Later, when Lyudmila Nikolaevna was about to go to bed, Markov rang. He was always very
'They're ringing the bells in the Institute of Mathematics to celebrate Viktor Pavlovich's work. The procession round the church hasn't yet begun, but the banner's been raised.'
The ever-suspicious Markov had sensed a certain hostility behind this joke. As for Shishakov, he hadn't said what he thought of Viktor's work. He had merely nodded his head as he listened to the speakers -perhaps in approval, perhaps as if to say, 'Hm, so it's your turn now, is it?' Indeed, he even appeared to favour the work of young Professor Molokanov on the radiographic analysis of steel. If nothing else, his research had immediate practical applications in the few factories producing high-quality metals. After the meeting, Shishakov had gone up to Gavronov and had a word with him.
When Markov finished, Viktor said to him:
'Vyacheslav Ivanovich, you should be in the diplomatic service.'
'No,' replied Markov, who had no sense of humour, 'I'm an experimental physicist.'
Viktor went in to Lyudmila's room. 'I've been nominated for a Stalin Prize. I've just heard the news.'
He told her about the various speeches. 'Of course, all this official recognition means nothing. Still, I've had enough of my eternal inferiority complex. You know, if I go into the conference hall and see free seats in the front row, I never dare go and sit there. Instead I hide away in some distant corner. While Shishakov and Postoev go and sit on the platform without the least hesitation. I don't give a damn about the actual chair, but I do wish I could feel the right to sit in it.'
'How glad Tolya would have been,' said Lyudmila.
'Yes, and I'll never be able to tell my mother,' said Viktor.
Lyudmila then said:
'Vitya, it's already after eleven and Nadya still isn't home. Yesterday she didn't get back till eleven either.'
'What of it?'
'She says she's at a girl-friend's, but it makes me anxious. She says that Mayka's father has a permit to use his car at night and that he drives her right to the corner.'
'Why worry then?' said Viktor. At the same time he thought to himself: 'Good God! We're talking about a real success, about a Stalin Prize, and she has to bring up trivia like this.'
Two days after the meeting of the Scientific Council, Viktor phoned Shishakov at home. He wanted to ask him to accept the young physicist Landesman on the staff: the personnel department were dragging their feet. At the same time he wanted to ask Shishakov to speed up the formalities for Anna Naumovna Weisspapier's return from Kazan. Now that the Institute was recruiting again, it was ridiculous to leave qualified staff behind in Kazan.
All this had been on Viktor's mind for a long time, but he had been afraid that Shishakov was not well disposed towards him and would just say, 'Have a word with my deputy.' As a result he had kept postponing the conversation.
But today he was riding the wave of his success. Ten days ago he had felt awkward about visiting Shishakov at work; now it seemed quite simple and natural to phone him at home.
'Who's speaking?' a woman's voice answered.
Viktor was pleased by the way he announced his name: he sounded so calm, so unhurried.
The woman paused for a moment and then said in a friendly voice:
'Just a minute.'
A minute later, in the same kindly voice, she said:
'Please phone him tomorrow morning at the Institute, at ten o'clock.'
'Thank you, I'm sorry for troubling you.'
Viktor felt a burning embarrassment spread over his skin and through every cell of his body. He thought wearily that this feeling would stay with him even while he slept; when he woke up in the morning, he would think, 'Why do I feel so awful?' and then he would remember, 'Oh yes, that stupid telephone call.'
He went in to Lyudmila's room and told her about his attempt to speak to Shishakov.
'Yes,' said Lyudmila. 'You certainly have got off on the wrong foot – as your mother used to say about me.'
Viktor began to curse the woman who had answered the phone.
'To hell with the bitch! I hate that way of asking who's speaking and then saying that the boss is busy.'
Lyudmila usually shared Viktor's indignation at incidents like this; that was why he had come to talk to her.
'Do you remember?' said Viktor. 'I had thought that Shishakov was so distant because he couldn't get any credit for himself out of my work. Now he's realized that there is a way – by discrediting me. He knows that Sadko doesn't love me.' [48]
'God, you are suspicious!' said Lyudmila. 'What time is it?'
'A quarter past nine.'
'You see. Nadya's still out.'
'God, you are suspicious!' said Viktor.
'By the way,' said Lyudmila, 'I heard something at the store today: apparently Svechin's been nominated for a prize too.'
'Well, I like that! He never said a word about it. What for, anyway?'
'For his theory of diffusion.'
'That's impossible! It was published before the war.'
'You wait – he'll be the one who wins it! And you're doing all you can to help him.'
'Don't be a fool, Lyuda.'
'You need your mother. She'd have said what you wanted to hear.'
'What are you so angry about? I just wish that you'd shown my mother a fraction of the warmth I've always felt for Alexandra Vladimirovna.'
'Anna Semyonovna never loved Tolya,' said Lyudmila.
'That's not true,' said Viktor.
His wife had become a stranger. He found her obstinacy and her unfairness quite frightening.
52
In the morning Viktor had news from Sokolov. Shishakov had invited some of the Institute staff round to his home the previous evening; Kovchenko had come to fetch Sokolov in his car. One of the guests had been young Badin, the head of the Scientific Section of the Central Committee.
Viktor felt even more mortified; he must have rung Shishakov when his guests were already there. He gave a little smile and said: 'So Count St Germain was one of the guests. And what did the gentlemen discuss?'
He suddenly remembered the velvet tone of voice he had used to give his name; he had been certain that Shishakov would come running delightedly to the phone as soon as he heard the name 'Shtrum'. He groaned. He then thought that only a dog could have groaned so pitifully, a dog scratching at a particularly annoying flea.
'I must say,' said Sokolov, 'you'd never have thought it was wartime. Coffee, dry Georgian wine. And not many people at all – less than a dozen.'
'How strange,' said Viktor. Sokolov understood the meaning of his thoughtful tone of voice.
'Yes, I don't really understand,' he said equally thoughtfully, 'or rather I don't understand at all.'
'Was Gurevich there?'
'No, they phoned him but he had a session with some of the postgraduates.'
'Yes, yes, yes,' said Viktor, drumming one finger on the table. Then, to his surprise, he heard himself asking:
'Pyotr Lavrentyevich, was anything said about my work?'
Sokolov hesitated for a moment.
