'You won't be able to keep your dacha,' said Yevgenia.
'But don't you understand that Nikolay's quite innocent?' said Viktor. 'It's a different way of thinking, another generation.'
They sat there talking over the chess-board, glancing now and again at the pieces and the solitary pawn that had made one move.
'Zhenya, my dear,' said Viktor, 'you've acted according to your conscience. Believe me – that's the highest thing a man can do. I don't know what life has in store for you, but I'm sure of one thing: you listened to your conscience – and the greatest tragedy of our age is that we don't listen to our consciences. We don't say what we think. We feel one thing and do another. Remember Tolstoy's words about capital punishment? 'I can't remain silent.' But we remained silent in 1937 when thousands of innocent people were executed. Or rather some of us – the best of us – remained silent. Others applauded noisily. And we remained silent during the horrors of general collectivization… Yes, we spoke too soon about Socialism – it's not just a matter of heavy industry. Socialism, first of all, is the right to a conscience. To deprive a man of his conscience is a terrible crime. And if a man has the strength to listen to his conscience and then act on it, he feels a surge of happiness. I'm glad for you – you've acted according to your conscience.'
'That's enough sermonizing, Vitya,' said Lyudmila. 'Stop confusing the poor girl. You're not the Buddha… What's conscience got to do with it anyway? She's ruining her life, tormenting a good man – and what good will it do Krymov? He won't be happy even if they do set him free. And he was doing fine when they separated – she's got nothing to feel guilty about.'
Yevgenia picked up one of the kings, twirled it around, examined the felt on its base, then put it back again.
'Who's talking of happiness, Lyuda?' she asked. 'I'm not thinking of happiness.'
Viktor looked at the clock. The dial now looked peaceful, the hands calm and sleepy.
'The discussion must be in full swing now. They're abusing me for all they're worth – but I'm not in the least upset or angry.'
'I'd punch the whole lot of them in the snout,' said Lyudmila. 'They're quite shameless. First you're the bright hope of Soviet science, then they're spitting in your face… Zhenya, when are you going to Kuznetsky Most?'
'About four o'clock.'
'Well, you must have something to eat first.'
'What's for lunch today?' asked Viktor. He smiled. 'Ladies, you know what I'd like to ask you?'
'I know, I know. You want to go and work,' said Lyudmila as she got up.
'Anyone else would be banging his head against the wall on a day like this,' said Yevgenia.
'It's not a strength, but a weakness,' said Viktor. 'Yesterday I had a long talk about science with Chepyzhin. But I don't agree with him. Tolstoy was the same. He was tormented by doubts. He didn't know whether people needed literature. He didn't know whether people needed the books he wrote.'
'You know something?' said Lyudmila. 'Before talking like that, you should write the
Viktor felt horribly embarrassed.
'Yes, Lyuda, yes, you're quite right. I let my tongue run away with me,' he muttered. At the same time he gave his wife a look of reproach: 'Even at a time like this she has to pounce on every slip I make.'
Once again Viktor was left alone. He reread the notes he had made yesterday; at the same time he pondered what had just happened.
Why did he feel more comfortable now that Yevgenia and Lyudmila had left the room? Somehow he had been behaving unnaturally. There had been something false in the way he'd asked Yevgenia for a game of chess, in the way he'd said he wanted to do some work. And Lyudmila must have sensed it; that was the reason for her remark about the Buddha. He himself had been conscious of something wooden in his voice as he made his speech about conscience. He had tried to talk about everyday matters so as not to be thought smug, but that had seemed equally forced and unnatural.
He felt a vague sense of anxiety; something was missing, but he didn't know what. He kept getting up and walking over to the door to eavesdrop on Lyudmila and Yevgenia.
He hadn't the slightest wish to know what had been said at the meeting, who had made the most vicious or intolerant speech, what resolution had finally been passed. He would just write a short note to Shishakov, saying that he was ill and wouldn't be able to come to the Institute for the next few days. After that, things would sort themselves out. He was always ready to be of service in any way that was required…
Why, recently, had he felt so afraid of being arrested? He hadn't done anything that awful. He had talked too much. But not so very much.
Viktor still felt anxious. He kept looking impatiently at the door. Was it that he wanted something to eat? Yes, he'd have to say goodbye to the special store. And to the famous canteen.
There was a quiet ring at the door. Viktor rushed out into the corridor, shouting in the direction of the kitchen, 'I'll go, Lyudmila.'
He flung open the door. Marya Ivanovna peered anxiously at him through the gloom.
'So you're still here,' she said quietly. 'I knew you wouldn't go.'
Viktor began helping her off with her coat. As his fingers touched the collar, as he felt the warmth from the back of her head and neck, he suddenly realized that he had been waiting for her. That was why he had been watching the door and listening so anxiously.
He knew this from the sense of joy and ease he had felt as soon as he saw her. It must have been her he wanted to meet all the times he had walked back gloomily from the Institute, staring anxiously at the passers-by, studying women's faces behind the windows of trams and trolley-buses. And when he had got back and asked Lyudmila, 'Has anyone been round?', what he had really wanted to know was whether she had been round. Yes, it had been like this for a long time. She had come round, they had talked and joked, she had gone away and he seemed to have forgotten her. She had only come to mind when he was talking to Sokolov or when Lyudmila had passed on her greetings. She seemed to have existed only when he was with her or when he was talking about how charming she was. Sometimes, when he was teasing Lyudmila, he had said that she hadn't even read Pushkin and Turgenev.
He had been for a walk with her in the park; he had enjoyed looking at her and had liked the way she understood him so quickly and so perfectly. He had been very touched by her childlike attentive-ness. Then they had said goodbye and he had stopped thinking about her. He had thought of her again on his way back – only to forget her once more.
Now Viktor felt that she had been with him all the time; that she had only appeared to be absent. She had been with him even when he wasn't thinking of her. Even when he hadn't seen her or thought of her, she had still been with him. He had been aware of her absence without realizing it; he hadn't known that he had constantly and unwittingly been upset by it. Today he understood himself and the people close to him very deeply; now he understood his feelings towards her. He had been glad to see her because this had brought to an end the constant ache of her absence. Now that she was with him, he felt at ease. He had felt lonely talking to his daughter, talking to his friends, to Chepyzhin, to his wife… Seeing Marya Ivanovna had been enough to bring this sense of loneliness to an end.
There was nothing surprising about this discovery; it seemed natural and self-evident. How was it he had failed to understand this a month ago, two months ago, while they were still in Kazan? And of course today, when he had felt her absence particularly strongly, this feeling had broken through to the surface and become conscious.
As it was impossible to hide anything from her, he frowned and said to her there and then: 'I thought I must be as hungry as a wolf. I kept looking at the door to see if they'd call me for lunch. But what I was really waiting for was Marya Ivanovna.'
Marya Ivanovna didn't say anything; she just walked straight through as though she hadn't heard what he said.
They introduced her to Yevgenia and she sat down next to her on the sofa. Viktor looked from Yevgenia to Marya Ivanovna, and then at Lyudmila.
How beautiful the two sisters were! There was something particularly attractive about Lyudmila today. Her face had none of the harshness that often disfigured it. Her large bright eyes looked sad and gentle.
Sensing that Marya Ivanovna was looking at her, Yevgenia straightened her hair.
