"I don't care," said Syerov, "so long as it isn't twins."
"Now I don't like that remark at all. It shows that you . . ."
They heard a knock at the door. The knock seemed too loud, too peremptory. Syerov, his head up, dropped the newspaper and said: "Come in."
Andrei Taganov entered and closed the door. Comrade Sonia dropped her calendar. Pavel Syerov rose slowly to his feet.
"Good evening," said Andrei.
"Good evening," said Syerov, watching him fixedly.
"What's the big idea, Taganov?" Comrade Sonia asked, her voice low, husky, menacing.
Andrei did not turn to her. He said: "I want to speak to you, Syerov."
"Go ahead," said Syerov without moving.
"I said I want to speak to you alone."
"I said go ahead," Syerov repeated.
"Tell your wife to get out."
"My husband and I," said Comrade Sonia, "have no secrets from each other."
"You get out of here," said Andrei, without raising his voice, "and wait in the corridor."
"Pavel! If he . . ."
"You'd better go, Sonia," said Syerov slowly, without looking at her, his eyes fixed on Andrei.
Comrade Sonia coughed out a single chuckle from the corner of her mouth: "Comrade Taganov still going strong, eh? Well, we shall see what we shall see and we don't have long to wait."
She gathered her lavender kimono, pulling it tightly across her abdomen, stuck a cigarette into her mouth and walked out, the slippers flapping against her heels.
"I thought," said Pavel Syerov, "that you had learned a lesson in the last few days."
"I have," said Andrei.
"What else do you want?"
"You'd better put your shoes on while I'm talking. You're going out and you haven't much time to lose."
"Am I? Glad you let me in on the little secret. Otherwise I might have said that I had no such intention. And maybe I'll still say it. Where am I going, according to Comrade Mussolini Taganov?"
"To release Leo Kovalensky."
Pavel Syerov sat down heavily and his feet scattered the pile of sunflower-seed shells over the floor. "What are you up to, Taganov? Gone insane, have you?"
"You'd better keep still and listen. I'll tell you what you have to do."
"You'll tell me what I have to do? Why?"
"And after that, I'll tell you why you will do it. You'll dress right now and go to see your friend. You know what friend I mean. The one at the G.P.U."
"At this hour?"
"Get him out of bed, if necessary. What you'll tell him and how you'll tell it, is none of my business. All I have to know is that Leo Kovalensky is released within forty-eight hours."
"Now will you let me in on the little magic wand that will make me do it?"
"It's a little paper wand, Syerov. Two of them."
"Written by whom?"
"You."
"Huh?"
"Photographed from one written by you, to be exact."
Syerov rose slowly and leaned with both hands on the table. "Taganov, you God-damn rat!" he hissed. "It's a rotten time to be joking."
"Am I?"
"Well, I'll go to see my friend all right. And you'll see Leo Kovalensky all right--and it won't take you forty-eight hours, either. I'll see to it that you get the cell next to his and then we'll find out what documents . . ."
"There are two photostats of it, as I said. Only I don't happen to have either one of them."
"What . . . what did you . . ."
"They're in the possession of two friends I can trust. It would be useless to try to find out their names. You know me well enough to discard any idea of the G.P.U. torture chamber, if that idea occurs to you. Their instructions are that if anything happens to me before Leo Kovalensky is out--the photostats go to Moscow. Also--if anything happens to him after he's out."
"You God-d . . ."
"You don't want those photostats to reach Moscow. Your friend won't be able to save your neck, then, nor his own, perhaps. You don't have to worry about my becoming a nuisance. All you have to do is release Leo Kovalensky and hush up this whole case. You'll never hear of those photostats again. You'll never see them, either."
Syerov reached for his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. "You're lying," he said hoarsely. "You've never taken any photostats."
"Maybe," said Andrei. "Want to take a chance on that?"
"Sit down," said Syerov, falling on the davenport.
Andrei sat down on the edge of the table and crossed his legs.
"Listen, Andrei," said Syerov. "Let's talk sense. All right, you're holding the whip. Still, do you know what you're asking?"
"No more than you can do."
"But, good Lord in Heaven, Andrei! It's such a big case and we're all set with a first-class propaganda campaign and the newspapers are getting headlines ready to . . ."
"Stop them."
"But how can I? How can I ask him? What am I going to tell him?"
"That's none of my business."
"But after he's already saved my . . ."
"Don't forget it's in his interests, too. He may have friends in Moscow. And he may have some who aren't friends."
"But, listen . . ."
"And when Party members can no longer be saved, they're the ones who get it worse than the private speculators, you know. Also a good occasion for first-class propaganda."
"Andrei, one of us has gone insane. I can't figure it out. Why do you want Kovalensky released?"
"That's none of your business."
"And if you've appointed yourself his guardian angel, then why the hell did you start the whole damn case? You started it, you know."
"You said that I had learned a lesson."
"Andrei, haven't you got any Party honor left? We need a good smashing bang at the speculators right now, with food conditions as they are and all the . . ."
"That doesn't concern me any longer."
"You damn traitor! You said it was the only copy of the letter in existence, when you turned it in!"
"Maybe I was lying then."
"Listen, let's talk business. Here--have a cigarette."
"No, thank you."
"Listen, let's talk as friend to friend. I take back all those things I said to you. I apologize. You can't blame me, you know how it is, you can see it's enough to make a fellow lose his mind a little. All right, you have your own game to play, I had mine and I made a misstep, but then we're both no innocent angels, as I can see, so we can understand each other. We used to be good friends, childhood friends, remember? So we can talk sensibly."
"About what?"
"I have an offer to make to you, Andrei. A good one. That friend of mine, he can do a lot if I slip a couple of words to him, as you know, I guess. I guess you know that I have enough on him for a firing squad, too. You're learning the same game, I see, and doing it brilliantly, I must hand it to you. All right, we understand each other. Now I can talk plain. I guess you know that your spot in the Party isn't so good any more. Not so good at all. And particularly after that little speech you made tonight--really, you know, it won't be so easy on you at the next Party purge."
"I know it."
"In fact, you're pretty sure to get the axe, you know."
"I do."
"Well, then, what do you say if we make a bargain? You drop this case and I'll see to it that you keep your Party card and not only that, but you can have any job you choose at the G.P.U. and name your own salary. No questions asked and no ill feeling. We all have our own way to make. You and I--we can help each other a lot. What do you say?"
"What makes you think that I want to remain in the Party?"
"Andrei! . . ."
"You don't have to worry about helping me at the next purge. I may be kicked out of the Party or I may be shot or I may be run over by a truck. That won't make any difference to you. Understand? But don't touch Leo Kovalensky. See that no one touches him. Watch him as you would watch your own child,
no matter what happens to me. I am not his guardian angel. You are."
"Andrei," Syerov moaned, "what is that damned aristocrat to you?"
"I've answered that question once."
Syerov rose unsteadily and drew himself up for a last, desperate effort: "Listen, Andrei, I have something to tell you. I thought you knew it, but I guess you don't. Only pull yourself together and listen, and don't kill me on the first word. I know there's a name you don't want to be mentioned, but I'll mention it. It's Kira Argounova."
"Well?"
"Listen, we're not mincing words, are we? Hell, not now we aren't. Well, then, listen: you love her and you've been sleeping with her for over a year. And. . . . Wait! Let me finish. . . . Well, she's been Leo Kovalensky's mistress all that time. . . . Wait! You don't have to take my word for it. Just check up on it and see for yourself."
"Why check up on it? I know it."
"Oh!" said Pavel Syerov.
He stood, rocking slowly from heels to toes, looking at Andrei. Then he laughed. "Well," he said, "I should have known."
"Get your coat," said Andrei, rising.
"I should have known," laughed Syerov, "why the saint of the Comm-party would go in for blackmail. You fool! You poor, virtuous, brainless fool! So that's the kind of grandstand you're playing! I should have known that the lofty heroics are a disease one never gets cured of! Come on, Andrei! Haven't you any sense left? Any pride?"
"We've talked long enough," said Andrei. "You seem to know a lot about me. You should know that I don't change my mind."
Pavel Syerov reached for his overcoat and pulled it on slowly, his pale lips grinning.
"All right, Sir Galahad or whatever it's called," he said. "Sir Galahad of the blackmail sword. You win--this time. It's no use threatening you with any retaliation. Fellows like you get theirs without any help from fellows like me. In a year--this little mess will be forgotten. I'll be running the railroads of the U.S.S.R. and buying satin diapers for my brat. You'll be standing in line for a pot of soup--and maybe you'll get it. But you'll have the satisfaction of knowing that your sweetheart is being . . . by a man you hate!"
"Yes," said Andrei. "Good luck, Comrade Syerov."
"Good luck, Comrade Taganov."
Kira sat on the floor, folding Leo's underwear, putting it back into the drawer. Her dresses were still piled in a heap before her open wardrobe. Papers rustled all over the room when she moved. Down from the torn pillows fluttered like snow over the furniture.
She had not been out for two days. She had heard no sound from the world beyond the walls of her room. Galina Petrovna had telephoned once and wailed into the receiver; Kira had told her not to worry and please not to come over; Galina Petrovna had not come.
The Lavrovs had decided that their neighbor was not shaken by her tragedy; they heard no tears; they noticed nothing unusual in the frail little figure whom they watched sidewise when they crossed her room on their way to the bathroom. They noticed only that she seemed lazy, for her limbs fell and remained in any position, and it took her an effort to move them; and her eyes remained fixed on one spot and it took a bigger effort to shift her glance, and her glance was like a forty-pound sack of sand being dragged by a child's fist.
She sat on the floor and folded shirts neatly, creasing every pleat, slipping them cautiously into the drawer on the palms of her two hands. One shirt had Leo's initials embroidered on the breast pocket; she sat staring at it, without moving.
She did not raise her head when she heard the door opening.
"Allo, Kira," said a voice.
She fell back against the open drawer and it slammed shut with a crash. Leo was looking down at her. His lips drooped, but it was not a smile; his lips had no color; the circles under his eyes were blue and sharp, as if painted on by an amateur actor.
"Kira . . . please . . . no hysterics . . ." he said wearily.
She rose slowly, her arms swinging limply. She stood, her fingers crumpling the hair on her right temple, looking at him incredulously, afraid to touch him.
"Leo . . . Leo . . . you're not . . . free, are you?"
"Yes. Free. Released. Kicked out."
"Leo . . . how . . . how could it . . . happen . . . ?"
"How do I know? I thought you knew something about that."
She was kissing his lips, his neck, the muscles exposed by his torn shirt collar, his hands, his palms. He patted her hair and looked indifferently over her head, at the wrecked room.
"Leo . . ." she whispered, looking up into his dead eyes, "what have they done to you?"
"Nothing."
"Did they . . . did they . . . I heard they sometimes . . ."
"No, they didn't torture me. They say they have a room for that, but I didn't have the privilege. . . . I had a nice cell all to myself and three meals a day, although the soup was rotten. I just sat there for two days and thought of what last words I could say before the firing squad. As good a pastime as any."
She took his coat off; she pushed him into an armchair; she knelt, pulling off his overshoes; she pressed her head to his knees for a second and jerked it away, and bent lower, to hide her face, and tied his unfastened shoestring with trembling fingers.
He asked: "Have I any clean underwear left?"
"Yes . . . I'll get it . . . only . . . Leo . . . I want to know . . . you haven't told me . . ."
"What is there to tell? I guess it's all over. The case is closed. They told me to see that I don't get into the G.P.U. for a third time." He added indifferently: "I think your friend Taganov had something to do with my release."
"He . . ."
"You didn't ask him to?"
"No," she said, rising. "No, I didn't ask him."
"Did they ruin the furniture completely, and the bed, too?"
"Who? . . . Oh, the search . . . No . . . Yes, I guess they have. . . . Leo!" she cried suddenly, so that he shuddered and looked at her, lifting his eyelids with effort. "Leo, have you nothing to say?"
"What do you want me to say?"
"Aren't you . . . aren't you glad to see me?"
"Sure. You look nice. Your hair needs combing."
"Leo, did you think of me . . . there?"
"No."
"You . . . didn't?"
"No. What for? To make it easier?"
"Leo, do you . . . love me?"
"Oh, what a question. . . . What a question at what a time. . . . You're getting feminine, Kira. . . . Really, it's not becoming. . . . Not becoming at all. . . ."
"I'm sorry, dear. I know it's foolish. I don't know why I had to ask it just then. . . . You're so tired. I'll get your underwear and I'll fix your dinner. You haven't had dinner, have you?"
"No. I don't want any. Is there anything to drink in the house?"
"Leo . . . you're not going . . . again . . . to . . ."
"Leave me alone, will you? Get the hell out, please could you? Go to your parents . . . or something . . ."
"Leo!" She stood, her hands in her hair, staring down at him incredulously. "Leo, what have they done to you?"
His head was leaning back against the chair and she looked at the quivering white triangle of his neck and chin; he spoke, his eyes closed, only his lips moving, his voice even and flat: "Nothing. . . . No one's going to do anything to me any more. . . . No one. . . . Not you nor anyone else. . . . No one can hurt me but you--and now you can't either. . . . No one. . . ."
"Leo!" She seized his limp, white-faced head and shook it furiously, pitilessly. "Leo! It can't get you like this! It won't get you!"
He seized her hand and flung it aside. "Will you ever come down to earth? What do you want? Want me to sing of life with little excursions to the G.P.U. between hymns? Afraid they've broken me? Afraid they'll get me? Want me to keep something that the mire can't reach, the more to suffer while it sucks me under? You're being kind to me, aren't you, because you love me so much? Don't you think you'd be kinder if you'd let me fall into the mire? So that I'd be one with our times and would
feel nothing any longer . . . nothing . . . ever . . ."
A hand knocked at the door.
"Come in," said Kira.
Andrei Taganov came in. "Good evening, Kira," he said and stopped, seeing Leo.
"Good evening, Andrei," said Kira.
Leo raised his head with effort. His eyes looked faintly startled.
"Good evening," said Andrei, turning to him. "I didn't know you were out already."
"I'm out. I thought you had reason to expect it."
"I did. But I didn't know they'd hurry. I'm sorry to intrude like this. I know you don't want to see any visitors."
"It's all right, Andrei," said Kira. "Sit down."
"There's something I have to tell you, Kira." He turned to Leo: "Would you mind if I took Kira out--for a few minutes?"
"I certainly would," Leo answered slowly. "Have you any secrets to discuss with Kira?"
"Leo!" Her voice was almost a scream. She added, quietly, her voice still trembling: "Come on, Andrei."
"No," said Andrei calmly, sitting down. "It isn't really necessary. It's not a secret." He turned to Leo. "I just wanted to spare you the necessity of . . . of feeling indebted to me, but perhaps it would be better if you heard it, too. Sit down, Kira. It's perfectly all right. It's about his release from the G.P.U."
Leo was looking at him fixedly, silently, leaning forward. Kira stood, her shoulders hunched, her hands clasped behind her back, as if they were tied. She looked at Andrei; his eyes were clear, serene.
"Sit down, Kira," he said almost gently.
She obeyed.
"There's something you should know, both of you," said Andrei, "for your own protection. I couldn't tell you sooner, Kira. I had to be sure that it had worked. Well, it has. I suppose you know who's really behind your release. It's Pavel Syerov. I want you to know what's behind him--in case you ever need it."
"It's you, isn't it?" asked Leo, a faint edge of sharpness in his voice.
"Leo, keep quiet. Please!" said Kira, turning away not to see his eyes watching her.
"It's a letter," Andrei continued calmly. "A letter he wrote and you know what that was. The letter had been sent to me . . . by someone else. Syerov has powerful friends. That saved him. But he's not very brave. That saved you. The letter had been destroyed. But I told him that I had photostats of it and that they were in the possession of friends who would send them to higher authorities in Moscow--unless you were released. The case is killed. I don't think they'll ever bother you again. But I want you to know this, so that you can hold it over Syerov's head--if you need it. Let him think that you know the photostats are in good hands--and on their way to Moscow, if he makes one step in your direction. That's all. I don't think you'll ever need it. But it's a useful protection to have, in these times--and with your social record."