'I get the feeling, Viktor Pavlovich, that the people who sing your praises so unreservedly are doing you a disservice. It upsets the authorities.'
'Yes?' said Viktor. 'Go on. Finish what you're saying.'
Sokolov said that Gavronov had asserted that Viktor's work contradicted the Leninist view of the nature of matter.
'Well?' said Viktor. 'What of it?'
'Gavronov doesn't matter. You know that. But what does matter is that Badin supported him. His line seemed to be that for all its brilliance, your work contradicts the guidelines laid down at that famous meeting.'
He glanced at the door, then at the telephone, and said very quietly:
'You know, I'm afraid our bosses are going to pick you as a scapegoat in a campaign to strengthen Party spirit in science. You know what that sort of campaign's like. They choose a victim and then crush him. It would be terrible. And your work's so remarkable, so unique.'
'And so no one stood up for me?'
'I don't think so.'
'And you, Pyotr Lavrentyevich?'
'There seemed no point in arguing. One can't refute that kind of demagogy.'
Viktor sensed his friend's embarrassment and began to feel embarrassed himself.
'No, no, of course not. You're quite right.'
They fell into an uncomfortable silence. Viktor felt a shiver of fear, the fear that was always lurking in his heart – fear of the State's anger, fear of being a victim of this anger that could crush a man and grind him to dust.
'Yes,' he said pensively. 'It's no good being famous when you're dead.'
'How I wish you understood that,' said Sokolov quietly.
'Pyotr Lavrentyevich,' asked Viktor in the same hushed voice, 'how's Madyarov? Is he all right? Have you heard from him? Sometimes I get very anxious. I don't know why.'
His question, unprompted and spoken in a whisper, was a way of saying that some relationships are special, and have nothing to do with the State.
'No, I've had no news from Kazan at all.'
Sokolov's reply, delivered in a loud, unruffled voice, was a way of saying that such a relationship was no longer appropriate for them.
Then Markov and Savostyanov came into the office and the topic of conversation changed. Markov was citing examples of women who had poisoned their husbands' lives.
'Everyone gets the wife he deserves,' said Sokolov.
He looked at his watch and left the room. Savostyanov laughed and called after him:
'If there's one seat in a trolleybus, then Marya Ivanovna stands and Pyotr Lavrentyevich sits. If the doorbell rings during the night, he stays in bed and Mashenka rushes out in her dressing-gown to find out who's there. No wonder he thinks a wife is a man's best friend.'
'I wish I was as lucky,' said Markov. 'My wife just says, 'What's the matter with you? Have you gone deaf or something? Open the door!''
Feeling suddenly angry, Viktor said: 'What are you talking about? Pyotr Lavrentyevich is a model husband.'
'You've no reason to complain, Vyacheslav Ivanovich,' said Savostyanov. 'You're in your laboratory day and night. You're well out of range.'
'And do you think I don't have to pay for that?' asked Markov.
'I see,' said Savostyanov, savouring a new witticism. 'Stay at home! As they say – 'My home is my Peter and Paul fortress'.' [49]
Viktor and Markov burst out laughing. Obviously afraid that there might be more of these jokes, Markov got up and said to himself: 'Vyacheslav Ivanovich, it's time you were back at work!'
When he'd gone, Viktor said: 'And he used to be so prim, so controlled in all his movements. Now he's like a drunkard. He really is in his laboratory day and night.'
'Yes,' said Savostyanov. 'He's like a bird building a nest. He's totally engrossed.'
'And he's even stopped gossiping,' laughed Viktor. 'A bird building a nest. Yes, I like that.'
Very abruptly, Savostyanov turned to face Viktor. There was a serious look on his young face.
'By the way,' he said, 'there's something I must tell you. Viktor Pavlovich, Shishakov's evening – to which you weren't invited – was absolutely appalling. It quite shocked me.'
Viktor frowned. He felt humiliated by this expression of sympathy.
'All right. Leave it at that,' he said drily.
'Viktor Pavlovich,' Savostyanov went on, 'I know you don't care whether you were invited or not. But has Pyotr Lavrentyevich told you the filth Gavronov came out with? He said your work stinks of Judaism and that Gurevich only called it a classic because you are a Jew. And the authorities just gave a quiet smile of approval. That's 'the Slav Brotherhood' for you.'
Instead of going to the canteen at lunchtime, Viktor paced up and down his office. Who would have thought people could stoop so low? Good for Savostyanov, anyway! And he seemed so empty and frivolous with his endless jokes and his photos of girls in swimming costumes. Anyway it was all nonsense. Gavronov's blatherings didn't matter. He was just a petty, envious psychopath. And if no one had replied, it was because what he'd said was patently absurd.
All the same, he was upset and worried by this nonsense. How could Shishakov not invite him? It was really very rude and stupid of him. What made it worse was that Viktor didn't give a damn for that fool Shishakov and his evenings. And yet he was as upset as if he'd been struck by some irreparable tragedy. He knew he was being foolish, but he couldn't help it… And he'd wanted to be given one more egg than Sokolov! Well, well!
But there was one thing that hurt him deeply. He wanted to say to Sokolov, 'Aren't you ashamed of yourself, my friend? Why didn't you tell me how Gavronov slandered me? That's twice you've kept silent: once then and once with me.'
He was very distressed indeed; but this didn't stop him from saying to himself:
'Yes, but who's talking? You didn't tell your friend Sokolov about Karimov's suspicions of Madyarov – a relative of his. You kept your mouth shut too. Out of embarrassment? Tact? Nonsense! Out of cowardice, Jewish cowardice!'
It was obviously one of those days. Next, Anna Stepanovna Loshakova came into his office, looking very upset. 'Surely she hasn't heard of my troubles already,' thought Viktor.
'What's the matter, my dear Anna Stepanovna?'
'What is all this, Viktor Pavlovich?' she began. 'Acting like that behind my back! What have I done to deserve it?'
During the lunch-break Anna Stepanovna had been told to go to the personnel department. There she had been asked to write a letter of resignation. The director had ordered them to dismiss any laboratory assistant without further education.
'I've never heard such nonsense,' said Viktor. 'Don't worry, I'll sort it out for you.'
Anna Stepanovna had been particularly hurt when Dubyonkov had said that the administration had nothing against her personally.
'What
Viktor threw a coat over his shoulders and walked across the courtyard to the two-storey building that housed the personnel department.
'Very well,' he said to himself, 'very well.' He didn't articulate his thoughts any further – this 'very well' had many meanings.
Dubyonkov greeted Viktor and said: 'I was just about to phone you.'
'About Anna Stepanovna?'
'What makes you think that? No, what I wanted to say is that in view of various circumstances senior members of staff are being asked to fill in this questionnaire here.'
Viktor looked at the sheaf of papers.
'Hm! That looks as though it'll keep me busy for a week.'
'Nonsense, Viktor Pavlovich. Just one thing though: in the event of a negative answer, rather than putting a
