He’s sure that Volkov can’t and doesn’t believe a word of what he’s saying, although the emotion that drives him is real enough. And yet he has the power to act on whatever he claims to suspect. If he follows his own claims to their logical conclusion, then doctors who believe they are there to do their work will have to admit that really they are butchers, liars and conspirators. He, Andrei, will have to admit it too. Everyone, even the biggest bigwigs in Admin, must understand that this is the delusion of a father who refuses to accept the awful, random fact of his son’s cancer. And yet Volkov will make his lie come true, because that is what he does. If he suspects evil, then evil has got to be found. That’s what they did to Vasili Parin. He thought he was correctly following his instructions about scientific exchange of research data with the USA. He didn’t realize that he was an American spy. Or perhaps Volkov does accept the truth of what’s happened to Gorya. He just wants to punish someone for it.
But how has it come about that I’m in this room, with this man? Andrei asks himself, as his clinical eye notes the pallor of Volkov’s face, his heavy breathing and the dilation of his pupils. Anna and I were always careful. We believed we’d thought of everything that could happen to us, but we never allowed for this. Is it just chance, or is it fate? If it’s fate, then this was coming towards me all my life, even when I was happy and completely unaware that there was any such child in the world as Gorya Volkov. I was here in this hospital, and Volkov was wherever such men have their offices. Anna has always said that the important thing is never to come to their attention. She and Lena thought the same.
Anna, he thinks, Anna. But for once he can’t see her face in his mind.
‘Gorya wants to see you,’ says Volkov. His face twitches. ‘He didn’t want to come back here.’
‘It’s very hard for him.’
‘Last night he couldn’t sleep. He said, “Are they going to cut my other leg off?” ’
‘Of course you told him there was no question of that.’
‘He understands.’
Their voices have dropped. There is nothing left but a few bare words to describe the truth. Volkov’s look is almost simple, almost intimate. Once again Andrei feels a disturbing closeness to the man.
‘He said, “Am I going to die?” – just as if it were any other question. He didn’t seem afraid.’
‘I’ve known children ask that. Usually they ask me when their parents aren’t around, because they’re afraid of upsetting them.’
The faintest shadow of pride crosses Volkov’s face. ‘I told him he needn’t even think about it,’ he says.
‘I understand.’
‘You’ll see him, then.’
‘Yes.’
Volkov looks away. The thread between them breaks. It seems that the very nature of Volkov’s face changes, as if a mask is coming down over it. Very quietly, so that Andrei can’t be quite sure that he’s heard the words correctly, Volkov murmurs, ‘There are saboteurs in every profession, but we always find them out.’
Polina Vasilievna looks so changed. The thick make-up has disappeared. Her hair is no longer jet black and tightly curled, but grey at the roots and twisted into a bun. She smoothes Gorya’s hair back from his forehead as she watches his face with anxious, devouring love. As Andrei enters the room she frowns, as if she doesn’t quite remember where she last saw him.
‘Dr Alekseyev,’ he reminds her.
Her face lights up in recognition. Whatever her husband may think about what the doctors have done to Gorya, he hasn’t shared those thoughts with his wife. To her, Andrei is simply that young doctor whom her son liked so much. Although of course he’s not so very young, not any more.
Gorya’s eyes are closed. Perhaps he’s asleep, but Andrei decides to say nothing the boy can’t safely hear. A cylinder of oxygen stands by the bed, but Gorya isn’t wearing a mask.
‘He got very tired with those X-rays, and then the doctor had to pull him about all over again.’
‘I’m sure it was necessary.’
‘They haven’t told us what’s going on, not properly. He’s had this cough. But it’s that time of year, isn’t it? Everyone gets coughs and colds once winter’s on its way.’ While she speaks, her eyes are fixed on him, wide with fear, begging him to agree.
‘Yes, it’s not the best time.’
Gorya’s head is raised high on a mound of pillows. His mouth is slightly open and there’s bubble of spittle at one corner. Andrei is fairly sure that he’s really asleep.
‘He gets his breath better when he’s propped up,’ says his mother. ‘It’s only with this cough. Normally it’s better for them to lie flat. More hygienic,’ she adds, as if the word were a talisman.
The boy has lost weight. His jawline is sharp, his skin waxen.
‘It’s good to make him comfortable,’ says Andrei.
‘He likes cloudberry juice. That’s good for him, isn’t it, cloudberry juice? I’ve got six bottles from last year that our Dunya bottled. He needs the vitamins. Once he’s out of hospital I’m going to build him up.’
‘Cloudberry juice is good.’
Again, she strokes the hair back from her boy’s forehead. His eyes roll under the veined eyelids, but the lids don’t even flutter. He’s deeply asleep. ‘His leg’s been bad as well. He even gets pain in his foot. He says, “I know it’s not there, Mum, but it hurts me so bad it wakes me up, and then I don’t want to go back to sleep.” ’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I should have known. Well, I did know. As soon as they said “cancer”, I felt it go through me here,’ and she touched the place where people think their heart is. ‘I ought to have taken him back home with me there and then.’
She is raised up, too, he thinks, above everything but her child and his suffering. She can’t blame and she can’t hate. Everything petty has fallen away. He’s seen it happen before. It doesn’t last, though, and besides she has a husband with enough blame and hatred in him for two.
‘Stay until he wakes up. He’d be sorry to miss you. He was asking for you.’
‘I can’t stay too long.’
He must see Professor Maslov before he goes home, and explain his absence from the ward round. Check that all the notes are in order and discuss what’s been happening today. Maybe have a quick word with Lena to reassure her? No. Better for Lena if she knows as little as possible.
He sighs, looking at the child asleep in the bed. They have failed. He learned long ago that doctors don’t like failure, and he’s no different from any of them. The dying do better at home, if there’s a bed to put them in. People who are dying need an old granny who’s willing to sit by their side, watching for the tiny signals that mean thirst or pain in one who is too weak to talk. Old grannies aren’t afraid of death. They meet it on equal terms; they don’t believe that it’s their job to conquer it. Gorya’s mother will cope. If she’s allowed to. She surprised him today with the toughness of fibre that lay under all that entitled ‘high-up’ behaviour. She didn’t blame Andrei, but instead reproached herself for going against her instincts. She won’t fall to pieces as long as the boy needs her.
‘They won’t do any more operations on him, will they?’ asks Polina Vasilievna.
‘No.’
‘I never liked that surgeon. Cold, she was. No proper feeling. Jews. You know, they only care for their own.’
‘I must go,’ he murmurs. ‘Please tell Gorya I came to see him. I’ll call in again tomorrow.’
She nods, but already her attention has left him, because Gorya has stirred. He moves his hand, picking at the bedclothes, and then is still again.
‘Goodbye,’ says Andrei, and quietly leaves the room. He’s sweating. The boy is in a bad state. It’s all happened so quickly. Already Gorya has that old-man look of a desperately sick child.
The corridor is bright and empty but for the two policemen planted outside Gorya’s door. No change there. Andrei walks away down the corridor, half expecting to hear heavy foot
steps behind him and feel a hand clamping down on his shoulder. But nothing happens. He turns the corner, beyond their gaze. It’s late, much later than he thought. It won’t be worth trying to find Professor Maslov now. He must get home quickly, to Anna.
14
They don’t often embrace in front of Kolya. He doesn’t like it. When he was little he would fight his way in between them. When he was older he would make some little sarcastic comment that was enough to make them self-conscious. It’s natural, Anna supposes. After all, they are two, and Kolya is one. Who would like that thrust in their face?
But tonight, when Andrei sits down heavily in his chair and she goes to him and he buries his face against her stomach, Kolya says nothing. With unwonted tact, he steals away, and even closes his door. A few moments later he begins to practise scales. Bless him, she thinks, he wants us to know he can’t hear what we say.
‘Lie down, my love, you look exhausted.’
‘Lie down with me.’
He holds her tight in the circle of his arms, as if he’s afraid she’ll vanish.
‘Things are bad. You and Kolya must get away.’
He speaks very quietly, but every word burns itself on to her brain. Later, she will be able to read back his words as if they are written inside her.
‘The Volkov boy is dying. They’re already looking for a scapegoat.’
‘Not you!’
‘Volkov named Brodskaya.’
She feels a shameful surge of relief. ‘Brodskaya! But I thought she’d gone off to Yerevan.’
‘Of course they know where she is.’
‘Andrei, the baby’s moving. I wish you could feel him too.’
‘You must keep calm. We mustn’t let any of this affect the baby.’
‘He’s fine. I know he is. Tell me what else he said.’
‘He claims Brodskaya botched the operation.’
‘But that’s rubbish.’
‘The boy’s got nodes in his lungs now. Metastasis, you know.’
She breathes in sharply. She knows enough to understand that the boy will die.
‘What we’ve got to think of now, though, is you and the baby. And Kolya,’ he adds quickly, hoping that Anna hasn’t imagined for a second that he’s forgotten about Kolya.
‘It’s no good thinking of us all leaving now. It’ll just make you look guilty. Besides, they can find you wherever you are.’
He thinks of Brodskaya in Yerevan. ‘Birds of a feather,’ Volkov said. Maybe she’s already been taken in for questioning. ‘But we’ve got to do something,’ he says.
‘The only thing is for us both to go to work as usual. You must look as if you’ve nothing to hide.’
‘But you were the one who said before that we should all go to Irkutsk!’
‘Yes,’ she murmurs, ‘it might have worked then, but it’s too late now. Anyway, who knows? Probably it would just have brought even more trouble. Kolya’s got to go. How can we fix it? Wait. I know. Galya’s living out at her dacha all winter this year. Kolya can go to her.’
‘He’ll never agree to that.’
‘He will if I talk to him. The sooner he leaves the better. I’ll take a day off work and go down with him. I’ll inform the school that he’s ill – you’ll have to tell me what would be a good illness, something that lasts for a few weeks at least. We can get a medical certificate from someone, can’t we?’
‘Yes, I should think so.’
‘Then that’s what we’ll do.’
‘You should go down and stay with Galya too, Anna.’
‘No. I’ve got to keep on going to work and everything’s got to seem normal. Besides, they might not go after Kolya if it’s just him who isn’t here. Anyway …’
‘Anyway what?’
‘You’re an idiot if you think I’m leaving you.’
‘You know Lena?’
‘Of course I do,’ she says with a touch of asperity.
‘Her father was arrested in ’37. She said her parents had an agreement that if one of them was arrested, the other would denounce them so there’d be someone left for the children.’
‘Hmm. That didn’t work for most people.’
‘It did for them.’
‘A miracle.’
‘That’s what Lena said.’
‘Anyway, what’s that got to do with us?’
‘You know what it’s got to do with us, Anna. You’ve got to think about the baby, and Kolya. If that means you have to –’
‘Denounce you, you mean.’
‘Yes.’
‘You can’t seriously think I’m going to do that.’
‘I’m asking you to think about it. I would understand. I would know it was for the children and it was nothing to do with us.’
‘No, it wouldn’t be anything to do with us, because it’s never going to happen. You can stop talking about it.’
‘But if they arrest you too, Anna –’
‘Don’t talk like that! No one’s been arrested. You’ve done nothing.’ But suddenly, hearing herself, she’s shaken by a desire to laugh. You’ve done nothing! Whoever heard of anything more childish and unrealistic? It wasn’t me! It’s not fair!
‘Anna, please don’t! Don’t cry.’
‘I’m not crying. If you could see my face you’d know I was laughing. I was just thinking – well, it’s stupid, but I was just thinking how much better off we’d be if you were a murderer.’
He releases her, and stares into her face. ‘You’re not getting hysterical, are you? You have to think of –’
‘I know: the baby. I’m not hysterical, I’m only laughing, Andryusha, because it’s really very funny, except of course that it’s not funny at all. But we survived before, didn’t we? We got through.’
‘Yes, we got through. Will Galya really be all right about having him?’
‘I think so. She’s very fond of Kolya, you know. Also, she’s down there, tucked away … I shan’t tell her any more than I have to, I don’t want to drag her into it. I’ll just say, you know, there are reasons. She’ll understand.’ And when I take Kolya, she thinks, I’ll take the diaries, too, and bury them. Everything’s got to go now. But the less you know about that the better.
He strokes her hair. ‘Listen to that boy. Notes going off like firecrackers.’
‘Those Maleviches will be round any minute. My God, how thrilled they’d be, if they only knew what was going on.’
‘Their dream come true.’
They listen to the piano. Kolya had finished his scales and is on to the arpeggios. He’s playing much too loudly. His technique is really growing strong, Anna thinks. The notes are perfectly even and he doesn’t hesitate at all.
‘Do you think he could go to a conservatoire?’ asks Andrei.
She smiles, hearing in his voice the naive respect of a man who doesn’t know much about music and to whom a boy playing well seems extraordinary. ‘No. He’s not good enough for that. Maybe if he’d started earlier … But he didn’t have that kind of drive. Or maybe I didn’t push him.’
Then it starts: the banging on the wall. Thud, thud, thud. They’ll keep it up now until Kolya stops playing.
‘We’ll have to tell him to stop.’
‘In a minute.’
They’re so close, covered by the cascade of notes, Anna in his arms, the baby inside Anna. But his skin prickles. Those Maleviches won’t give up. Thud, thud, thud. It feels as if they’re inside the room.
‘It’ll be all right,’ he says.
‘I know. I’ll talk to Kolya tomorrow night.’
‘Don’t tell him too much.’
‘I’ll have to explain, or he’ll refuse to leave.’
‘He’ll know we wouldn’t ask him to unless it was important.’
Anna laughs. ‘Andryusha, he’s only sixteen.’
‘He’s not a child any more.’
That night they lie awake, not talking, not touching, each intensely aware of the other’s wakefulness. At about two in the morning she mu
rmurs, ‘I’m getting up for a while,’ and clambers out of bed. She goes to the window, and pulls the curtain aside. There is a moon, high up in a clear sky. She opens the inner window, and then the outer. A flood of cold air enters the room, and she pulls her dressing-gown around her. She leans forward. Out of the darkness there comes a gull’s cry. The bird must be circling high above, his wings sailing through the night. Another gull answers harshly.
‘I didn’t know gulls flew at night,’ Anna murmurs.
The noise of traffic and the background roar of the city has died away almost to silence. Not quite; never quite. There’s always the far-off rattle of a train, or footsteps, or a van driving fast down deserted streets until it stops in front of a particular building, and four men jump out –
Anna shivers. Don’t be stupid, she tells herself. Listen, there’s no traffic. All the apartments are sleeping.
‘Aren’t you coming back to bed?’
‘In a minute.’
‘You’ll get cold.’
‘It’s a beautiful night. Not a breath of wind, and there’s such a moon. If I didn’t have work tomorrow I’d get up and go for a walk.’
‘I suppose we could, if you really wanted to.’
‘You’d fall asleep in your clinic. I get so tired, anyway, I daren’t be any tireder.’
‘It’s freezing, Anna. Come back to bed.’
‘All right. I’ll never sleep now, though.’
But she does, and so does Andrei. The next time he wakes it’s about five. He lies still for a while, and then, very softly, he clicks the switch of the dim little bedside light Anna has had since she was a child. Anna is sleeping on her side, facing him, her knees drawn up and her arms crossed. She frowns, as if she has a puzzle to solve in her dreams. He won’t go back to sleep now. He’ll just lie here, and watch her sleeping. Within her the baby, too, will probably be sleeping.
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