CHAPTER FOURTEEN The Dialectical Cycle

In the steaming heat of the late summer of 1946 Karlshorst lived its normal life. In all the S. M. A. administrations and departments there was feverish activity. In the rush of wor the officers with gold epaulettes forgot that Karlshorst was only a remote island surrounded with a foreign and hostile element. !ut when the time came for them to go on leave and return to the homeland they grew more conscious of the fact that far away to the east was an enormous country whose interests they were called on to defend outside its frontiers. "etters from the Soviet #nion reported an unusual drought all over $uropean %ussia. &ears were 'eing openly e(pressed for the harvest. )he small allotments and mar et gardens* which provided produce for the great masses of the people* were withering in the sun. +eople stared an(iously into the s y and feared that they were in for a famine still worse than that e(perienced during the war. "etters from home sounded desperate* hopeless. A year had passed since my arrival in !erlin to wor in the Soviet Military Administration. I was due for leave at the end of the summer. I could sha e the dust of !erlin from my feet and rela( at home for si( wee s. Andrei Kovtun too his leave at the same time as I* and we agreed to travel together. ,e decided to stop in Moscow for a time* then to visit our hometown in the south* and to finish our holiday somewhere on the !lac Sea coast. Andrei insisted on organi-ing our leave so as to spend it largely surrounded 'y memories of our youth. At the !erlin Schlesische station Andrei* relying on his M. .. /. uniform* went to see the military commandant* and 0uic ly came 'ac with two second1class tic ets. 2is foresight was amply 3ustified. All the carriages were pac ed. )he ma3ority of the travelers was ta ing a mass of 'aggage with them* and refused to 'e parted from it4 they did not trust the 'aggage cars. Andrei and I each had two trun s filled mainly with presents for relations and ac0uaintances. 5ur train arrived at !rest without adventure* though the Soviet military trains running 'etween !erlin and Moscow often came under fire and even attac s from +olish nationalists hiding in the forests. )he first chec of documents and 'aggage too place at the Soviet frontier post in !rest* where we transferred to another train. )he M. .. /. frontier guards made a special point of thoroughly searching the 'aggage of demo'ili-ed military men* loo ing for weapons which officers and men might 'e ta ing home as trophies. 6ust in front of us a frontier1guard lieutenant chec ed the documents of a captain going on leave. 7,hy didn8t you leave your service weapon 'ehind* 9omrade 9aptain:7 he as ed. 7I received no instructions to do so*7 the captain answered with a shrug of annoyance.

75n arrival at your destination you must hand over your pistol to the local commandatura when you register*7 the lieutenant said as he returned the documents. 7)hat8s peacetime conditions for you;7 the captain muttered as we left the control1point office. 7$very'ody8s afraid of something or other.7 ,hile waiting for the Moscow train Andrei and I sat in the waiting room. 2ere there were many officers in +olish uniform* including the +olish s0uare military caps. )hey were all tal ing in %ussian* resorting to +olish only for swearing. )hey were officers of Marshal %o ossovs y8s Soviet forces stationed in +oland and dressed in +olish uniforms. Some of the %ussian officers returning from !erlin fell into conversation with them. 7,ell* how are things with you in <ermany:7 an officer with an unmista a'le Si'erian accent and with a +olish eagle in his cap as ed a lieutenant who had come from /resden. 7/8you find the <ermans a handful:7 7=ot in the least*7 the lieutenant answered casually. 7)hey8re a disciplined people. )ell them they mustn8t* and they don8t. At first we thought we8d have to deal with unrest and even attempts on our lives. =othing of the sort;7 7>ou don8t say;7 )he fellow from Si'eria shoo his head* o'viously astonished. 7!ut our 8gentlemen8 give us more than we 'argain for. =ot a night passes without someone 'eing noc ed off or shot. And this chic en is of no help whatever7 1 he pointed to the eagle in his cap. 7>ou don8t now how to treat them;7 the lieutenant said with a hint of superiority. 7It isn8t so simple as that;7 another Soviet officer in +olish uniform intervened. 7/uring the war years %o ossovs y had si(teen e(pressions of Stalin8s than s in orders of the day* 'ut during his one year in +oland he has had twenty censures; All 'ecause of the +oles. )hey shoot at you round corners* and you aren8t allowed to raise a finger against them* otherwise you8ve had it; 9ourt1martial for you. )hat8s politics;7 2e gave a deep sigh. Shortly after the train for Moscow had started our documents were chec ed again* this time in the carriage. ,e had traveled only a few hours when the procedure was repeated a second time. Andrei sat silent in a corner seat* ta ing no notice of what went on around him* sun deep in thought. A passenger glanced in* noticed the M. .. /. officer8s uniform* and pretended he had made a mista e* and went to loo for a seat elsewhere. $ven in the second class* where every traveler had a +arty tic et* people preferred to eep a respecta'le distance 'etween them and the M. .. /. )owards evening Andrei livened up a little 1 he had not uttered a word for a long time. ,e 'egan to tal a'out the past. <radually his reminiscences turned to 2alina. I sat listening in astonishment. $vidently he had 'een thin ing of her all the time* 'ut only now did he openly tal a'out her. )ime and distance had 'lunted his feelings a little* 'ut now his heart was 'urning once more with that same former fire.

)he story of Andrei8s pre1war relations with 2alina was somewhat unusual. She was an e(traordinarily 'eautiful girl* with a pure and e(alted 0uality in her 'eauty. A'ove all* her character was in perfect harmony with her appearance. Andrei worshipped her. !ut for a long time she was indifferent to his attentions and did not notice his slavish devotion. )hen a strong friendship developed 'etween them. +ossi'ly his sacrifice and devotion won her* or perhaps she felt that his love was different from other young men8s flattering attentions. )heir ac0uaintances all thought this friendship 0ueer4 the contrast 'etween his angular figure and her spiritual 'eauty was too o'vious. =o'ody could imagine what 'ound them to each other. Again and again her girl friends reduced her to tears* for they too every opportunity of pointing out Andrei8s defects. 2is comrades openly congratulated him on his 8undeserved good fortune8. More than once this sort of thing led to their separating for a time. And then Andrei had no rest. 2e wandered li e a shade 'ehind her* not daring to go up to her* yet lac ing the strength to turn away. )hus they went on* all 'ut insepara'le* down to the out'rea of war. )he war flung him into the partisans and directed his un'ridled emotions in another direction. )he town in which she was living was soon overrun 'y <erman troops* and they completely lost contact with each other. 7,e8re continually striving towards something*7 he now said a'ruptly. 7,e strive for power* for fame* for distinction. !ut that is all outside us. And when you come to a certain point you reali-e that all the time you8ve only 'een giving out from yourself. And you as yourself? what have you gained for it all: 7I8ve got a strange feeling. +utting aside everything else and thin ing only of myself* I get the impression that all I8ve done in my struggle to clim' higher has 'een for 2alina8s sa e. =ow I shall lay this uniform and these orders at her feet.7 2e ran his eyes over his perfectly fitting uniform* 'rushed a spec of dust from the 'lue riding 'reeches* and said dreamily? 7=ow 2alina has graduated as an engineer4 she8s living in Moscow* she has wor worthy of her* and a comforta'le home. And what more can any woman achieve today: And now* to complete it all* a ma3or in the State Security Service will turn up as a guard and defender of her well 'eing. /on8t you thin that8s 0uite a logical conclusion: And now* old friend* I8m hoping that life will repay me with interest for everything.7 2e clapped his hand down on my nee* then rose and stared through the window into the dar ness ahead* as though he hoped to discern what fate had in store for him. I had noticed 'efore that he had rather 0ueer ideas of his position with regard to 2alina. 2e had put all his ardour into his am'itions and had received no satisfaction from life in return4 on the contrary* he was tortured 'y his situation* in which he was compelled to act against his own convictions. And so he had su'consciously 'egun to see for some compromise with life* he had 'egun to convince himself that his old love and the happiness of married life would fill the void in his soul. )o meet 2alina again had 'ecome an o'session with him4 he thought of it as the miracle* which would 'ring him salvation. 7/8you now what:7 2e turned round sharply. 7I simply must get hold of a 'ottle of vod a.7

7!ut you don8t drin .7 7It8s for you*7 he replied a'ruptly. 7I want every'ody round me to 'e 3olly. /amn it all* I8m not going to a funeral* I8m going to a wedding;7 I tried to dissuade him. 7So you want to insult me: Is that it:7 he demanded. I could only hope that he was unli ely to find vod a at that time of night. At the very ne(t station he went out4 a few minutes later he returned with a 'ulging poc et. 75'tained in perfect agreement with regulations;7 he grinned. 7)he station commandant had confiscated it from someone* and I confiscated it from him. )he rasp'erry cap'and has its uses;7 2e filled the glass so full that the vod a overflowed. 7I8m all on fire inside* and there8s something lac ing*7 he said. 7>ou drin for me. >ou now* there are times when I feel an emptiness inside me almost physically.7 2e sat with his feet planted widely apart* his hands on his nees. 7Sometimes I thin a'out <od* and I envy those who 'elieve in 2im. It8s 'etter to 'elieve in a non1e(istent 'ut infalli'le <od than in the scoundrelly pretenders of this earth.7 7,hen did you go to church last:7 I as ed. 7Some twenty years ago. My father too me. ,hen I was a 'oy I new all the prayers 'y heart. 7>es* the soul of a man is not a piece of litmus paper*7 he sighed. 7>ou8ve got no means of deciding straight off whether it will 'e red or 'lue. In my damned 3o' one often has to thin a'out a human soul. I8ve developed 0uite a psychosis? I8m loo ing for people who 'elieve in something.7 All around us there was silence. 5ur native land sped towards us. )he train arrived in Moscow ne(t day. ,e went into the sunlit s0uare outside the station and stopped to loo a'out us. )he trams clattered past* cars drove 'y silently* and people were hurrying a'out their affairs. All the feverish life of the capital city was opened 'efore us. It was all so everyday* so simple. ,e felt as though we had never left Moscow. )han s to his M. .. /. uniform and the gold star of a 82ero of the Soviet #nion8 Andrei easily o'tained a room for two in the Staraya1Mos ovs aya 2otel on the farther side of the river Mos va* right opposite the Kremlin. 5ur window loo ed out on to the river* and 'eyond we could see the new Stone !ridge* the rows of trees 'eginning to turn yellow along the Kremlin $m'an ment* the pointed towers and gold cupolas 'ehind the Kremlin walls* and a long white 'uilding staring with innumera'le windows. )hat 'uilding housed the 'rain of our country* the la'oratory for the creation of a =ew ,orld. ,e spent our first day aimlessly wandering a'out the city. ,e were 'oth impatient to see Moscow life with our own eyes. 5nly a year had passed since I had last seen Moscow* 'ut that year had 'een so filled with e(periences that I felt now as though I were getting to now my own capital for the first time. Somewhere in the depths of my 'eing I felt mingled feelings of

e(pectation* distrust* and an(iety4 as though* despite everything* I was trying to find something here that would ma e me change my mind* would lead me to revo e a firmly made decision. )hat summer evening Andrei and I wandered into Maya ovs y S0uare. !efore us the 'lac cu'e of the Mar(1$ngels1"enin Institute loomed up in the dus . In that stone chest the 'rain of "enin* the ideologist and founder of the Soviet State* is preserved in spirit as a very sacred o'3ect. )o the left of the s0uare rose the editorial offices of Pravda. At roof level an illuminated sign was announcing the latest news. =o'ody in the s0uare paid any attention to it. !ut we craned our nec s and 'egan to read? 8)he farmers report... the accomplishment of the plan for handing in the harvest... 8 Andrei and I loo ed at each other. $vening after evening* year after year* similar reports had 'een flashed along the roof of Pravda 'efore the war. And it was still the same today. 2adn8t there 'een any war and all that the war connoted: 7,hat does it say up there* little son:7 An old* fee'le* 0uavering voice sounded 'ehind us. !eside Andrei a decrepit old man was standing. 2e was wearing a homespun coat of uncertain color* and a tangled* reddish 'eard framed his face and 'rightly twin ling eyes. 2is long hair hung down from 'eneath his old pea ed cap. 7My eyes are wea * little son* and 'esides* I8m not good at reading*7 he murmured. 7)ell me what it says.7 2e addressed Andrei in the tone that simple fol wheedling sincerity. use to their superiors? with respect and

7,hy haven8t you learned to read and write* daddy:7 Andrei as ed with a warm smile* touched 'y the old fellow8s re0uest. 7,hat do we simple people need to understand everything.7 now them for: )hat8s what learned men are for* to

7,here are you from* daddy:7 Andrei as ed. 7My village is a little way outside Moscow*7 the old man answered. 7=early forty miles from here.7 7Are you in town to visit your son:7 Andrei as ed again. 7=o* little son4 I8m here to loo for 'read.7 7,hy* haven8t you any in your village:7 7=o* little son. ,e8ve handed over all our corn. =ow all we can do is sell our potatoes in the Moscow mar et in order to 'uy 'read.7

7,hat8s the price of 'read in the mar et now:7 Andrei in0uired. 7Seventy ru'les a ilo* little son.7 7And how much did you sell your grain to the State for:7 )he old fellow fidgeted from foot to foot* sighed and said reluctantly? 7Seven opec s a ilo....7 )here was an aw ward silence. ,e 'ehaved as though we had forgotten his re0uest that we should read the news to him* and wal ed on. In the middle of the s0uare we came to a halt 'efore a granite o'elis 4 it had a 'ron-e pla0ue fastened to each of its sides. Andrei and I went closer to read the inscriptions on the pla0ues. 7"ittle son* perhaps you8ll tell me what it says on those 'oards.7 ,e again heard that fee'le* aged voice 'ehind us. )he old man stood there li e a shade* shifting from foot to foot. A smile slipped over Andrei8s face* and he turned his eyes 'ac to the o'elis * intending this time to satisfy the old man. Slowly he read the first few words aloud* 'ut then he 'ro e off and read the further lines in silence. 7,hat8s the matter* little son:7 the old man as ed with some concern. 7Isn8t it written in %ussian:7 Andrei was silent4 he avoided the old man8s eyes. In the dus I too read the words. )he pla0ues carried e(tracts from the Soviet 9onstitution* dealing with the rights and li'erties of Soviet citi-ens. 2ungry and ragged Moscow* this old peasant arrived in search of 'read* and the 'ron-e promises of an earthly paradise; I reali-ed why Andrei was silent. )he ne(t day was a Saturday4 we decided to find out where 2alina lived and call on her. )hrough letters from mutual ac0uaintances I had learnt that she was wor ing as an engineer in one of the Moscow factories. !ut when Andrei phoned the wor s administration they told him she was no longer wor ing there* and refused to give any further information. 5n ma ing in0uiries at the !ureau for Ad1dresses we were ama-ed to 'e given an address in one of the out1lying su'ur's* an hour8s 3ourney 'y electric train. )he sun was sin ing 'ehind the crowns of the pine forest when Andrei and I noc ed at the door of a small tim'er1'uilt house in a summer settlement not far from the railway. A negligently dressed* elderly woman opened the door to us* gave us an unfriendly loo * listened to us in silence* and silently pointed up a ric ety staircase to the first floor. Andrei let me go in front* and I could not see his face4 'ut 'y the sound of his footsteps and the way he leaned heavily on the sha ing 'anister rail I could tell how much this meeting meant to him. 5n the landing damp underwear was hung out to dry. /irty pans and old rags littered the windowsill. A 'oard door* hanging 'y rusty hinges* had tufts of wool 'loc ing the chin s 'etween the plan s. I irresolutely too hold of the handle* and noc ed.

,e heard shuffling footsteps. )he door shoo on its hinges and scraped over the floor as it was slowly opened4 to reveal a woman simply dressed* with old shoes on her stoc ingless feet. She ga-ed interrogatively into the dimly lit landing. )hen she distinguished men in military uniform* and the astonishment in her eyes was changed to fear. 72alina;7 Andrei called 0uietly. )he young woman8s face flushed crimson. She fell 'ac . 7Andrei;7 a half1suppressed cry 'ro e from her lips. She stood 'reathing rapidly and heavily* as though short of 'reath. Andrei avoided loo ing a'out him. 2e tried not to see the wretched furnishing of the half1empty room4 he tried to ignore her old clothes and worn shoes. 2e saw only the familiar features of the woman he loved. All the world was lost in o'livion* sun 'eneath the 'urning depths of her eyes fi(ed on him. 2ow often during all the long years had he dreamed of her eyes; And now those eyes slowly too him in* from head to foot. )hey rested on the gold epaulettes with the 'lue facings* on the star indicating his ma3or8s ran * on the 'rilliant rasp'erry 'and of his service cap. 2er eyes turned to the M. .. /. insignia on his sleeve* then stared into his eyes. 72alina;7 he repeated again as though in a dream4 he stretched out 'oth his hands to her. 7<regory* shut the door* please;7 she said to me* as though she had not noticed Andrei or heard his voice. 2er tone was cold* her eyes faded* her features set. She avoided Andrei8s eyes and* not saying a word* went to the open window at the far end of the room. 72alina* what8s the matter:7 he as ed an(iously. 72ow is it you8re living here... in such conditions:7 7+erhaps you8d 'etter tell your story first*7 she answered. She seemed to 'e finding our visit a torture. 72alina; ,hat8s the matter with you:7 A growing alarm sounded in his voice. )here was a long silence. )hen she turned her 'ac on us and said in a voice that was almost inaudi'le as she ga-ed out of the window? 7I8ve 'een dismissed... and e(iled from Moscow.7 7,hy:7 7I am an enemy of the people*7 she said 0uietly. 7!ut what for:7 Another silence. )hen* li e a rustle of wind outside the window?

7!ecause I loved my 'a'y....7 7Are you married:7 2is voice 'ro e with the despair of a man who has 3ust heard his death sentence. 7=o.7 )he word came softly. 7)hen... then it8s not so 'ad* 2alina.7 )he fear in his voice turned to a note of relief. )here was another silence* distur'ed only 'y his panting 'reath. 7"oo at that;7 She nodded at a small photograph standing on the ta'le. Andrei followed her glance. &rom the simple wooden photograph frame a man in <erman officer8s uniform smiled at the ma3or of the Soviet State Security Service. 72e was the father of my child*7 she said from the window. 72alina... I don8t understand.... )ell me what happened.7 2e dropped helplessly into a chair4 all his 'ody was trem'ling. 7I fell in love with him when our town was under <erman occupation*7 she answered* after turning away from us again. 7,hen the <ermans retreated I hid the child. Someone informed on me. And of course you now the rest....7 7!ut where is the child:7 Andrei as ed. 7It was ta en from me.7 2er voice cho ed. 2er shoulders shoo with dry so''ing. 7,ho too it from you:7 )here was a threat in his tone. 7,ho:7 she echoed him. 7Men in the same uniform as you8re wearing.7 She turned her face to us. It had nothing in common with the face of the gentle and friendly girl we had nown in past days. !efore us stood a woman in all the na edness of her womanly pain. 7And now I must as you to leave my house.7 She stared fi(edly at Andrei8s motionless figure. 2e sat with shoulders 'owed as though under the 'lows of a nout* staring at the floor'oards? his 'ac huddled* his eyes e(pressionless* and his 'ody lifeless. )he sun was glowing orange 'eyond the window. )he 'ranches of the dusty pines swayed silently. )he sun lighted up the fluffy hair of the woman standing at the window caressed her proudly carried head* the gentle outlines of her nec * the frail shoulders under the old dress. )he light left in shadow all the wretched furniture of the half1empty room and all the signs and to ens of human need. At the window stood a woman now farther off than ever* 'ut now more desired than ever. 5n a chair in the middle of the room slumped a living corpse.

72alina... I8ll try...7 he said thic ly. 2e himself had no idea what he could hope to do* and he was silent again. 7,e have nothing more to tal a'out*7 she answered 0uietly and firmly. 2e rose heavily to his feet* loo ed helplessly a'out him. 2e muttered something* held out his hand as though as ing for something* or may'e in farewell. She loo ed away* ta ing no notice of his hand. )here was another long silence. I crept out of the room as though from the presence of the dead. Andrei followed me. As he went downstairs he clung to the wall li e a 'lind man. 2is face was ashen4 words came incoherently from his lips. 5ur steps sounded hollowly on the crea ing stairs. In the train he stared with glassy eyes out of the window and was o'durately silent. I tried to distract his thoughts with tal . 2e did not hear my voice4 he too no notice of me whatever. As we made our way to the Moscow #nderground station he 'ro e the silence 'y as ing? 7,hich way are you going:7 I guessed he wanted to get rid of me* 'ut I also felt that on no account could I dare to leave him to himself. ,e returned to our hotel. All the rest of the evening I followed him li e a shadow. ,hen he left the room for a moment I unloaded our pistols* which were lying in the ta'le drawer. 2e would not have any supper* and went to 'ed unusually early. !ut he tossed and turned and could not sleep. 2e wished to escape from this life at least in his sleep* to find release from his torment4 'ut he could not. 7Andrei* the 'est thing would 'e for you to go home tomorrow*7 I said. 7I have no home*7 came from his 'ed after a long silence. 7)hen go to your family*7 I persisted. 7I have no family*7 he said thic ly. 7>our father...7 7My father has disowned me.7 Andrei8s father was a man of the old school* hard as oa and as o'stinate as a mule. ,hen the years of collectivi-ation arrived the old cossac had preferred to leave his native soil to live in a town* rather than 3oin a collective farm. In the town he had 'ecome an artisan. =o repressive measures* no amount of ta(ation could drive him into an artisans8 cooperative. 7I was 'orn free* I shall die free;7 was his one answer. 2e had given all his strength to 'ring up his son* in the hope that the lad would 'e a comfort to his old age. !ut when he heard that his Andrei had gone over to the enemy he disowned him. All night Andrei tossed and turned in his 'ed. All night I lay in the dar ness* not closing my eyes* fighting to eep from falling asleep. )he hours passed. )he ru'y stars of the Kremlin towers

shone in through the open window. As the s y turned pale and the first fee'le light stole into the room* I saw that Andrei was still awa e. 2e had 'uried his face in the pillow* and his arms hung helplessly down* one on either side of the 'ed. In the silence I caught words that came strangely from his lips* words that I remem'ered from times long past* the time of my childhood. )hey came in a passionate whisper? 7"ord* incline )hine ear and hear my prayer* for I am misera'le and wea .7 &or the first time that night I closed my eyes. I would not hinder a man who stood on the confines of this world. And again in the early morning stillness I heard a whisper that had nothing earthly in it* the words of a long forgotten prayer? 7"ord* forgive thy sinful slave...7 5n the farther side of the river the Kremlin cloc chimed in answer. ,hile in !erlin I had e(changed very little correspondence with <enia. She was too sensitive to the least hint of insincerity and mental reservations4 moreover* there was still a military censor1 ship* and that had to 'e ta en into account. A fran description of my present life and of our impressions of the real world around us would have 'een unforgiva'le lunacy. And we had no private life in Karlshorst that I could write a'out. !oth she and I were too young and too fond of life to write each other insane letters out of sheer amia'ility. So I preferred to use the nights when I had a twenty1four1hour turn of duty in the staff head0uarters* and was alone in the commander1in1chief8s private office* for getting direct telephonic contact with Moscow and tal ing to <enia. 5n such occasions we had long conversations that had no connection with the marshal8s office* or policy. )he people tapping the telephone could go on reading their novels unpertur'ed. 5n returning to Moscow I loo ed forward impatiently to seeing <enia again. And in preparing for my first visit I spent a long time pondering what to wear 1 my military uniform or civilian clothes. I finally decided in favor of the civvies. I found only Anna +etrovna at home. She was feeling 'ored* and she too the opportunity to ply me with 0uestions concerning !erlin* and simultaneously to retail the latest Moscow news. =ow the family was reunited. <enia8s father* =i olai Sergeivich* had returned home after the conclusion of operations against 6apan. !ut even now* when he was stationed in Moscow* his wife new as little as ever a'out his duties and activities* and she lived in constant dread of his 'eing sent off again in some un nown direction and for an indefinite period. After lunch <enia decided that she and I would go off into the country for the rest of the day. I was very grateful to her for ta ing me to her parents8 country house* for the small summer villa outside the city had 'een the scene of my first meeting with her* in the early days of the war. She herself drove her sports1model 9aptain. ,hen we reached the villa she 'egan to 0uestion me at great length and in unusual detail a'out life in <ermany. All my e(planations and descriptions failed to satisfy her. Suddenly* 0uite une(pectedly* she ga-ed into my eyes and as ed? 7!ut why are you so thin:7

7I8m feeling fine;7 I replied. 7It may 'e 3ust overwor .7 7=o* it isn8t that.7 She shoo her head. 7>ou loo really 'ad. >ou8re eeping something from me.7 She ga-ed at me closely* as though trying to read my thoughts. 7May'e there is something*7 I assented* touched 'y her an(ious tone. 7!ut if there is I haven8t noticed it.7 7!ut I do*7 she whispered. 7At first I thought it must 'e some1thing coming 'etween us... =ow I see it8s something else. &orget it;7 And I did forget it. I was 'oundlessly happy to see the familiar walls around me* and to hear only <enia* to thin only of <enia. As the evening twilight settled over the forest and shadows 'egan to steal through the room she decided to cele'rate my arrival with a supper. 7)oday you8re mine.7 She flashed her eyes at me. 7"et father 'e annoyed 'ecause we8ve gone off; "et him now how mother worries when he8s not at home; I8ll show him;7 ,e had hardly sat down to eat when we heard the sound of a car approaching. <enia raised her eye'rows an(iously. )he car stopped outside* and a moment later Anna +etrovna entered. She was followed 'y =i olai Sergeivich and a colleague of his* 9olonel1<eneral Kly ov. )hey were all in a very cheerful mood* and the house was filled with their laughter and tal . 7=ow isn8t this wonderful; ,e8ve only 3ust arrived* and the ta'le8s already laid;7 Kly ov laughed and ru''ed his hands. 7=i olai Sergeivich* your daughter8s a treasure;7 7/8you thin she8s prepared all this for us:7 =i olai Sergeivich answered. 7>ou must e(cuse us for interrupting* >evgenia =i olaevna*7 he said very formally* turning to his daughter. 7,ould you permit us to 3oin your company:7 7And you8re a fine one;7 he added* turning to me. 7<et into civilian clothes and you immediately forget your army regulations; >ou now your first duty is to present yourself to your superiors; Ah* you youngsters....7 7!ut we were 3ust getting ready to go home*7 <enia 'egan. 7)hen why have you laid the ta'le: &or us:7 2er father roared with laughter. 7So we drive here* and you go 'ac there; >ou thin you8re clever* my girl. !ut I8m no fool either. 6ust to punish you we8ll spend all the evening with you.7 Anna +etrovna set to wor to prepare supper. )hey had 'rought cans and 'ottles of a stri ing diversity of la'els with them. All the lands of eastern $urope were represented? !ulgaria* %umania* 2ungary. )hese commodities were not spoils of war* 'ut normal peacetime production. )here were American conserves too* o'viously the remnants of lend1lease deliveries. =one of

these things could 'e 'ought in the Moscow shops* 'ut they were availa'le in a'undance in the special distri'ution centers to which generals had access. 7,ell* <regory* now tell us all a'out it from the 'eginning.7 =i olai Sergeivich turned to me when the dessert arrived. 7,hat is life in <ermany li e:7 7=ot too 'ad*7 I answered vaguely* waiting for him to 'e more definite in his 0uestions. 7In any case he has a 'etter apartment there than we have*7 <enia intervened. )he general ignored her* and as ed? 7,hat8s So olovs y doing:7 7,hat Moscow orders*7 I replied* involuntarily smiling. 7>ou people here should now 'est what he8s doing.7 5'viously I had given =i olai Sergeivich the opening he was fishing for. 2e sat turning over his thoughts. <enia loo ed a'out her with a 'ored air. 7<ermany8s a tough nut.7 <eneral Kly ov 'ro e the silence. 7It8ll 'e a long time 'efore we crac it. )he Allies won8t clear out of western <ermany without giving trou'le* and there isn8t much to 'e e(pected simply from eastern <ermany. =ot li e the Slavonic countries? no sooner said than done; I thin our first tas is to create a strong 'loc of Slavonic states. If we form a Slavonic 'loc we shall have a good cordon sanitaire around our frontiers. And our positions in $urope will 'e strong enough to prevent any repetition of 1941.7 7My friend* you8re always loo ing 'ac ward* 'ut we8ve got to loo forward.7 =i olai Sergeivich shoo his head reproachfully. 7,hat do we want a Slavonic 'loc for: )he old dreams of a pan1 Slav empire; )oday we8re in the epoch of the communist advance along the whole front. $astern $urope and the western Slavonic states are of interest to us now chiefly as providing a favora'le 'ase for penetration and further action.7 7So far the masters are pursuing a 0uite clear pan1Slavonic policy*7 the colonel1general retorted. "i e all the upper circles of Moscow he resorted to the vague term 8masters8 to denote the Kremlin and the +olit'uro. 7)hat8s what policy8s for* to conceal the ultimate aims*7 =i olai Sergeivich said. 7It would 'e a crying shame not to e(ploit our possi'ilities today. 5ne half of $urope 'elongs to us* and the other half is inviting us to ta e it over and give it order.7 It was now 0uite dar outside. Moths fluttered through the open window and 'eat against the lamp glass* 'urning their wings. A drowsy fly crawled over the ta'le* moving its legs painfully. )he fly had no aim* it simply crawled. 7)here8s $urope;7 the general said with a contemptuous smile* and he unhurriedly pic ed up the fly 'etween two fingers. 7>ou don8t even have to catch it* you simply ta e it.7

7!ut tell us fran ly* =i olai Sergeivich* what do you need that dead fly for: ,hat good will it 'e to you:7 the colonel1general as ed. 75f course we8re not greatly interested in western $urope as such*7 the general answered after a moment8s thought. 7It8ll pro'a'ly 'e more difficult to plant communism in the $uropeans than in any other peoples. )hey8re too spoilt economically and culturally.7 7)here you are; >ou yourself admit it8s very difficult to ma e $urope communist*7 Kly ov e(pressed his thoughts aloud. 7If we intend to 'uild communism seriously there we8ll have to send half the population to Si'eria and feed the other half at our e(pense. And what8s the sense of that:7 7,e need $urope so as to deprive America of her $uropean mar ets* and then she8ll go under economically. !ut in any case... 7 )he general was silent* thoughtfully rolling the unfortunate fly 'etween his thum' and fingers. )hen* as though he had come to a definite decision* he flung the fly away and repeated? 7!ut in any case... neither you nor I now what the masters are thin ing. And it8s 3ust as well that we don8t*7 he went on after another pause. 2is tone suggested that he new more than he proposed to say. 79ommunist theory lays it down that the revolution should develop where there are the 'est prere0uisites for it? in the wea est lin of the capitalist system. And at the moment that isn8t in $urope. )oday Asia is ripe for revolution. )here we can gain the greatest possi'le successes with the least ris and the least e(penditure. Asia is wa ing up nationally* and we must use this movement in order to further our o'3ectives. )he Asiatics are not so cultured and spoilt as the $uropeans.7 2e paused again* then went on? 7It8s more important to have Asia in our hands than $urope. All the more so as 6apan has dropped out of the running. )oday 9hina is the ey to Asia. =owhere else in the world are the prere0uisites for revolution so favora'le as in 9hina.7 7All right* I give you 9hina*7 the colonel1general said in a 3o ing tone. 7And what will you do with it:7 79hina is an enormous reservoir of vital forces*7 =i olai Sergeivich replied. 7It would 'e a tremendous thing to have such a reserve at our disposal* for the army and for industry. And* a'ove all* that8s the way we shall force America to her nees.7 7So America8s giving you trou'le again:7 Kly ov laughed. 7Sooner or later our roads will cross*7 =i olai Sergeivich answered. 7$ither we must renounce our historical mission or follow it through to the end.7 7All the same* I assume that our post1war policy is directed towards ensuring the security of our frontiers* 'oth in the ,est and in the $ast.7 )he colonel1general held to his views. !ut he prudently made his remar s sound more li e a commentary on Kremlin policy than an e(pression of his own attitude.

)he general put on a smile of superiority. 7/on8t forget* my friend* that one can 'uild socialism in one country* 'ut communism only in all the world.7 7,hat8s the world to do with you* when you8re a %ussian:7 7,e8re communists first* and %ussians only second....7 7So you need the whole world.7 )he colonel1general drummed his fingers ironically on the ta'le. 7)hat is the general line of the +arty*7 the general answered coldly. 75ur policy during the war... 7 Kly ov put up a fee'le opposition. 7+olicy can change with circumstances* 'ut the general line remains the general line47 the general would not let him finish. 7It has to 'e so*7 he went on slowly. 7It8s a historical necessity. ,e8ve already e(hausted all the possi'ilities of internal development. Internal stagnation is e0uivalent to death of old age. $ither we finally retreat on the internal front* or we go forward on the e(ternal front. )hat is the law of dialectical development that applies to every state system.7 7>ou8re going too far* =i olai Sergeivich. >ou8re placing the interests of the state system a'ove those of your people and your country.7 7)hat8s why you and I are communists*7 <enia8s father said slowly and firmly* raising his glass as though to confirm his words. Kly ov pretended not to notice this invitation* and felt for his cigarettes. Anna +etrovna and <enia sat listening to the conversation with 'ored e(pressions on their faces. 7,hat you8ve 3ust said* =i olai Sergeivich* is one thing in words* 'ut in reality it means war*7 Kly ov said after a long silence. 7>ou underestimate the e(ternal factors1America* for instance*7 7And what is America:7 =i olai Sergeivich as ed. 7An agglomeration of people who represent no nation and possess no ideals* and whose 'asis of unity is the dollar. At a certain stage her living standards will fall inevita'ly* the class antagonisms will grow sharper* and then favora'le conditions will arise for the development of the class struggle. )he war will 'e shifted from the front to the rear of the enemy.7 7And that8s what you and I are generals for 1 to wage war*7 he added. 7A general should 'e a citi-en of his country first and foremost.7 Kly ov drew at his cigarette and sent the smo e curling up to the ceiling. 7A general without a native country is... 7 2e did not finish the sentence. /uring the war 9olonel1<eneral Kly ov had successfully commanded large Soviet forces in the field. Shortly 'efore the war ended he had 'een recalled from the front and given a comparatively su'ordinate post in the 9ommissariat for /efense. <enerals on active service were not su'3ected to such changes without reason.

!efore leaving Moscow to 3oin the S. M. A. I had met Kly ov more than once at the home of <enia8s parents. ,henever the tal turned to politics he had always 'een very moderate* ta ing the attitude that the war was one of defense of the national fatherland. At that time* 3ust a'out the close of hostilities* there was a good deal of rather independent discussion* or rather surmise* as to the #. S. S. %.8s future policy. It is hardly to 'e dou'ted that Kly ov had 'een rather too fran in e(pressing his opinions* which did not entirely coincide with the +olit'uro@s secret plans* and that this had 'een the reason for his recall to the rear* closer to the Kremlin8s ever1watchful eye. 7!ut we won8t argue a'out that* =i olai Sergeivich*7 he said in a conciliatory tone* after a long pause. 7In the Kremlin there are wiser heads than yours or mine. "et them decide.7 )hey fell into a long silence. Anna +etrovna sat turning over the pages of a periodical. <enia loo ed at the cloc * then at the moon rising through the trees. At last she could stand no more* and she 3umped up. 7,ell* you can go on dividing up the world* 'ut we8re going home.7 7,hy* is the moon ma ing you restless:7 her father laughed. 75ff you go* then* only don8t get lost on the way. If anything happens* <regory* I shall hold you responsi'le.7 2e 3o ingly wagged his finger at me. A minute or two later we drove off. In the moonlight* the shadows of the trees fell spectrally across the ground. 2ere and there the windowpanes of summer villas gleamed through the trees. )he car 'umped over the hummoc y forest road. I sat at the wheel* not spea ing. 7,hat were you so dum' for this evening:7 <enia as ed. 7,hat could I tal a'out:7 I as ed. 7,hat others tal a'out.7 7I can8t repeat the sort of thing your father says. And I mustn8t support Kly ov.7 7,hy not:7 7!ecause I don8t happen to 'e Kly ov. >our father would never stand from me what he ta es from Kly ov. Kly ov gives e(pression to very imprudent views.7 7"et8s forget politics;7 she whispered. She put her hand to the dash'oard and switched off the headlamps. )he night* the marvelous moonlit night* caressed us with its silence. I ga-ed into her face* into her eyes* veiled in the half1light. My foot slowly released the accelerator. 7If you don8t close your eyes again...7 she murmured. 7<enia* I8ve got to steer the car.7

Instead of an answer* a neat little foot was set on the 'ra e pedal. )he car slowly pulled sideways and came to a stop. I spent the ne(t few days visiting my numerous Moscow friends and ac0uaintances. $verywhere I was 'om'arded with 0uestions a'out life in <ermany. Although occupied <ermany was no longer 8foreign8 in the full meaning of the word* and many %ussians had already seen the country with their own eyes* there was no falling off in the mor'id interest the %ussian people showed in the world on the farther side of the frontier. )his interest and the e(aggeratedly rosy ideas of life a'road were a reaction from Soviet %ussia8s complete isolation. Moreover* the %ussians have one trait* which is seldom found in other nations? they are constantly see ing to find the good sides of their neigh'ors in the world. )he <ermans used to regard this as evidence of the primitive ways of thought in the $ast. After I had satisfied my friends8 curiosity as far as possi'le I turned to 0uestioning them a'out life in Moscow. !ut while they were very ready to listen to my guarded accounts of life in <ermany* they were very unwilling to answer my 0uestions a'out life in Moscow. )he general mood was 3oyless. $very'ody had hoped that living conditions would improve after the war. !ut now there were signs of famine. And in addition* the papers were again tal ing hysterically of a new war danger. ,hen my friends learned that we in !erlin were in the ha'it of meeting Americans* tal ing to them and even sha ing their hands* they stared at me as if I were a ghost* and did not now what comment to ma e. Although there had 'een a considera'le cooling off in relations 'etween the Allies during the first twelve months after the war* the very fact that we lived in the same city did to some e(tent mitigate the growing tension in official relations. !ut in Moscow the one1sided and continual a'use in which all the press and propaganda weapons were indulging was leading the people* despite their own personal convictions* to thin of the Americans as canni'als. )he propaganda poison was having its effect. 5ne evening I went as usual to see <enia* and found all the family ma ing ready for a 3ourney. Anna +etrovna e(plained that they were going ne(t morning to see =i olai Sergeivich8s parents* who lived in a village 'etween Moscow and >aroslavl* and she invited me in her hus'and8s name to go with them. I new already that his parents were simple peasants* and that* despite their son8s attempts to persuade them* they had refused to move to Moscow* preferring to remain on their land and continue as peasants. I readily accepted the invitation* though <enia turned up her nose a little and made no comment. I had o'served already that she was not fond of visiting her grandparents* and did so only 'ecause her father wished her to. She had grown up in the Moscow milieu, and was completely alien to her peasant origins. $arly ne(t morning =i olai Sergeivich* Anna +etrovna* <enia and I drove in the general8s limousine out of Moscow. ,e passed through the su'ur's with its factories and small houses* and plunged into the forests surrounding the city. )owards midday* after a long 3ourney over 'y1 roads* we drew near to our destination. !umping over the potholes* the car crawled into a village

street. It was enveloped in a deathly silence4 there was not a sign of life anywhere. =o domestic animals* no chic ens* not even a dog to 'e heard. It seemed to have 'een deserted 'y its inha'itants. 5ur car stopped at one of the houses on the outs irts. ,ith a groan the general clim'ed out and stretched his legs after the long drive. Anna +etrovna gathered her things together. <enia and I waited for them to lead the way. )here was no sign of life in the hut. =o'ody came out to welcome us. &inally* the general went up the steps of the porch and opened the unfastened door. ,e went through a dar entry smelling of dung. )he general opened the living1room door without noc ing. In the middle of the room a girl a'out eight years old* 'are1foot and straight haired* was sitting on the floor* swinging a cradle hanging from the ceiling. She was singing under her 'reath. ,hen she saw us she stopped* and stared half in wonder* half in alarm* without rising. 7<ood morning* my child*7 the general said to her. 72ave you lost your tongue:7 In her confusion she only stuc her finger into her mouth. 7,here is every'ody:7 =i olai Sergeivich as ed again. 7)hey8ve gone to wor *7 the child answered. At that moment we heard a noise 'ehind us* and a pair of legs shod in worn felt'oots 'egan to stir on the enormous %ussian stove that filled half the room. A muffled coughing and groaning came from the shelf for a few moments* then a shaggy* gray head was stuc out from 'ehind a cloth curtain. 7Ah.... So it8s you* =i olai;7 an aged* rather hoarse voice said. 7So you8ve come again;7 It was the general8s father. )he old man8s face showed no sign of pleasure at the sight of his son. 7,ho else should it 'e:7 the general thundered with forced gaiety as the old man clim'ed down from the stove. 7I8ve 'rought something for you* Sergei .assilievich. Something for the pain in your legs. >ou won8t refuse a 'ottle of vod a* I8m sure;7 7!read would have 'een more accepta'le than vod a;7 the old man grum'led. 7Marusia* run to the chairman of the collective farm7 1 the general turned to the child 1 7and as him to release all our people from wor today. )ell him the general8s arrived.7 7)he general... the general....7 the old man mum'led in his 'eard. 2e laid his hand affectionately on <enia8s head. 7>ou8re loo ing well* dragon1fly. So you haven8t forgotten your old grand1dad in that Moscow of yours:7 I went to the car and 'rought in the pac ets and 'undles of presents we had 'rought with us. 5ne after another the rest of the family arrived* all the general8s numerous indred and their grown1up children. )hey all seemed rather aw ward* and showed no sign of pleasure at the

arrival of guests. )he last to enter was a man who had 'een wounded in the war* and now wal ed with the aid of a stic . 2e was the general8s cousin* and the collective farm store1 eeper. As usual in the country* the oldest man of the family issued the orders. )he grandfather waved to one of the women? 7"ay the ta'le* Serafima. ,e8ll have dinner now we8ve got guests.7 )urning to his son* he remar ed? 7I don8t suppose you8ve eaten potatoes for a long time* =i olai: ,ell* you can have some now. ,e haven8t any 'read* so we8re eating potatoes instead.7 7,hat8s happened to your corn then:7 =i olai as ed. 72aven8t you received anything yet from the collective farm:7 7%eceived anything...7 the old man muttered. 7)he collective farm handed over everything down to the last grain to the State* and that still left it in de't. ,e haven8t met our delivery plan. ,e8re managing with potatoes at present* 'ut when winter comes... we haven8t any idea what we8ll eat.7 7,ell* don8t worry;7 the general reassured him. 7,e8ve 'rought 'read with us.7 7Ah* =i olai* =i olai; If you weren8t my son I8d show you the door; !rought your 'read to ma e a moc of us country1people* have you: >ou now our custom? the host provides for the guest. >ou8ll eat what we eat. And no arguments; /on8t turn up your nose at our food.7 ,ith a sweeping gesture he invited every'ody to sit down at the ta'le* on which Serafima had set a huge iron pot of steaming 'eetroot soup. =e(t to it she placed a pot of potatoes 'oiled in their 3ac ets. )hen she arranged earthenware plates and wooden spoons round the ta'le. )he general was the first to sit down. 2e was the most tal ative of all the company* and tried hard to show that he was perfectly at home in the house where he had 'een 'orn. 2e 3o ed as he peeled his potatoes* readily held out his plate for Serafima to fill with the 8'eetroot soup8* which apparently had 'een made without meat or fat. &or some time only the clatter of the wooden spoons was to 'e heard. 7,hat8s a dinner without vod a:7 the general e(claimed at last* and he rose and went across to his pac ages. 7,e8ll throw 'ac a glass all round* and then we8ll feel more cheerful.7 All the men in the house readily accepted his invitation* and the 'ottle was swiftly emptied. A second followed it. )he plain peasant food was 0uic ly disposed of. )he general again resorted to his pac ages* and littered the ta'le with cans of preserves la'eled in all the languages of $urope. 2is old father watched him glumly* and tried to protest4 'ut then he held his peace and* staring at the strange la'els* confined himself to the 'rief remar ? 7>ou8ve done some looting....7 )he plentiful supply of vod a had its effect4 they all found their tongues. 7,ell* =i olai* tell us. )hey say there8s a smell of war around again*7 the old man as ed* a little more amia'le after several glasses of vod a.

7,e8re a long way off war at the moment* 'ut we must always 'e ready for surprises*7 the general replied. 7,e8ve won the war* now we must win the peace*7 he added self1importantly. 7,hat sort of world:7 his father as ed* screwing up his eyes cunningly. 7)hat old story again... 8proletarians of all countries unite... 8:7 A)he %ussian word 8mir8 has two meanings? 8peace8* and 8world84 the old man deli'erately twists his son8s remar .B 7,hy of course* we mustn8t forget the proletarians of other countries*7 the general said sluggishly* conscious of the ineptitude of his remar . 7+roletarian solidarity*7 he added* avoiding his father8s eyes. 75f course* of course.... My 'elly tells me every day that we8re proletarians. !ut as for the solidarity; /8you mean that others are to go hungry with us: Is that it:7 7"et8s have another drin * Sergei .assilievich*7 his son proposed* reali-ing that there was no point in arguing with him. 2e filled his glass again. 7!ut tell me 3ust one thing* =i olai.7 2is father went over to the offensive. 7I don8t say anything a'out our having shed our 'lood and gone hungry in this war. <od 'e than ed that it ended as it did. !ut tell me one thing? did the soldiers want to fight at the 'eginning* or didn8t they: >ou should now the answer* you8re a general.7 )he general stared silently at his plate. 7=othing to say:7 the old fellow crowed. 7)he soldiers didn8t want to fight. And you now very well why. !ecause they8d had enough of that song long 'efore. >ou can8t fill your 'elly with songs.7 7!ut all the same we won the war*7 the general said in his own defense. 7=i olai; I8m your father* and you needn8t tell me lies. 2ave you forgotten what was promised us during the war: ,hy were the churches opened again: ,hy have you 'een given %ussian epaulettes: ,hy have you tsarist ri''ons on your chest: >ou hid 'ehind the 'ac s of the %ussian people; ,e were promised land and freedom. )hat8s what we fought for; And where is it all:7 2e 'anged his fist down on the ta'le* ma ing the glasses 3ingle. 7,here is it all:7 he shouted again* furiously pointing a s inny finger at the potato s ins littered a'out the ta'le. 7>ou can8t have everything at once*7 the general fee'ly protested. 7,hat do you mean 'y that: >ou can8t have everything at once;7 )he old man e(ploded li e a gunpowder 'arrel. 7/8you mean it8s going to 'e still worse:7 75h no.... !ut when everything8s 'een destroyed it can8t all 'e restored at once47 the general made his retreat. 7Ah* now that8s a different story; !ut you 'egan at first with the old song? Solidarity; +roletariat; ,e now it all 'y heart. ,e even now it 'ac ward;7

)he general said no more* 'ut apathetically chewed a 'read1crust. )he old man could not get over his e(citement. ,ith a trem'ling hand he helped himself to a glass of vod a and tossed it off. 2e wiped his mouth with the 'ac of his hand* then loo ed a'out him to see if anyone was daring to oppose him. !ut they all sat staring indifferently into their empty plates. 7/on8t tell me any of your fairy1stories* =i olai;7 the old fellow said decisively* with a challenging stare across the ta'le. 7I now all that you8ve 'een up to; /8you thin I don8t now how for the last twenty years you8ve 'een going a'out the world with a flaming torch: /8you thin I don8t now where you got all those gewgaws from:7 2e pointed to the orders on his son8s chest. 7,hen you were lying in that cradle*7 he nodded to the cradle hanging from the ceiling*7 we didn8t only have 'read in the house* we had everything in plenty. =ow you8ve 'ecome a general* 'ut the child in that cradle is crying with hunger. ,hat8s happened to your conscience: Answer me; 2ave you e(changed your conscience for those gewgaws:7 7<rand1dad* where could I find a 'as et:7 <enia* who had 'een sitting silent ne(t to her father* as ed the old man. She rose from the ta'le to go out. 7,hat* dragon1fly* had enough:7 2er grandfather ga-ed after her. 7<o and pic mushrooms in the forest* then we8ll have mushrooms as well as potatoes for supper.7 some

<enia stood at the door with a 'as et on her arm* and nodded to me to go with her. As I left the room I heard the old man say? 7I tell you* =i olai* I don8t want to hear any more a'out the proletariat in my house. If there8s any'ody who8s the last* the very 'ottom1most proletariat* it8s us* and not any'ody else. If any'ody8s got to 'e set free* it8s us; <et that: +ut that in your pipe and smo e it;7 <enia and I wal ed out of the village. )he forest 'egan almost at the last house. )he s y was overcast with gray. )he air was autumn1ally clear* and pervaded with the scent of rotting leaves and dampness. <enia had flung a erchief over her head* notting it 'eneath her chin. She too off her high1heeled shoes and dropped them into her 'as et* and went on in front without saying a word* cautiously stepping with her 'are feet through the grass. I followed her* my eyes delighting in her supple figure. ,e went deeper and deeper into the forest* and at last came to a clearing littered with the great* mossy trun s of felled trees4 all around them was a wilderness of wild 'erries* mushrooms* and grasses. 7!ut what does father come here for at all:7 <enia 'ro e the silence. She wal ed aimlessly along with 'ent head* ga-ing at the ground. 7<randdad always entertains him with this sort of performance* and father seems to li e it.7 7+erhaps he li es to see the difference 'etween what he was and what he is now*7 I suggested.

7I8ve had enough of this comedy* long since;7 she went on. 7And this time it8s all the more unpleasant 'ecause you8ve seen it.7 7<enia;7 I called 0uietly. She turned round so swiftly and so readily that she might have 'een waiting for the call. 2er chestnut eyes were fi(ed on me with a loo of e(pectation. 7<enia* what comedy are you referring to:7 I as ed* feeling an unpleasant suspicion rising in my mind. She stood em'arrassed* distur'ed 'y the tone of my voice. I too her 'y the hands and set her against a large* mossy stump rising as high as her head. She hum'ly stood as I had placed her. 7/on8t you see it for yourself:7 She attempted to avoid my 0uestion. 7!ut it the comedy itself you mind:7 I ga-ed into her eyes and saw that she was e(pecting* yet fearing* my 0uestion. 7,hich one do you thin is the comedian:7 7I... I don8t now* <risha....7 7<enia* which one do you regard as the comedian:7 I repeated harshly. 7I8m sorry for granddad*7 she whispered* lowering her eyes. I could see that this tal was torturing her. 7!ut it8s all so silly... 7 she added* as though e(cusing herself. 7So you thin your grandfather is a comedian:7 I insisted. 7=o4 he8s 0uite right. !ut...7 )ears came into her eyes. I had a feeling of relief* mingled with a warm tenderness. I too her head 'etween my hands and issed her on the lips. I had no wish to go on tormenting her* 'y forcing her to disavow her own father. )here was no need for me to say more. 7/8you now what* <enia:7 I said* as I played with a strand of her hair. 7I8m very grateful to you at this moment.7 7,hy:7 she whispered in surprise. 7I was afraid for you. I was afraid you8d say something else.... 7I felt really upset for the old man*7 I added thoughtfully. 7!efore the war came* each of us lived in his own nest* and each 'uilt his life to the 'est of his a'ility. /uring the war everything was changed* every'ody was threatened and every'ody was e0ual in the presence of death. In those days of 'lood and evil I e(perienced so much good from people I didn8t now at all* from simple people li e your grandfather. )he war 'rought us together in a 'rotherhood of 'lood. =ow I feel sic at heart for these people.7

A gray pall crept across the s y. )he scent of rawness rose from the earth. A 'ird fluttered a'out for a moment* then flew off. 7>ou and I are on top*7 I went on 0uietly. 7,e must never forget that. 5ur 'eing on top and remaining there only ma es sense if we don8t forget it. I thin your father has. And I was afraid you 'ad too....7 )he rustles of the autumnal forest stirred through the glade. I loo ed at <enia8s 'are feet* at her peasant8s erchief* at the 'as et standing 'eside her. In her hands she held a sprig of ash 'erries which she had 'ro en off as she wal ed along. 7I8d 'e tremendously happy if you were only your grandfather8s granddaughter and lived in that hut*7 I said. She pressed closer to me* as if she were cold. 7&or then I8d now you 'elong to me*7 I whispered into her ear. 7>ou now* I often thin of the first days we met. ,hen you were simply <enia* a delightful girl who was a soldier8s friend. /8you remem'er how I noc ed at your door* straight 'ac from the front* in a soldier8s dirty greatcoat: I was always so proud of you... A soldier8s little wife...7 7<risha* tell me 0uite fran ly.7 As she learned against the mossy stump she 'ore little resem'lance to the saucy and carefree girl I had once nown. She spo e 0uietly* seriously. 7>ou8ve come 'ac from !erlin completely changed.... And you tal so little... I feel that something8s getting you down. ,hat is it:7 7<enia* it8s 'ecause I8m sorry that our friendship will never 'e anything more than that...7 7,hat8s preventing it:7 7,hen I first met your father I was proud of him. I thought of him in those days as an e(ample to 'e followed...7 7And now:7 She loo ed into my eyes with a strange loo . I did not answer at once. I could not yet put what I felt into words. 7)hat you should leave the life you8re living now and 'elong only to me... I can8t insist that you should do that*7 I said 0uietly. 7!ut if you were to include me in your life* it would 'e the end for all of us. 7So my father stands in the way:7 she said with a strange calm. )he words came as an answer to my own thoughts. I remained silent* gently stro ing her shoulders. )he leaves of the 'irches rustled 0uietly. )he cloudy s y was silent. Ants crawled aimlessly over the stump. 7/on8t 'e afraid* <risha. I8d come to the same conclusion my1self.7 2er voice 'etrayed her weariness. 7)here8s 3ust one thing I want to say? it isn8t my father that stands 'etween us. ,hat has come 'etween us is something that long since came 'etween me and my father. I am only a woman and a daughter. !ut I feel differently a'out that.7 She was silent for a moment* then she went on? 7I8ve told you once already I8m an orphan...7

She raised the sprig of mountain ash to her face and 'rushed her chee s with the cluster of 'erries. )he air was fresh with the autumn. ,e stood silent in the forest glade* forgetting what we had come there for. 7And so you8ve 0uite made up your mind:7 she as ed at last. I only shrugged my shoulders impotently. 7!ut supposing I throw up everything and come to you in !erlin:7 7My position there is too insecure. I can8t ris your future...7 She played thoughtfully with the cluster of orange 'erries. 2er eyes ga-ed over my shoulder into the distance. 7I shall never forget you* my dear*7 I 'egan* and was not at all sure whom I was trying to comfort* her or myself. My heart 0uivered once more with all the pang of a soldier8s parting* with sadness and tenderness* as in times past. !ut now the girl8s 'ody did not 0uiver and caress me as it had done in the past. It was lifeless and cold. 7/on8t 'e angry with me*7 I pleaded. 7It8s very difficult for me too. .ery...7 She raised her head. )he emptiness in her eyes slowly gave place to the irresisti'le call of life. 7If it has to 'e so* 7 she whispered* 7the soldier8s little wife won8t cry.7 She smiled through her tears. )hen she set 'oth her hands on my shoulders and threw her head 'ac as though she were loo ing at me for the first time. A 'urning iss scalded our lips. After a fortnight in Moscow I suddenly felt a griping void and restlessness. I hurried to put my affairs in order* feeling rather li e a man afraid of 'eing late for a train. Andrei Kovtun had already left Moscow. After his meeting with 2alina he had wandered a'out for several days as though in a trance* dead to everything around him. I had great difficulty in persuading him to ta e the train to Sochi on the !lac Sea* to spend the rest of his leave in a sanatorium. $ven when I saw him off at the station he did not smile* and as he shoo my hand he ga-ed aside. ,hen I left !erlin to return to %ussia I had not felt any need of a rest. !ut now* after a fortnight in Moscow* I felt desperately tired and in need of a 'rea . 5ne morning towards the end of the third wee I hurriedly pac ed my few 'elongings and too a trolley1'us for the 9entral Aerodrome. I had already phoned and found out that there were always free places in the S. M. A. planes flying from Moscow to !erlin. And now* 3ust as I had done more than a year 'efore* I stood in the airport office* entering my name in the passenger list. ,ith a pain in my heart I went to a telephone ios and called up <enia. ,hen I heard her familiar voice I said?

7<enia* I8m phoning from the airport. I8ve 'een urgently called 'ac to !erlin.7 7/on8t tell lies*7 I heard her say. 7!ut I8m not angry with you. 5nly it8s a pity you didn8t give me a parting iss...7 I was a'out to say something* 'ut she had already rung off. 2alf an hour later our plane was air'orne. )his time the pilot did not ma e a farewell circle a'ove Moscow. )his time I did not ga-e out of the window. And I did not loo forward with any feeling of pleasure to what lay ahead of me. I tried to avoid thin ing of what I had left 'ehind me.