one has power over someone else's heart and there's nothing to argue about there. But there is room for argument as regards your evaluation of Einstein: it does seem inappropriate to regard an idealist theory as the peak of scientific achievement.'
'That's enough,' Viktor interrupted. 'Aleksey Alekseyevich,' he went on in an arrogant and didactic voice, 'contemporary physics without Einstein is the physics of monkeys. It's not for us to trifle with the names of Einstein, Galileo and Newton.'
He raised a finger to silence Shishakov and saw him blink.
A minute later Viktor was standing by the window and recounting this unexpected incident to Sokolov, partly in a whisper and partly quite loudly.
'And you were right next to me and you didn't even hear. Chepyzhin suddenly disappeared too. It was almost as though he did so on purpose.'
He frowned and fell silent. How childishly, how naively he had looked forward to today's triumph. As it turned out, it had been some young bureaucrat who had created the most stir.
'Do you know the surname of the young grandee?' Sokolov asked suddenly, as though reading Viktor's thoughts. 'Do you realize whose relative he is?'
'I've no idea.'
Sokolov leant over and whispered in Viktor's ear.
'You don't say!' exclaimed Viktor. He remembered the way both Suslakov and Shishakov had deferred to this youth. 'O-oh' he said. 'So that's what it's all about. Now I understand.'
Sokolov laughed.
'Well, you've already established a cordial relationship with the scientific section and the higher echelons of the Academy. You're like the Mark Twain hero who boasts about his income to the tax-inspector.'
Viktor didn't appreciate this witticism.
'You were standing right beside me,' he replied. 'Did you really not hear our argument? Or did you prefer not to get involved in my conversation with the tax-inspector?'
Sokolov smiled. His small eyes looked suddenly kind and beautiful.
'Don't be upset, Viktor Pavlovich. Surely you didn't really expect Shishakov to appreciate your work? My God, what a lot of nonsense all this is. But your work's different. That's real.'
In his eyes and voice Viktor sensed the warmth and seriousness he had hoped to find that autumn evening in Kazan.
The meeting began. The speakers talked about the task of science during this difficult time, about their own readiness to devote their strength to the popular cause and to help the Army in its struggle against German Fascism. They spoke about the work of the various Institutes of the Academy, about the assistance that would be given to scientists by the Central Committee of the Party, about how comrade Stalin, the leader of the Army and the People, still had time to concern himself with scientific questions, about the duty of every scientist to justify the trust placed in him by the Party and by comrade Stalin himself.
There was also mention of some organizational changes occasioned by the new set-up. The physicists learned with surprise that they themselves were dissatisfied with the projects of their Institute – too much attention, apparently, was being given to purely theoretical matters. Suslakov's words, 'The Institute is cut off from life', were whispered around the hall.
26
The position of scientific research in the country had been discussed by the Central Committee. Apparently the Party was now principally concerned with the development of physics, mathematics and chemistry. The Central Committee considered that science must move closer to industry and become more integrated with real life.
Stalin himself had attended the meeting. Apparently he had walked up and down the hall, pipe in hand, stopping now and then with a pensive look on his face – to listen either to the speaker or to his own thoughts.
There had been fierce attacks on idealism and on any tendency to underestimate Russian science and philosophy. Stalin had spoken twice. When Shcherbakov had proposed a reduction in the Academy's budget, Stalin had shaken his head and said: 'No, we're not talking about making soap. We are not going to economize on the Academy.'
And during a discussion of the danger of idealist theories and the excessive admiration of certain scientists for Western science, Stalin had nodded and said: 'Yes, but we must protect our scientists from Arakcheevs.' [45]
Having first sworn them to secrecy, the scientists present at this meeting talked about it to their friends. Within a few days, the entire scientific community in Moscow – small groups of friends and close family circles – were discussing every detail of it in hushed voices.
People whispered that Stalin had grey hair, that some of his teeth were black and decayed, that he had beautiful hands with fine fingers, that his face was pock-marked.
Any youngster who happened to be listening was warned: 'And you watch it! Keep your mouth shut or you'll be
