But today he was riding the wave of his success. Ten days ago he had felt awkward about visiting Shishakov at work; now it seemed quite simple and natural to phone him at home.
'Who's speaking?' a woman's voice answered.
Viktor was pleased by the way he announced his name: he sounded so calm, so unhurried.
The woman paused for a moment and then said in a friendly voice:
'Just a minute.'
A minute later, in the same kindly voice, she said:
'Please phone him tomorrow morning at the Institute, at ten o'clock.'
'Thank you, I'm sorry for troubling you.'
Viktor felt a burning embarrassment spread over his skin and through every cell of his body. He thought wearily that this feeling would stay with him even while he slept; when he woke up in the morning, he would think, 'Why do I feel so awful?' and then he would remember, 'Oh yes, that stupid telephone call.'
He went in to Lyudmila's room and told her about his attempt to speak to Shishakov.
'Yes,' said Lyudmila. 'You certainly have got off on the wrong foot – as your mother used to say about me.'
Viktor began to curse the woman who had answered the phone.
'To hell with the bitch! I hate that way of asking who's speaking and then saying that the boss is busy.'
Lyudmila usually shared Viktor's indignation at incidents like this; that was why he had come to talk to her.
'Do you remember?' said Viktor. 'I had thought that Shishakov was so distant because he couldn't get any credit for himself out of my work. Now he's realized that there is a way – by discrediting me. He knows that Sadko doesn't love me.' [48]
'God, you are suspicious!' said Lyudmila. 'What time is it?'
'A quarter past nine.'
'You see. Nadya's still out.'
'God, you are suspicious!' said Viktor.
'By the way,' said Lyudmila, 'I heard something at the store today: apparently Svechin's been nominated for a prize too.'
'Well, I like that! He never said a word about it. What for, anyway?'
'For his theory of diffusion.'
'That's impossible! It was published before the war.'
'You wait – he'll be the one who wins it! And you're doing all you can to help him.'
'Don't be a fool, Lyuda.'
'You need your mother. She'd have said what you wanted to hear.'
'What are you so angry about? I just wish that you'd shown my mother a fraction of the warmth I've always felt for Alexandra Vladimirovna.'
'Anna Semyonovna never loved Tolya,' said Lyudmila.
'That's not true,' said Viktor.
His wife had become a stranger. He found her obstinacy and her unfairness quite frightening.
52
In the morning Viktor had news from Sokolov. Shishakov had invited some of the Institute staff round to his home the previous evening; Kovchenko had come to fetch Sokolov in his car. One of the guests had been young Badin, the head of the Scientific Section of the Central Committee.
Viktor felt even more mortified; he must have rung Shishakov when his guests were already there. He gave a little smile and said: 'So Count St Germain was one of the guests. And what did the gentlemen discuss?'
He suddenly remembered the velvet tone of voice he had used to give his name; he had been certain that Shishakov would come running delightedly to the phone as soon as he heard the name 'Shtrum'. He groaned. He then thought that only a dog could have groaned so pitifully, a dog scratching at a particularly annoying flea.
'I must say,' said Sokolov, 'you'd never have thought it was wartime. Coffee, dry Georgian wine. And not many people at all – less than a dozen.'
'How strange,' said Viktor. Sokolov understood the meaning of his thoughtful tone of voice.
'Yes, I don't really understand,' he said equally thoughtfully, 'or rather I don't understand at all.'
'Was Gurevich there?'
'No, they phoned him but he had a session with some of the postgraduates.'
'Yes, yes, yes,' said Viktor, drumming one finger on the table. Then, to his surprise, he heard himself asking:
'Pyotr Lavrentyevich, was anything said about my work?'
Sokolov hesitated for a moment.
'I get the feeling, Viktor Pavlovich, that the people who sing your praises so unreservedly are doing you a disservice. It upsets the authorities.'
'Yes?' said Viktor. 'Go on. Finish what you're saying.'
Sokolov said that Gavronov had asserted that Viktor's work contradicted the Leninist view of the nature of matter.
'Well?' said Viktor. 'What of it?'
'Gavronov doesn't matter. You know that. But what does matter is that Badin supported him. His line seemed to be that for all its brilliance, your work contradicts the guidelines laid down at that famous meeting.'
He glanced at the door, then at the telephone, and said very quietly:
'You know, I'm afraid our bosses are going to pick you as a scapegoat in a campaign to strengthen Party spirit in science. You know what that sort of campaign's like. They choose a victim and then crush him. It would be terrible. And your work's so remarkable, so unique.'
'And so no one stood up for me?'
'I don't think so.'
'And you, Pyotr Lavrentyevich?'
'There seemed no point in arguing. One can't refute that kind of demagogy.'
Viktor sensed his friend's embarrassment and began to feel embarrassed himself.
'No, no, of course not. You're quite right.'
They fell into an uncomfortable silence. Viktor felt a shiver of fear, the fear that was always lurking in his heart – fear of the State's anger, fear of being a victim of this anger that could crush a man and grind him to dust.
'Yes,' he said pensively. 'It's no good being famous when you're dead.'
'How I wish you understood that,' said Sokolov quietly.
'Pyotr Lavrentyevich,' asked Viktor in the same hushed voice, 'how's Madyarov? Is he all right? Have you heard from him? Sometimes I get very anxious. I don't know why.'
His question, unprompted and spoken in a whisper, was a way of saying that some relationships are special, and have nothing to do with the State.
'No, I've had no news from Kazan at all.'
Sokolov's reply, delivered in a loud, unruffled voice, was a way of saying that such a relationship was no longer appropriate for them.
Then Markov and Savostyanov came into the office and the topic of conversation changed. Markov was citing examples of women who had poisoned their husbands' lives.
'Everyone gets the wife he deserves,' said Sokolov.
He looked at his watch and left the room. Savostyanov laughed and called after him:
'If there's one seat in a trolleybus, then Marya Ivanovna stands and Pyotr Lavrentyevich sits. If the doorbell rings during the night, he stays in bed and Mashenka rushes out in her dressing-gown to find out who's there. No wonder he thinks a wife is a man's best friend.'
'I wish I was as lucky,' said Markov. 'My wife just says, "What's the matter with you? Have you gone deaf or something? Open the door!'"
Feeling suddenly angry, Viktor said: 'What are you talking about? Pyotr Lavrentyevich is a model husband.'
'You've no reason to complain, Vyacheslav Ivanovich,' said Savostyanov. 'You're in your laboratory day and night. You're well out of range.'
'And do you think I don't have to pay for that?' asked Markov.
'I see,' said Savostyanov, savouring a new witticism. 'Stay at home! As they say – "My home is my Peter and Paul fortress".' [49]
Viktor and Markov burst out laughing. Obviously afraid that there might be more of these jokes, Markov got up and said to himself: 'Vyacheslav Ivanovich, it's time you were back at work!'
When he'd gone, Viktor said: 'And he used to be so prim, so controlled in all his movements. Now he's like a drunkard. He really is in his laboratory day and night.'