Life And Fate

'I know,' said Viktor, 'but there's nothing to get upset about. There are two separate lists. You're on the second one. You'll be coming a few weeks later, that's all.'

'But for some reason I'm the only person from our group who isn't on the first list. I've had enough of it here – I think I'm going mad. I dream of Moscow every night. And anyway how are you going to get the laboratory set up without me?'

'I know,' said Viktor. 'But the list has already been authorized. It's very difficult to change it now. Svechin from the magnetic laboratory has already had a word about Boris Israelevich. Boris is in the same position as you, but apparently it's impossible to do anything about it now. I think the best you can do is be patient.'

Then he suddenly lost patience himself.

'Heaven knows what's going on in their heads! They've included people we don't need at all and for some reason they've forgotten you. You're right – we do need you to set the place up.'

'I haven't been forgotten,' said Anna Naumovna, her eyes slowly filling with tears. 'It's worse than that.' She looked round quickly, almost furtively, at the half-open door. 'For some reason it's only Jewish names that have been crossed off the list. And I've heard from Rimma, the secretary of the personnel department, that almost all the Jews have been crossed off the list of the Ukrainian Academy at Ufa. The only ones left are the doctors.'

Viktor gaped at her in momentary astonishment, then burst out laughing.

'My dear woman, have you gone mad? We're not living under the Tsars, thank God! Why this shtetl inferiority complex? It's time you forgot all that.'

8

When he got home, Viktor saw a familiar coat hanging on the peg: Karimov had called round.

Karimov put aside his newspaper. Viktor realized that Lyudmila must have avoided making conversation with him.

'I've just come back from a kolkhoz,' he said. 'I was giving a lecture there… But please don't worry. I've been very well fed. Our people are extremely hospitable.'

So Lyudmila hadn't even offered him a cup of tea.

It was only if Viktor looked very closely at Karimov's rather crumpled face with its wide nose that he could detect any differences from the usual Slavonic mould. But at odd moments, if he turned his head in a particular way, these slight differences merged into a single pattern, changing his face into that of a Mongol.

In the same way Viktor could sometimes recognize someone with blond hair, blue eyes and a snub nose as a Jew. The signs that revealed a man's Jewish origins were often barely perceptible – a smile, the way he furrowed his brow in surprise, even the way he shrugged his shoulders.

Karimov was telling him about how he had met a wounded lieutenant who had gone back home to his village. He appeared to have come merely to tell this story.

'He was a good lad,' said Karimov. 'He talked about everything very openly.'

'In Tartar?'

'Of course.'

Viktor thought that if he were to meet a wounded Jewish lieutenant, he certainly wouldn't start talking to him in Yiddish. He only knew a dozen words and they were just pleasantries like bekitser and haloimes.

This lieutenant had been taken prisoner near Kerch in the autumn of 1941. Snow had already fallen and the Germans had sent him to harvest the remaining wheat as fodder for horses. He had waited for the right moment and then disappeared into the winter twilight. The local population, both Russians and Tartars, had helped him escape.

'I now have real hopes of seeing my wife and daughter again,' said Karimov. 'Apparently the Germans have different kinds of ration-cards just as we do. And he said that many of the Crimean Tartars have fled to the mountains – even though the Germans don't harm them.'

'When I was a student, I did some climbing in the Crimea myself,' said Viktor.

As he spoke, he remembered that it was his mother who had sent him the money for the journey.

'Did your lieutenant see any Jews?' he asked.

Just then Lyudmila looked in through the door and said: 'My mother still hasn't come back. I'm quite anxious.'

'Oh dear, I wonder what's happened to her,' said Viktor absent-mindedly. When Lyudmila had closed the door, he repeated his question:

'What did your lieutenant have to say about the Jews?'

'He said he'd seen a Jewish family being taken to be shot – an old woman and two girls.'

'My God!'

'And he said he'd heard of some camps in Poland specially for Jews. First they're killed and then their bodies are cut up – just like in a slaughterhouse. But I'm sure that's only a rumour. I asked him about the Jews because I knew you'd want to know.'

'Why just me?' Viktor said to himself. 'Isn't it going to interest anyone else?'

Karimov thought for a moment and then said:

'I forgot. He also said that the Germans ordered new-born Jewish babies to be taken to the commandant's office. Their lips are then smeared with some kind of colourless preparation and they die at once.'

'New-born babies?'

'But I'm sure that's just someone's imagination – like the camps where corpses are cut up.'

Viktor started to pace up and down the room.

'When you think about new-born babies being killed in our own lifetime,' he said, 'all the efforts of culture seem worthless. What have people learned from all our Goethes and Bachs? To kill babies?'

'Yes,' said Karimov. 'It's terrible.'

Viktor could sense Karimov's sorrow and compassion, but he was also aware of his joy. Karimov now had more hope of seeing his wife again. Whereas he, Viktor, knew only too well that he would never again see his mother.

Karimov got ready to go home. Viktor didn't want to say goodbye and decided to accompany him for part of the way.

'You know one thing,' he said as they were putting on their coats, 'Soviet scientists are very fortunate. Try and imagine the feelings of an honest German chemist or physicist who knows that his discoveries are helping Hitler! Imagine a Jewish physicist whose family are being killed off like mad dogs – imagine what he feels, when, against his will, his discovery is used to reinforce the power of Fascism! He knows that, but he can't help feeling proud of his discovery. It must be terrible!'

'Yes,' agreed Karimov. 'But a thinking person can't just stop thinking.'

They went out onto the street.

'I feel awkward about your coming with me,' said Karimov. 'The weather's terrible and you've only just got back yourself.'

'It's all right,' said Viktor. 'I'll come as far as the corner.' He looked at his friend's face and said: 'I enjoy walking down the street with you – even if the weather is terrible.'

'Soon you'll be going back to Moscow. We'll have to say goodbye. You know, these meetings have meant a lot to me.'

'Believe me,' said Viktor. 'I feel sad too.'

As Viktor was on his way back, someone called out his name. Viktor didn't hear at first. Then he saw Madyarov's dark eyes looking straight at him. The collar of his overcoat was turned up.

'What's happening?' he asked. 'Have our meetings come to an end? You've vanished off the face of the earth. Pyotr Lavrentyevich is angry with me.'

'Yes,' said Viktor, 'it's a pity. But we did both say a lot of things in the heat of the moment.'

'Yes, but no one's going to pay any attention.'

Madyarov drew closer to Viktor. His large, melancholy eyes looked even more melancholy than usual.

'Still,' he said, 'there is one good thing about our not meeting any more.'

'What do you mean?'

'I have to tell you this,' said Madyarov, almost gasping, 'I think old Karimov's an informer. Do you understand? You meet quite often, don't you?'

'That's nonsense. I don't believe a word of it.'

'Can't you see? All his friends and all the friends of his friends are just labour-camp dust. His whole circle has vanished. He's the only one left. What's more, he's flourishing. He's been granted his doctorate.'