The scientist thought for a moment, then said: “Yes. In fact, it’s obvious. We should have thought of it ourselves.”
So the commander exploded at the scientist, and Filin took that opportunity to escape from the office. As he did, he passed five men with rifles — the execution squad, who had been calmly waiting for the order to shoot him.
“What’s going to happen here, without Korolev?” I asked.
“That’s what everyone is trying to decide. Who will run the bureau?”
“One of Korolev’s deputies, I assume.” That group included Filin himself.
“That’s logical, but the ministry is trying to ram one of its people down our throat.” He nodded at the closed door, indicating the group of people who had just departed. “We were just discussing ways to…” He smiled, choosing the word carefully: “… deflect that.”
He cleared his throat, then reached for a paper on the table. “Speaking of personnel changes, I have just been told that, in spite of restrictions on the size of my section, I am authorized to hire a junior engineer for it.” He waited for my reaction.
“May I apply?” It was all I could think to say.
“The job is yours, Yuri. It pays two hundred fifty rubles per month.” I couldn’t tell whether I had failed, or passed, some test. “I think you’ll find the work interesting.”
“Is it working on spacecraft?”
“Oh, yes. Manned spacecraft,” he said. “Manned spacecraft to the Moon.” Now he had surprised me, though I can’t explain why. I knew my country had a space program, but even then, the business of putting a man on the Moon still seemed to me a fantasy, like the socialist paradise we all hoped to inherit. Only at that moment, when someone in authority openly proclaimed it, did I finally believe. “You will finish your studies at school, of course. As your adviser, I could hardly encourage you to leave now.
“But you can divide your time between here and school. You will report to Stepan Triyanov in Building 11 tomorrow at eight A.M.”
So ended my career as an errand boy. I made the long trip back to Bauman, to attend another class, then hurried home just as it was getting dark.
The five-block hike to my building was more difficult than usual because I was carrying a bag of groceries. I had stood in line at a kiosk for an hour just to buy half a dozen oranges. It would be a little celebration for Marina, who was supposed to return from Orel tonight. My roommates had promised to stay away until ten P.M.
As I approached the building, I noticed a black, official-looking Zil limousine idling near the entrance. Near the entrance was all right. You had to worry when it was parked in the back, near some stairway. That meant some poor soul was about to be hauled out of his flat, dragged downstairs, and driven off to an interrogation cell.
Or, at least, it had in the old days. Growing up in and around Moscow most of my life, I had played “Knock” with my friends. One boy would be the agent of State Security. He would suddenly point at another… who then had to run to home base for safety before the rest of us could catch him. If we did, we took him out and “shot” him. It was a pretty good game, far more interesting than hide-and-seek, but we had to stop after Yegor Sinchik’s grandmother caught us and beat the hell out of us. I didn’t expect the “knock” to come for me these days — especially given my current assignment for Party and country. But it was still a reminder.
My father had made himself right at home. He was sitting at the table reading a book and drinking from a tiny shot glass, which he kept filling from a vodka bottle.
“Where did you get this piss?” Those were his first words to me as I opened the door.
“The booze or the book?” I squeezed past him to set the groceries on the counter.
“The booze. The book’s okay.”
I saw that the book was a romance I had received as a gift when I was eleven, Herbert Wells’s Time Machine. The book represented another attempt by my mother to steer me away from a military-industrial career and into the arts. “What’s wrong with the booze? You brought it.”
“When?”
“May, I think. We drank a toast to your Order of Kutuzov’s beard or whatever.”
“It was the Red Star and that means this swill has been open for seven months! Don’t you ever drink?”
“Not enough, apparently. And when did you get so interested in vodka?”
Slightly chastened, the general got up to his full height of five-feet-three-inches and kissed me, awkwardly. “It’s my work.” He sighed. “I may be a bad father, but I’m the only one you’ve got.”
“What brings you across the river on a cold night?”
The general moved to the living area, peering out the frosty window. “I had a call from Vladimir, something about a possible new job for you.”
“Yes. He wants me to keep my eyes open at the bureau. And report to him.”
My father seemed to slump. “I asked him not to involve you.”
“In what? His work? It’s Party business, isn’t it?”
“Yuri, there is a big difference between Party business and Vladimir’s dirty work.”
I had unloaded some of my groceries, putting out some black bread and herring. I scrounged a chunk of sausage and put that on the table, too. “Did you want me to say no?”
“What I want is for him to stay out of your life.”
I had never seen my father like this, at least not on the subject of Uncle Vladimir. He was actually red-faced, uncomfortable. “Did you tell him that you were at the hospital the other day?”
“No. Did you?”
“No. And you shouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
He was already making that familiar gesture with open hands, the one that said, don’t ask, before taking a healthy bite of the sausage and grunting with satisfaction.
“What’s this all about?”
“Can’t I be concerned about your welfare?” he said, mouth full, crumbs flying. “I’m a military officer. I understand honor and truth. You won’t find that in State Security. You’ll have to lie to everyone from now on.”
“That’s ridiculous!” I was annoyed. I had been enjoying the secret thrill of being an agent of State Security, especially since it had gotten me the bureau job I wanted. And here my father was, ruining my fun.
There was a knock at the door. My father almost jumped. “Are you expecting someone?”
“Yes,” I said, rather sharply. I opened the door to Marina.
She looked lovely, though somewhat hidden, in her fur hat and heavy coat, carrying a bag much like the one I had carried. Her dark hair, her green eyes, her smile, her voice — all conspired to excite me. We held each other until my father said, “Well, come in and close the door.”
Marina set her bag on the table. “It’s nice to see you again, General.”
He barely grunted as he buttoned his tunic, prelude to a quick departure. Marina smiled at both of us and moved into the kitchen.
“What will you tell her?” the general asked me quietly.
“What do you care? You didn’t even say hello to her!”
“I told you, she is the wrong woman.”
“So that allows you to be rude?” To be honest, I rarely spoke to my father like this. But I was angry at him before Marina’s arrival, and thanks to my new job and association with Uncle Vladimir, feeling more independent.
I must have reached him. “Tell her I’m sorry.”
“You tell her.”
He shook his head. “If only her father…”
“What about her father?”
“That’s just it: No one seems to know. But everyone seems to think it was bad.”