his body. How could he exist without them?
It was terrifying even to think what heresies he had uttered to the director. At the same time, however, Viktor felt strong. His very helplessness was a source of strength. How could he ever have guessed that on his return to Moscow, at the moment of his scientific triumph, he would be having a conversation like this?
Although no one could have heard about his confrontation with Shishakov, his colleagues seemed to be treating him with a particular warmth.
Anna Stepanovna took his hand, squeezed it and said:
'Viktor Pavlovich, I don't want to appear to be thanking you – but I do know that you've been true to yourself.'
Viktor stood beside her in silence. He felt very moved, almost joyful.
'Mother, mother,' he thought suddenly, 'cart you see?'
On the way home Viktor decided not to say anything to Lyudmila. However, his habit of sharing everything with her proved too strong; as he came through the door and began taking off his coat, he said:
'Well, Lyudmila, it's happened. I'm leaving the Institute.'
Lyudmila was very upset, but she still managed to say something wounding.
'You're behaving as though you were Lomonosov or Mendeleev. If you leave, then Sokolov or Markov will just take your place.'
She looked up from her sewing.
'Besides, why can't your Landesman go to the Front? Otherwise it really does look to a prejudiced observer as though one Jew's looking after another.'
'All right, all right,' said Viktor. 'That's enough. Do you remember that line of Nekrasov's? 'He hoped to be admitted to the temple of fame – and then was glad to be admitted to hospital.' I thought I had earned my daily bread – and now they're asking me to repent my sins and heresies. More than that – they want me to make a public confession! It's madness. And at a time when I've been nominated for a Stalin Prize, when students are seeking me out… It's all Badin's doing. No, it's nothing to do with Badin. Sadko doesn't love me!'
Lyudmila came up to him, straightened his tie and turned down the collar of his jacket.
'You look pale. Did you have any lunch?'
'I don't feel like eating.'
'Have some bread and butter while I warm up your supper.'
She poured out a few drops of his heart-medicine and said:
'I don't like the look of you. Drink this. And let me check your pulse.'
They went through to the kitchen. As he chewed his bread, Viktor kept glancing at the mirror Nadya had hung by the gas-meter.
'How strange it all is,' he said. 'How could I ever have guessed that I'd have to answer drawerfuls of questionnaires and hear what I've heard today? What power! The State and the individual… The State raises a man up, then throws him effortlessly into the abyss.'
'Vitya,' said Lyudmila, 'I want to talk to you about Nadya. Almost every night she comes home after curfew.'
'You told me about that the other day.'
'I know I did. Well, yesterday evening I happened to go up to the window and lift up the black-out curtain. What do you think I saw? Nadya and some soldier! They walked down the street, stopped outside the dairy and began kissing.'
'Well I never!' Viktor was so astonished he stopped chewing the food in his mouth.
Nadya kissing a soldier! After a few moments' silence, Viktor began to laugh. He was quite stunned; probably nothing else could have distracted him from his own sombre preoccupations. For a moment their eyes met; to her surprise, Lyudmila burst out laughing as well. Their empathy was complete, that rare understanding that needs neither thoughts nor words.
It was no surprise to Lyudmila when Viktor, apparently apropos of nothing at all, said: 'Mila, I was right to have it out with Shishakov, wasn't I?'
His train of thought was quite simple, though not so easy for an outsider to follow. Several things had come together: memories of his past; the fate of Tolya and Anna Semyonovna; the war; the fact that, however rich and famous a man may be, he will still grow old, die and yield his place to the young; that perhaps nothing matters except to live one's life honestly.
And so he asked: 'I was right, wasn't I?'
Lyudmila shook her head. Decades of intimacy can also divide people.
'Lyuda,' said Viktor humbly, 'people who are in the right often don't know how to behave. They lose their tempers and swear. They act tactlessly and intolerantly. Usually they get blamed for everything that goes wrong at home and at work. While those who are in the wrong, those who hurt others, always know how to behave. They act calmly, logically and tactfully – and appear to be in the right.'
Nadya came in after ten o'clock. As she heard the key in the lock, Lyudmila said: 'Go on, have a word with her.'
'It's easier for you,' said Viktor.
But as Nadya came into the room, with dishevelled hair and a red nose, it was Viktor who said: 'Who were you kissing opposite the front door?'
Nadya looked round as though about to run away. For a moment she just gaped at Viktor. Then she shrugged her shoulders and said calmly: 'A-Andryusha Lomov. He's at military school. He's a lieutenant.'
'Are you going to marry him then?' asked Viktor, astonished at Nadya's self-possession. He looked round to see Lyudmila's reaction.
'Marry him?' Nadya sounded very grown-up: irritated, but basically unconcerned. 'Maybe. I'm thinking of it… And then maybe not. I haven't made up my mind yet.'
At last Lyudmila said something.
'Nadya, why did you tell all those lies about Mayka's father and his lessons? I never told lies to my mother.'
Viktor remembered how, when he was courting Lyudmila, she would come to meet him and say: 'I've left Tolya with Mother. I told her I was going to the library.'
All of a sudden, Nadya was a child again. In an angry, whining voice, she shouted: 'And do you think it's right to spy on me? Did your mother spy on you?'
'Don't you dare be so insolent to your mother, you little fool!' roared Viktor.
Nadya gave him a look of patient boredom.
'So, Nadezhda Victorovna, it seems you haven't yet decided whether to marry the young colonel or to become his concubine?'
'No, I haven't – and he's not a colonel.'
Could some young lad in a military greatcoat really be kissing his daughter? Could he be falling in love with this brat of a girl, this ridiculous, sharp-witted little idiot? Could he be kissing her puppy-like eyes?
But then, this was an old story…
Lyudmila said nothing more. She knew that Nadya would only get angry and clam up. She also knew that, when they were alone, she would run her fingers through her daughter's hair and Nadya would sob without knowing why. She herself would feel a sharp pang of pity for Nadya, also without knowing why – after all, there were worse things for a young girl than to be kissing a young man. Then Nadya would tell her all about this Lomov; she would continue to run her fingers through Nadya's hair, all the time remembering her own first kisses and thinking of Tolya – yes, now she linked everything to Tolya.
There was something terribly sad about this girlish love, this love poised over the abyss of war. Tolya, Tolya…
Viktor was still ranting away, consumed by fatherly anxiety.
'Where's this man serving? I'm going to have a word with his commanding officer. Chasing after babes-in-arms! He'll teach him a lesson!'
Nadya didn't say anything. As though bewitched by her haughtiness, Viktor fell silent too. Then he asked: 'Why are you staring at me like that? You look like some member of a higher race studying an amoeba.'
Somehow, the way Nadya was looking at him reminded him of Shishakov. He had watched Viktor with the same
