All they could hope to do now was contain it.
More fire carts arrived on the scene, smaller ones, some drawn by just one horse, others pulled by men. These pumps were manually operated, and the jets they produced were weaker than the steam-driven ones.
It seemed to Virginsky that all this was a waste of energy and, in light of the fallen fireman, of life. The fire would prevail. There was nothing men could do. They must give it its head, let it have its way. They could empty the Neva onto it and it would do no good. The fire would stop only when it was ready to. And even if they succeeded in putting this fire out, another one would be lit somewhere else.
The arrival of the firemen embarrassed him. They reminded him that he was a government official. What was he doing standing and watching while they risked everything to fight the fire? The fact that one of them had died made matters even worse. Besides, the police had turned up now. The crowd was thinning. It was time to make his exit.
He fell into step beside a tall, rather shabbily dressed man with a high narrow face that was somehow reminiscent of a bespectacled axe head. The man wore a workman’s cap pushed back to his crown and an old service greatcoat with the insignia stripped off. The two regarded one another warily. It seemed to Virginsky that the other man was keener to get into conversation than he himself was. Virginsky’s overriding instinct was to keep his own counsel.
‘It is unfortunate about the fireman,’ said the man.
Virginsky nodded minimally.
‘Still and all,’ continued the other, his voice brimming with daring, ‘there must be sacrifices.’
This rankled with Virginsky. ‘It’s easy to call for others to sacrifice themselves. And cowardly.’
‘I quite agree. I was not calling for sacrifices. Merely observing their inevitability. If only the Tsar would abdicate voluntarily, in order to hand power over to a socialist central committee.’ His mouth hiked up on one side sarcastically. ‘If such deaths occur,’ he continued, his voice serious again, almost icily so, ‘it is not the fault of those who wish to overthrow the unjust regime. You would do better to lay the blame at the feet of the regime itself. It has made such acts necessary by clinging on to power.’
Virginsky said nothing. He puckered his lips disapprovingly.
‘You were there, watching the red rooster rampage, I saw you,’ commented the other man.
Virginsky shot him a questioning glance.
‘Yes, I saw you. Indeed, I was watching you. Your face. You want. . this.’ His eyes slid shyly back towards the fire. ‘As much as any of the others, though perhaps you were not as. . vociferous. Still and all. .’
‘One may approve the aims of those who wish to change society so that it functions along more just lines, without approving their methods. I cannot condone the loss of life.’
‘But was he killed by those who started the fire or was he killed by the St Petersburg City Fire Company who failed to ensure his safety as he travelled on the cart? Or indeed by the Governor of St Petersburg, who has failed to introduce statutory regulation to improve the safety record of fire engines? He is not the first fireman to take a tumble from a galloping fire cart. He was a worker — my comrade, my brother. I do not exult at his death. Unlike some of those. . heartless. . bastards. Still and all, I am not sure I must hold the fire-starters responsible. You will admit that they were scrupulous in attacking property — government property at that. The risk to life was minimal.’
‘This was not the only fire set tonight. His may not be the only death. And I doubt the people will thank them for burning the vodka.’
The same one-sided sarcastic smile returned to the man’s face. ‘As I said before, there must be sacrifices.’
Virginsky felt the man’s hand on his arm, pulling him to a halt; he glared resentfully at the presumption.
‘My friend, there is something I would like you to read.’ The man’s smile now was entirely lacking in sarcasm. It was strangely sweet and ingratiating, almost vulnerable. But he continued to hold on to Virginsky’s arm tightly, as though he would not release him until he had responded to the challenge in his last statement.
‘Kindly let go of my arm.’
‘Will you read it?’
‘I cannot say. I don’t know what it is.’
‘Do you realise what a risk I have exposed myself to in asking this of you?’ There was a strange glint in the man’s eye.
‘You have put me at risk too.’
‘No. The risk is greater to me. You may be an agent provocateur.’
‘And so might you.’
The man began to laugh. His laughter was like an axe hacking into soft wood. ‘We may both be. And we may unwittingly entrap one another.’
‘I do not find the prospect amusing.’
‘Permit me to assure you, I am not an agent provocateur.’
‘It matters nothing to me. And besides, you would say that, even if you were,’ observed Virginsky.
The other man smiled. ‘I am a sincere and well-intentioned citizen. I consider myself to be a patriot.’
‘Of course.’
‘And you?’
Virginsky shrugged. ‘This is ridiculous. I have nothing to say to you.’
‘If I release your arm, what will you do?’
‘Go about my business.’
‘That would be a shame. For you. And perhaps for us.’
‘Who is this us?’
‘A small group of people who think as you do.’
‘You do not know how I think.’
‘I saw your face!’ The stranger’s insistent cry sounded like a denouncement.
Virginsky cast a nervous glance over his shoulder; at the same time, he tried to pull away, though without conviction. The man tightened his grip. Virginsky clicked his tongue impatiently. ‘Why do you hold on to me?’
‘I told you, I have something I want you to read.’ The man’s voice was hushed again. ‘If you will agree to read it, I’ll let you go.’
‘Why are you so concerned with having me read this manifesto of yours?’
‘I didn’t say it was a manifesto.’
‘What else would it be?’
‘It might be a poem.’
‘You mean a manifesto in the form of a poem. I’ve seen enough of those.’
‘So, it is not without precedent. That you would read a poem.’
‘Then it is a poem? I’m afraid I do not have an ear for poetry.’
‘That’s not true now, is it? You were very moved by the poetry of fire. Back there.’
‘Unhand me.’
The man released his hold. ‘You are free to go. Of course.’
But Virginsky did not move away. ‘Very well. I will read your damnable poem.’
The man produced a bundle of handbills from inside his greatcoat. He held one out to Virginsky. ‘Take it quickly,’ he hissed.
Virginsky obeyed.
‘Now put it away. Read it when you are alone.’
‘So,’ said Virginsky. ‘Our business is concluded.’
The man smiled. ‘I was not wrong about you, was I? You won’t let me down.’
‘I’ve no idea what you are talking about.’
‘You will read it. And perhaps afterwards, you will seek me out to discuss it.’
‘Seek you out? How am I to do that?’
‘You will invariably find me at moments such as this.’ The man gave a strange smile. ‘Do you realise what a risk I am taking telling you this?’
‘Then why tell me?’
‘Because I saw your face,’ insisted the stranger. ‘I saw your face when the flames were reflected in it.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘You don’t need to know my name. Not yet. Perhaps one day.’
‘But if I am to seek you out, I will need your name.’
‘If you cannot find me, I will find you.’
‘This is ridiculous!’ exclaimed Virginsky. ‘Mystification. You must give me more to go on.’
The man’s expression darkened. ‘You ask questions like a magistrate.’
‘I am a magistrate,’ confessed Virginsky, to his own surprise.