'No, no,' she said, 'but thank you very much. There are things one has to do on one's own, burdens one can never share.'
Lyudmila looked at her sister out of the corner of her eye. As though to prove that she and Marya Ivanovna had no secrets from one another, she said: 'Mashenka's got it into her head that you don't like her.'
Yevgenia didn't answer.
'Yes,' said Marya Ivanovna, 'I can feel it. But you must forgive me for saying that. It's stupid of me. What does it matter to you, anyway? Lyudmila should have kept quiet. Now it looks as though I'm forcing myself on you, trying to make you change your mind. Really I just said it without thinking. And anyway…'
To her surprise, Yevgenia found herself saying quite sincerely:
'No, my dear. No. It's just that I'm very upset. Please forgive me. You're very kind.'
Then she got up and said: 'Now, my children – as Mama used to say – it's time.'
26
There were a lot of people on the street.
'Are you in a hurry?' Viktor asked Marya Ivanovna. 'We could go to the park again.'
'But people are already coming home from work. I must be back before Pyotr Lavrentyevich.'
Viktor was expecting her to ask him round. Then Sokolov could tell him about the meeting. But she didn't say anything. He began to wonder if Sokolov was afraid to meet him.
He felt hurt that Marya Ivanovna was in such a hurry. But of course it was only natural. They passed a little square not far from the road leading to the Donskoy Monastery. Suddenly Marya Ivanovna stopped and said: 'Let's sit down for a minute. Then I can get the trolleybus.'
They sat there in silence. Viktor could sense that she was very troubled. Her head slightly bent, she looked straight into his eyes.
They remained silent. Her lips were tightly closed, but he seemed able to hear her voice. Everything was quite clear – as though it had already been said. What difference could words make?
Viktor knew that something very serious was happening, that a new imprint lay on his life, that he was entering a time of deep and painful confusion. He didn't want to make anyone suffer. It would be better if no one knew of their love; perhaps they shouldn't talk of it even to one another. Or perhaps… But they couldn't conceal what was happening now, they couldn't hide their present joy and sorrow – and this alone would have deep and inevitable consequences. What was happening depended only on them, but it seemed like a fate they were powerless to oppose. What lay between them was true and natural, they were no more responsible for it than a man is responsible for the light of day – and yet this truth inevitably engendered insincerity, deceit and cruelty towards those dearest to them. It was in their power to avoid deceit and cruelty; all they had to do was renounce this clear and natural light.
One thing was plain: he had lost his peace of mind for ever. Whatever happened, he would never know peace. Whether he hid his love for the woman beside him or whether it became his destiny, he would not know peace. Whether he was with her, feeling guilty, or whether he was apart from her, aching for her, he would have no peace.
She was still staring at him. Viktor found her look of mingled happiness and despair almost unbearable.
He hadn't given in, he had stood firm against a vast and merciless force – but how weak, how helpless he felt now…
'Viktor Pavlovich,' she said. 'It's time for me to go. Pyotr Lavrentyevich will be waiting.'
She took him by the hand. 'We won't be able to see each other any more. I gave Pyotr Lavrentyevich my word not to see you.'
Viktor felt like someone dying of a heart attack. His heart, whose beating had never depended on his will, was stopping; the universe was swaying, turning upside down; the air and the earth were disappearing.
'But why, Marya Ivanovna?'
'Pyotr Lavrentyevich made me promise to stop seeing you. I gave him my word. I know that's terrible, but he's in such a state, he's quite ill, I'm afraid he might die.'
'Masha,' said Viktor.
There was an invincible power in her voice and her face – the same power that he had been struggling against everywhere.
'Masha,' he repeated.
'Dear God, you can see everything, you understand all too well.
I'm not hiding anything – but why talk about it all? I can't, I just can't. Pyotr Lavrentyevich has been through so much. You know that yourself. And think of Lyudmila's sufferings. It's impossible.'
'Yes, yes, we have no right,' said Viktor.
'My dearest, my unhappy friend, my light,' said Marya Ivanovna.
Viktor's hat fell to the ground. People were probably looking at them.
'Yes, yes, we have no right,' he repeated.
He kissed her hands. As he held her small cold fingers, he felt that the unshakeable strength of her resolve went hand in hand with weakness, submissiveness, helplessness…
She got up from the bench and walked away without looking back. He sat there, thinking that for the first time in his life he had seen happiness, light – and now it had left him. This woman whose fingers he had just kissed could have replaced everything he had ever wanted, everything he had dreamed of – science, fame, the joy of recognition…
27
The following day Savostyanov phoned Viktor and asked after his and Lyudmila's health.
When Viktor asked about the meeting, Savostyanov answered: 'I don't want to upset you, Viktor Pavlovich, but there are more nonentities around than even I ever imagined.'
'Surely Sokolov can't have spoken?' thought Viktor. 'Was a resolution passed?' he asked.
'Yes, a harsh one. That certain things were considered incompatible… That the directors should be asked to reassess…'
'I see,' said Viktor. He had known very well that such a resolution would be adopted, but now it seemed somehow unexpected. He felt quite taken aback.
'I'm innocent,' he thought, 'but still, I'm sure to be arrested. They knew very well that Krymov was innocent, and he was arrested.'
'Did anyone vote against?' he asked. In reply he heard an embarrassed silence.
'No. Viktor Pavlovich, I think it was unanimous. You did yourself a lot of harm by not attending.' Savostyanov's voice was barely audible; he must have rung from a call-box.
The same day, Anna Stepanovna telephoned. She had already been dismissed and no longer went in to the Institute; she didn't know about the meeting. She said she was going to stay with her sister in Murom for two months and invited him to join them. Viktor felt touched.
'Thank you, thank you,' he said. 'But if I go to Murom, it won't be for a rest; it will be to teach physics in a technical college.'
'Heavens, Viktor Pavlovich!' said Anna Stepanovna. 'What made you do all that just for me? You make me despair. I'm not worth it.'
She had obviously taken what he had said about the technical college as a reproach. Her voice was also very faint; she too must be ringing from a call-box.
'Did Sokolov really speak?' Viktor asked himself.
Late that night, Chepyzhin rang. All day Viktor had been like an invalid who came to life only when people spoke about his disease. Chepyzhin obviously sensed this.
'Did Sokolov speak? Can he really have done so?' Viktor asked Lyudmila. But she, of course, knew no more than he did.
A veil seemed to have fallen between him and everyone close to him.
Savostyanov had been afraid to talk about what most concerned Viktor. He hadn't wanted to be the one who told him. He was probably worried that Viktor would meet people from the Institute and say: 'I know everything already. Savostyanov's given me a detailed report.'
Anna Stepanovna had been very affectionate, but she should have done more than just phone him; at a time like this she should have called at his home. And as for Chepyzhin, he should have offered Viktor a job at the Astro-Physics Institute, or at least mentioned it as a possibility.