dash, you must write out in full, 'No, I have not,' 'No, I was not,' 'No, I do not,' and so on.'
'Listen, my friend,' said Viktor. 'It's quite absurd to be dismissing our senior laboratory assistant, Anna Stepanovna Loshakova. I want that order cancelled.'
'Loshakova?' repeated Dubyonkov. 'But, Viktor Pavlovich, how can I cancel an order that comes from the director himself?'
'But it's mad,' said Viktor. 'She saved the Institute. She looked after everything during the bombing. And now she's being dismissed on purely administrative grounds.'
'Members of staff are never dismissed from the Institute
'Anna Stepanovna is not only a wonderful person, she's one of the finest workers in our laboratory.'
'If she really is irreplaceable,' said Dubyonkov, 'then you must speak to Kasyan Terentyevich. By the way, there are two other points concerning your laboratory that have to be settled.'
Dubyonkov held out two sheets of paper that had been stapled together.
'This is about the nomination for the position of research assistant of…' He looked down at the paper and read out very slowly, 'Landesman, Emiliy Pinkhusovich.'
'Yes,' said Viktor, recognizing the paper in Dubyonkov's hands, 'I wrote that.'
'And this is Kasyan Terentyevich's decision: 'Lacking the necessary qualifications.' '
'What on earth do you mean? He's got perfect qualifications. How's Kovchenko to know who I need?'
'Then you'll have to discuss that with Kasyan Terentyevich too,' said Dubyonkov. 'And this is a statement made by our members of staff still in Kazan – together with your petition.'
'Yes?'
'Kasyan Terentyevich considers it inappropriate for them to return now since they are working productively at Kazan University. The matter will be reviewed at the end of the academic year.'
Dubyonkov spoke very quietly and softly, as though he wanted to tone down this bad news; his face, however, expressed only inquisi-tiveness and ill-will.
'Thank you, comrade Dubyonkov,' said Viktor.
For a second time Viktor walked across the yard, repeating to himself, 'Very well, very well.' No, he didn't need the authorities' support, his friends' affection or his wife's understanding; he could fight on alone.
He went up to the first floor of the main building. The secretary announced him, and Kovchenko, in a black jacket and an embroidered Ukrainian shirt, came out of his office.
'Welcome, Viktor Pavlovich, come through into my hut.'
Viktor went in. It was furnished with red sofas and armchairs. Kovchenko motioned Viktor towards one of the sofas and sat down beside him.
Kovchenko smiled as he listened to Viktor. His apparent friendliness was very like Dubyonkov's. And no doubt he had given a similar smile when Gavronov had spoken about Viktor's work.
'But what can we do?' Kovchenko gestured helplessly. 'We didn't think this up ourselves. She stayed here during the bombing, you say? That can't be considered of especial merit now, Viktor Pavlovich. Every Soviet citizen will put up with bombing if that's what his country orders.'
He thought for a moment, then said:
'There is one possibility, however, though it will attract criticism. We can give Loshakova the position of junior assistant. And she can keep her card for the special store. Yes – that I can promise you.'
'No,' said Viktor. 'That would be insulting.'
'Viktor Pavlovich, are you saying that the Soviet State should be governed by one set of laws and Shtrum's laboratory by another?'
'No, I'm simply asking for Soviet law to be applied. According to Soviet law, Loshakova cannot be dismissed. And while we're on the subject of law, Kasyan Terentyevich,' Viktor went on, 'why did you refuse to confirm the appointment of young Landesman? He's extremely talented.'
Kovchenko bit his lip.
'Viktor Pavlovich, he may have the abilities you require, but you must understand that there are other circumstances to be considered by the Institute.'
'Very good,' said Viktor. 'I see.'
Then he asked in a whisper:
'The questionnaire, I suppose? Has he got relatives abroad?'
Kovchenko shrugged his shoulders.
'Kasyan Terentyevich,' said Viktor, 'let me continue this very pleasant conversation. Why are you delaying the return from Kazan of my colleague Anna Naumovna Weisspapier? She has, incidentally, completed a thesis. What contradiction are you going to find now between my laboratory and the State?'
A martyred expression appeared on Kovchenko's face.
'Viktor Pavlovich, why this interrogation? Please understand that choice of personnel is my responsibility.'
'Very good,' said Viktor. 'I see.'
He knew he was about to get extremely rude.
'With all due respect, Kasyan Terentyevich,' he went on, 'I just can't go on like this. Science isn't at Dubyonkov's beck and call – or yours. And I'm here for my work, not just to serve the obscure interests of the personnel department. I shall write to Aleksey Alekseyevich Shishakov – he can put Dubyonkov in charge of the nuclear laboratory.'
'Calm down, Viktor Pavlovich. Please calm down.'
'No, I can't go on like this.'
'Viktor Pavlovich, you've no idea how much the Institute values your work. And no one values it more than I do.'
'What do I care how much you value my work?' Viktor looked at Kovchenko's face. Rather than humiliation, however, he saw on it an expression of eager pleasure.
'Viktor Pavlovich, there is no question of your being allowed to leave the Institute,' Kovchenko said sternly. 'And that's not because you're indispensable. Do you really think that no one can replace Viktor Pavlovich Shtrum?'
His final words were spoken almost tenderly.
'You can't do without Landesman and Weisspapier – and you think there's no one in all Russia who can replace you?'
He looked at Viktor. Viktor felt that at any moment Kovchenko might come out with the words that had been hovering between them all along, brushing against his eyes, hands and brain like an invisible mist.
He bowed his head. He was no longer a professor, a doctor of science, a famous scientist who had made a remarkable discovery, a man who could be forthright and independent, arrogant and condescending. He was just a man with curly hair and a hooked nose, with a stooped back and narrow shoulders, screwing up his eyes as though he was expecting a blow on the cheek. He looked at the man in the embroidered Ukrainian shirt, and waited.
Very quietly, Kovchenko said:
'Calm down, Viktor Pavlovich, calm down. You really must calm down. Heavens, what a fuss over such a trifle!'
53
That night, after Lyudmila and Nadya had gone to bed, Viktor began filling in the questionnaire. Nearly all the questions were the same as before the war. Their very familiarity, however, somehow renewed Viktor's anxiety.
The State was not concerned about the adequacy of Viktor's mathematical equipment or the appropriateness of the laboratory apparatus for the complex experiments he was conducting; the State didn't want to know whether the staff were properly protected from neutron radiation, whether Sokolov and Shtrum had a good working relationship, whether the junior researchers had received adequate training for their exhausting calculations, whether they realized how much depended on their constant patience, alertness and concentration.
This was the questionnaire royal, the questionnaire of questionnaires. It wanted to know everything about
