‘It is the other one!’ he wailed. ‘Not me!’
I was puzzled. The other one? What was this? I pressed on. ‘You’re not doing anything wrong, Avrom. The guilt you experience exists only because you are aware of your grandparents’ disapproval. The guilt is expressed by the fly.’
‘There are two, there are two, there are two … ’ he muttered.
‘Two … flies?’
‘It’s not me, it’s not me.’ He got to his feet, repeating this senseless refrain. His eyes were distracted. ‘I will not do it,’ he cried. ‘No, I will not do it. Let the other one do it. Not me, not me.’
‘Are you talking about a brother, Avrom? Or a sister?’
I was not sure he heard me. Was this what Kopelzon meant when he said Rozental rambled?
‘There can’t be two, just one,’ he muttered, looking around him for the fly.
‘How many flies are there, Avrom? What are there two of? You keep saying two, Avrom! What do you mean by two?’
He began to bat the air violently with his hands, as though swatting away a black cloud of flies, all the time crying and moaning. Minna, hearing the commotion, knocked and entered, and together we succeeded in getting him to the couch. He sobbed pitifully for the best part of an hour. When I judged things were again under control I let Minna go for the evening.
Gradually Rozental recovered himself. Unwilling to risk upsetting him further, I said nothing more other than to offer him refreshment.
‘I get so confused,’ he said at last, his voice exhausted and brittle. ‘Sometimes I cannot tell which one is which.’
He was still and rather calm, as one who has suffered a fever after the crisis has passed.
‘Would you like to proceed with our session?’
He did not reply. I let some minutes go by.
I said, ‘Painful as it may be to you, Avrom, it is essential we continue. I would not suggest doing so if I were not convinced that it will ultimately be of help to you.’
He appeared reluctant but willing; he said, ‘May I use your bathroom first?’
‘Of course,’ I said, getting up to show him where to go.
I went back to my office and jotted down on my notepad the word ‘Two’. I circled it and put a question mark after it. What did he mean by this? I wrote ‘Paranoid Schizophrenia?’ I had never personally encountered such a case before. The phenomenon had been only recently discovered and was not at all well understood.
I heard the toilet flush and the tap water run.
Besides my concern for my patient, I felt the stirring of professional excitement. I would write to Bleuler at Burghölzli for advice on how to continue with the treatment.
I waited for Rozental to come in. The sound of running water continued. Many of my patients washed obsessively and I was used to their taking time in the bathroom. I wondered how my interpretation of the fly as the manifestation of yetzer hara– the evil inclination that had led him from the centredness of his community and his religion to the life of an itinerant chess player – might be fitted into my new interpretation. The thought that I might be wrong did not even occur to me.
What was keeping Rozental?
I got up and went to the outer office. The bathroom door was open. I turned off the running tap and went out to the hall.
‘Avrom!’ I called. ‘Avrom!’
He was nowhere in sight. Without even locking the office behind me, I hurried down the stairs. Semevsky was standing just inside the door of the lobby.
‘Did you see someone leave just now?’ I shouted. ‘A man? Stocky, with short hair and a moustache?’
‘I let him out just a moment ago. Is something wrong, your honour?’
I barged past the doorman into the street.
In the fading light I caught sight of Rozental turning into the Nevsky. I darted after him through the chaotic traffic as he dodged horses and motor carriages to cross the wide avenue at a diagonal, finally disappearing into the crowds outside the Gostinny Dvor.
I was about to give up my pursuit when I spotted him again hurrying into Dumskaya Street. From there, he turned right and continued the short distance to the Griboyedova Canal. His quickness and agility surprised me, for he was physically stolid; I would have almost certainly lost him had he not stopped on reaching the dimly lit embankment.
Not wanting him to take fright at the thought I was following him, I concealed myself in a darkened doorway while I considered what best to do. He too seemed to be taking stock of his situation, looking anxiously around as though trying to decide where to go.
There were no shops or restaurants on this part of the embankment. Apart from the occasional passing carriage, it was completely deserted. I saw him go to the wall and look out over the water. Fearing he might harm himself in his distracted condition, I decided to approach my patient, even at the risk of panicking him. I was about to step forward when I heard a figure coming up behind me.
‘Can I be of assistance to his honour?’
I recognised the doorman’s uniform – Semevsky.
‘What are you doing here?’ I said.
‘I thought his honour might need help. Is the other fellow a thief?’
He seemed, as always, eager to please.
I said, ‘He’s no thief. He’s my patient and rather unwell. I must see him safely to his hotel.’
As soon as I said this, I realised that the doorman must have seen Rozental come into my office on two or three previous occasions. Something was not right. Before I could say or do anything, Rozental turned away from the canal and started uncertainly towards the footbridge a little further along the embankment.
‘You should return to your post,’ I said to Semevsky.
He gripped me by the arm. Gone was the ingratiation. ‘Let’s just see where your patient goes,’ he said.
I yanked my arm, attempting to free myself, but he spun me expertly round, simultaneously twisting my arm up my back. Another fraction and it would break.
‘Who are you?’ I said.
‘You don’t need to concern yourself with that,’ he replied calmly. ‘Let’s go.’
He nudged me into the street. We were about to cross to the embankment side when a small car came round the corner. As soon as it passed, we crossed the street and moved towards the footbridge. Rozental was already almost on the far side of the canal.
‘What do you want with Rozental?’ I said.
‘Let’s see where he goes and who he talks to.’
We were a few paces from the bridge when the same car suddenly swung round and accelerated towards us.
‘Who’s this?’ I heard Semevsky mutter.
The car screeched to a halt and a man in a long coat jumped out. It was Kavi.
For a moment everything was perfectly still. I heard only the approaching stamp of Kavi’s boots and Semevsky’s quickening breath. Semevsky threw me forwards, the better able to defend himself. I did not fall but recovered my balance in time to see him pull a pistol from his pocket.
‘Keep away!’ Semevsky shouted.
The Cossack did not break his stride but came steadily onwards. He grinned as he produced his long, bone-handled knife. Semevsky raised the pistol and took aim. Kavi did not even try to get out of the way.
From behind, out of the gloom, a small, nimble figure rushed up. Semevsky heard him, but too late. He let out a groan and slid to the ground. His right leg twitched horribly. Only then did I take in the insubstantial presence of Lychev standing over Semevsky’s body. He was holding a knife. Blood boiled from the gash in Semevsky’s throat. The twitching stopped.
Without a word, like two men who had spent a lifetime working in concert, Lychev and Kavi lifted the body and hoisted it over the wall into the canal. I could still hear the splash as Kavi bundled me into the car.
Fourteen
Lychev hurled his knife through the open window as Kavi drove up the deserted embankment. The spinning metal briefly caught the light from the street lamps and winked like a
star before disappearing over the embankment and into the canal. He lit a cigarette.
We were at the junction with the Nevsky opposite St Catherine’s. People were streaming to the theatres, shops and restaurants. Liveried servants with the serious look of men entrusted with sacred tasks rode the running boards of their masters’ carriages. Outside an art gallery a double act of juggler and fire-eater performed tricks for the patrons’ amusement. At the Gostinny Dvor it seemed that the whole of St Petersburg had assembled to shop for furs and slippers, porcelain and silver, tea and caviar.
I looked from Kavi to Lychev. ‘So you two are in league,’ I said. ‘I knew it.’
‘You should be a policeman, Spethmann,’ Lychev said. ‘There may still be time.’
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘Where would you like to go?’ Lychev said amiably, as if we were driving back into the city from a pleasant afternoon’s excursion in the country. ‘We can drop you anywhere you want.’
‘Why did you kill that man?’
‘I was protecting a member of the public,’ he said. ‘You.’
‘Policemen do not throw bodies into the canal. Nor do they consort with thugs.’
Kavi laughed. ‘He has a lot to learn about policemen, doesn’t he?’
A horse-drawn cab in front of us, which had been going at a sharp trot, slowed as the driver turned left. Kavi braked gently.
This was my chance.
I hurled myself against the passenger door, at the same time grabbing for the handle. Lychev swore and clutched at my coat. I heard the fabric tear as the door swung open.
A second later I was sitting on the wet cobble. I had landed in such a manner that I was facing away from Kavi’s car and staring into the oncoming traffic. One of Ivanov’s new buses was bearing directly down on me. To my right a tram was coming in the opposite direction. A woman saw me and screamed. I heard the screech of the bus’s tyres and launched myself to the left. The onlookers were frozen in shock as I rolled clear and got to my feet. A small crowd was gathering. A man in a bowler hat came forward to assist me. Glancing up the avenue, I saw Lychev hopping out of the car.
‘That man is my prisoner,’ the detective shouted as he ran towards us. ‘Stop him!’
I shook off my confused helpers and started to run. If I could reach the Gostinny Dvor I would be able to lose myself among the shoppers. I glanced back to see Lychev throw the bowler-hatted man out of his way and pull a pistol from his coat.
‘Police!’ he shouted. ‘Stop that man!’
The Gostinny Dvor was no more than twenty sazheni away. My heart was pounding, my chest tight. Cold sweat trickled down my back. I dodged blindly right and left, muttering curses at the people who got in my way. Complaints and oaths came after me. I think I knocked down a young woman.
I ran into a brick wall. Or so it seemed, for I staggered backwards, stunned and understanding nothing except that I had come up against something immovable. It was a gendarme, as powerful and solid as Kavi. He threw an arm round my neck and forced my head down almost to my knees. I began to choke.
‘I am Inspector of Police Mintimer Lychev,’ I heard Lychev pant. ‘This man is my prisoner.’
I tried to speak but the gendarme only increased the pressure on my throat. I thought I was going to die.
‘Do you need help with him, sir?’ the gendarme replied.
‘I have him now,’ Lychev said, taking hold of me. ‘Thank you – well done.’
Lychev yanked me along, brusquely pushing aside the curious pedestrians who paused in our way. I gulped in air and tried not to vomit.
Kavi had doubled back. He pulled up alongside us. Lychev pushed me inside the car.
Lychev ran his finger along his collar, tugging at the front to ease his breathing.
‘Why did you kill Semevsky?’ I gasped. ‘Who was he? Why did you kill him?’
Lychev heaved a sigh. ‘Semevsky was a vicious street thug who liked nothing better than to beat up Jews and burn their houses. Three years ago in Moscow, he took an iron gas-pipe to a local Bolshevik leader – Bauman – killed him, then raped his sister. He was arrested but never prosecuted. That’s who Semevsky was.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ I said.
‘I don’t care,’ Lychev said, still drawing in deep breaths and speaking with difficulty.
‘Why was he not prosecuted?’
‘Because by then he was working for the Okhrana.’
‘Why would a policeman kill an agent of the Okhrana?’ I said. ‘It makes no sense.’
Lychev began to splutter and cough. ‘Semevsky was recruited personally by Colonel Gan.’
Lychev dropped the name casually. It needed no emphasis for he knew the effect it would produce.
‘You know who I’m talking about, don’t you?’ he said.
I recalled the scarred but grandfatherly figure I had seen at the Imperial Yacht Club, resplendent in the uniform of the Household Cavalry. Colonel Maximilian Gan, head of the secret police, was as legendary as Berek Medem the terrorist was notorious.
‘After Semevsky was recruited,’ Lychev went on, ‘Gan continued to make use of his particular talents. He carried out a dozen or more secret murders on the orders of the Okhrana. Gulko’s was one of them.’
‘You’re asking me to believe that the Okhrana ordered Semevsky to kill a newspaper editor?’ I said.
‘Gan personally ordered the assassination.’
‘Why?’
‘Gulko obviously found out something the Okhrana wanted to keep secret.’
‘What did he find out?’
‘I don’t yet know,’ Lychev said phlegmatically, ‘but I will find out. Everything always comes out in the end.’
That Lychev’s high-pitched, nasal monotone lent his account such a natural, unforced credibility seemed perverse: the voice should not have been trustworthy, and yet it was. Lychev should not have been convincing, yet he was.
We were continuing along the Nevsky. As we left the shops and theatres behind, the traffic started to thin out.
‘Why did Semevsky want to follow Rozental?’ I said.
‘Gan has had Rozental under surveillance since he arrived in the city.’
‘What interest does Gan have in a chess player?’
‘This is something else I have yet to find out,’ Lychev said. ‘But I do know that Semevsky’s other job was to spy on you.’
At the Anchikov Palace, Kavi turned on to the elegant, granite-lined Fontanka Embankment, passing on the one side barges and boats and on the other great houses and palaces shaded by lime trees.
The car came to a halt near the old Tsepnoi suspension bridge leading into the Summer Garden.
Lychev lit another cigarette, turned to me and said, ‘Gan is trying to take over my investigation into the murders of Gulko and Yastrebov, at least one of which he himself ordered.’
‘Are you saying he also had Yastrebov killed?’
‘It’s a possibility,’ he replied. He smiled grimly before continuing. ‘I am not without supporters in the interior ministry but if I am unable to show results, if I can’t show that I’m getting close to Yastrebov’s cell, Gan will get his way.’
‘I will miss you,’ I said, ‘terribly.’
In the front of the car, Kavi guffawed.
‘You speak truer than you know, Spethmann,’ Lychev said. ‘You will miss me – because I am the only person standing between you and Colonel Gan.’
‘I’ve done nothing wrong. I am a psychoanalyst –’
‘With no time for political affairs – yes, we know,’ Lychev cut in. ‘However, your daughter has managed to implicate not just herself but also her father in Yastrebov’s plot.’
‘I am not implicated. Neither is Catherine. There is not the slightest evidence.’
‘The minute Catherine spoke to Yastrebov, the very second, both she and you became implicated. As soon as Colonel Gan gets the chance, he will order your arrest and, believe me, the experience will not be gent
le.’
He paused to give me time to take this in.
‘I can keep Gan away from both you and Catherine – and I am willing to do so – but only on condition that you help me.’
I looked at him with a mixture of suspicion and loathing. ‘How?’
‘I need to know everything that Catherine knows about Yastrebov, starting with his real name.’
‘Catherine tells me only what she wants me to know,’ I said.
‘Then you must persuade her that she wants you to know Yastrebov’s name,’ he said, reaching into a briefcase on the floor between us. He removed what I instantly recognised as Rozental’s file.
‘I also want to know why Gan is so interested in Rozental.’ He looked up at me and smiled. ‘Here our curiosity coincides, no?’ He tossed the file into my lap. ‘I had hoped to learn something from this but it seems you had barely begun your analysis when Kavi and Tolya visited you.’
He drew on his cigarette and said, ‘I thought about arresting Rozental and interrogating him – and I may yet have to. But it would be complicated: Rozental is, after all, famous all over the world, and it would not look good to take him into custody with so many foreigners in St Petersburg for the tournament.’
‘He would be of no use to you,’ I said. ‘Rozental’s psychological condition is on a knife edge.’
‘I came to the same conclusion,’ Lychev said. ‘That’s why you must talk to him.’
‘You want me to spy on my own patient?’
‘Gan is not interested in Rozental for nothing. He must have a reason. As Rozental’s doctor, don’t you want to know what that is? Don’t you think it might have some bearing on your patient’s condition?’
I looked at him with distaste. Lychev knew what I was thinking but seemed unconcerned. Swivelling in his seat, he pointed across the street. ‘Do you see that house? Number 16?’
It was a handsome but otherwise unremarkable town house.
‘You’re looking at the secret headquarters of the Okhrana,’ Lychev said, keeping his eyes fixed on the nondescript frontage.
‘Colonel Gan is probably in there studying your file,’ Kavi said laughing.
I stared at the building and tried to sort out my thoughts.
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