— Please lift his head.
She helped her husband into a sitting position. Zarubin tipped the liquid down his throat. Once he’d swallowed she lowered Leo’s head onto the pillow.
— What was that for?
— It’s a tonic — to help him sleep.
— He needs no help with that.
The doctor didn’t reply. He couldn’t be bothered to think up a lie. The drug administered in the guise of a medicine was in fact the doctor’s own creation: a combination of a barbiturate, a hallucinogenic and, to disguise the taste, flavoured sugar syrup. Its purpose was to incapacitate the body and mind. Administered orally, in less than an hour the muscles went first — becoming slack, relaxed to the point where even the slightest movement felt like unimaginable hard work. The hallucinogenic kicked in shortly after.
An idea had taken hold of Zarubin: it had taken shape in the kitchen when Raisa had blushed and crystallized into a plan the moment he’d smelt soap on her hands. If he reported that Leo wasn’t sick, that he was faking his leave of absence, then he would almost certainly be arrested and interrogated. With all the other doubts surrounding his behaviour there would be a heavy weight of suspicion. He’d most probably be imprisoned. His wife, his beautiful wife, would end up alone and vulnerable. She’d be in need of an ally. Zarubin’s status within the State Security forces matched or even surpassed Leo’s and he felt sure he could offer an acceptable, comfortable alternative. Zarubin was married but he could take her as a mistress. He was convinced that Raisa’s survival instinct was highly tuned. Yet all things considered there might be a less complicated way of getting what he wanted. He stood up.
— Can we speak in private?
In the kitchen, Raisa crossed her arms. There was a furrow in her brow — a tiny crinkle in her otherwise perfect pale skin. Zarubin wanted to run his tongue along it.
— Will my husband be OK?
— He’s suffering from a fever. And I would be prepared to say that.
— You would be prepared to say what?
— I’d be prepared to say that he was genuinely sick.
— He is genuinely sick. You just said so yourself.
— Do you understand why I’m here?
— Because you’re a doctor and my husband is ill.
— I’ve been sent to discover if your husband is genuinely ill or if he’s merely trying to avoid work.
— But it’s obvious that he’s sick. Doctor or not, anyone could see that.
— Yes, but I’m the one who’s here. I’m the one who decides. And they’ll believe what I say.
— Doctor, you just said he was sick. You said he was suffering from a fever.
— And I would be prepared to say that, on the record, if you were prepared to sleep with me.
Remarkably she didn’t even blink. No visible reaction. Her coolness made Zarubin want her even more. He continued:
— It would only be once, of course, unless you took a fancy to me, in which case it could continue. We could come to some arrangement: you’d be rewarded with whatever you wanted, within reason. The point is that no one need ever know.
— And if I said no?
— I would say that your husband was a liar. I would say that he was desperate to avoid work for reasons unknown to me. I would recommend that he be investigated.
— They wouldn’t believe you.
— Are you sure of that? The suspicion is already there. All it needs is a slight push from me.
Taking her silence as acceptance of his offer, Zarubin stepped towards her tentatively pressing a hand against her leg. She didn’t move. They could have sex in the kitchen. No one would know. Her husband wouldn’t wake. She could moan with pleasure, she could make as much noise as she liked.
Raisa glanced sideways, disgusted, unsure what to do. Zarubin’s hand slid down her leg.
— Don’t worry. Your husband is fast asleep. He won’t disturb us. We won’t disturb him.
His hand moved under her skirt.
— You might even enjoy it. Many other women have.
He was so close she could smell his breath. He leaned towards her, his lips parting, his yellow teeth nearing her as though she were an apple he was about to bite into. She pushed past him. He grabbed her wrist.
— Ten minutes is hardly a high price to pay for the life of your husband. Do it for him.
He pulled her closer, his grip tightening.
Suddenly he let go, raising both his hands in the air. Raisa had a knife against his throat.
— If you’re unsure of my husband’s condition, please inform Major Kuzmin — a good friend of ours — to send another doctor. A second opinion would be most welcome.
The two of them sidestepped around each other, the knife against his neck, until Zarubin backed out of the kitchen. Raisa remained at the entrance to the kitchen, holding the knife at waist height. The doctor took his coat, leisurely putting it on. He picked up his leather bag, opening the front door and squinting as he adjusted to the bright winter sunlight:
— Only children still believe in friends and only stupid children at that.
Raisa stepped forward, snatching his hat from the peg and tossing it at his feet. As he bent down to pick it up she slammed the front door shut.
Hearing him walk away, her hands were shaking. She was still holding the knife. Perhaps she’d given him some reason for thinking she’d sleep with him. She ran the events through her mind: opening the door, smiling at his ridiculous joke, taking his coat, making tea. Zarubin was deluded. There was nothing she could’ve done about that. But maybe she could’ve flirted with his proposition, pretended that she was tempted. Maybe the old fool only needed to think that she was flattered by his advances. She rubbed her brow. She’d handled that badly. They were in danger.
She entered the bedroom and sat down beside Leo. His lips were moving as though in silent prayer. She leaned closer, trying to make sense of his words. They were barely audible, fragments which didn’t match up. He was delirious. He gripped her hand. His skin was clammy. She pulled her hand free and blew the candle out.
Leo was standing in snow, the river before him, Anatoly Brodsky on the opposite side. He’d made it across and was almost at the safety of the forests. Leo stepped after him only to see that under his feet, locked within the thick sheet of ice, were the men and women he’d arrested. He looked left and right — the entire river was filled with their frozen bodies. If he wanted to get to the forests, if he wanted to catch that man, he had to walk over them. With no choice — it was his duty — Leo quickened his pace. But his footsteps seemed to bring the bodies to life. The ice began to melt. The river came alive, writhing. Sinking into a slush Leo now felt faces under his boots. It didn’t matter how fast he ran, they were everywhere, behind, in front. A hand caught his foot — he shook it free. Another hand grabbed his ankle, a second, a third, a fourth. He closed his eyes, not daring to look, waiting to be dragged down.