‘At any rate, it appears that you need not concern yourself any more about the continuation of these articles.’
‘Are you suggesting that I had a motive for killing this man? But I had no idea he was behind it all. How could I? And I rather suspect that Trudolyubov will find some other hack to take up the cudgels against me.’
‘They call you the Devil’s Professor, you know.’
‘Do they really? I have no idea what they mean by that.’
‘It is an allusion to your atheism, I believe.’
‘But that really is absurd. Yes, I am an atheist. Which is to say, I do not believe in God. By the same token, neither do I believe in the Devil. An atheist cannot also be a Satanist. They have proven themselves to be imbeciles, as we always suspected.’
‘Perhaps that was why Kozodavlev wrote the articles,’ said Virginsky suddenly. His former professor and his superior looked at him with interest. ‘Not to attack Professor Tatiscev, but to subvert Trudolyubov. By tricking Trudolyubov into publishing these ridiculous articles, he succeeded in bringing his newspapers into disrepute. Perhaps he was hoping to provoke Professor Tatiscev into pursuing a defamation charge.’ Virginsky addressed Tatiscev directly: ‘Which he was confident you would win, sir. What he could not bank on was your admirable restraint.’
‘If so, it was rather a subtle plan of his, and one which I rather wish he had not undertaken — at least not without consulting me first.’
‘But perhaps he did,’ said Porfiry, mischievously.
‘But I have already told you that I did not know this Kozodavlev.’
‘Oh, yes, you did, didn’t you!’ Porfiry grinned foolishly. ‘Sometimes it is difficult to retain all the essential elements of a case in one’s mind. Particularly as one gets on in years. Generally, I rely on Pavel Pavlovich to be my memory.’ Porfiry reached across and clasped Virginsky’s arm firmly. ‘He is a pillar of strength to me.’
Virginsky very much wanted to shake Porfiry off, but contented himself with glaring resentfully down at the hand on his arm.
Porfiry at last released his grip and leant back complacently in his chair. ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, Professor, you look to me very much like a man who ought to believe in God.’
‘What on earth do you mean by that?’
‘You have the look of a mystic.’
Tatiscev gave a derisive snort. ‘If Kozodavlev had written that, then I would have sued for defamation, truly.’
‘Have you ever heard of Vissarion Stepanovich Lebezyatnikov, a former professor of history, I believe?’
‘Lebezyatnikov? I have heard the name.’
‘He too was a victim of K.’s attacks.’
Professor Tatiscev shrugged. ‘Again, I do not know him personally. But of course, in this case, there is no reason why I should.’
‘In this case?’
‘I merely meant that with Kozodavlev, you might have expected our paths to cross, given our shared interest in radical politics.’
‘But you have never met Professor Lebezyatnikov?’
‘I cannot say that. There is a chance we may have encountered one another. Was he a professor here at the university?’
‘For a time. Perhaps one of your colleagues in the History and Philology Faculty will remember him?’
‘Perhaps.’
Porfiry brought both hands down on the arms of his seat. ‘We will take up no more of your time. Thank you very much for your help, Professor Tatiscev.’
‘But I fear I have been no help at all!’ There was a glimmer of desperation in the professor’s eyes.
‘It is always helpful to talk a case through, especially with a distinguished professor of law such as yourself.’
Virginsky was horrified to see his superior flutter his eyelids in a manner so insincerely sycophantic as to be insulting. He noted that Professor Tatiscev was by no means taken in. He regarded Porfiry Petrovich mistrustfully. It seemed he did not quite know what to make of him, and for that reason alone perhaps, reserved a small portion of fear amongst his evident contempt.
The pastry vendor
It took a moment for the genteel chatter of the confectioner’s to fall silent. But Salytov knew that the silence would come, to be broken only by gasps and the perilous clatter of silverware on china, as heavy-handled forks fell from involuntarily relaxed grips. It was the moment it took for everyone to notice him, for the full horror of his melded face to be absorbed.
He was used to this. Every time he walked into a roomful of strangers, he experienced a similar reception. And yet it did not lessen his willingness to go abroad. He had no intention of turning himself into a recluse. On the contrary, it was with a certain pride that he held himself upright, thrusting his posture upwards against his cane, facing down the looks of shock and pity with angry contempt. He wanted to scream back at them, That’s right, look at me! I got this face for you, you ungrateful pigs!
Eventually, as happened now, the conversation would resume. Those who had stopped to stare at him would gradually tear themselves away from the freak show of his face, and turn their attention once again to their pastries and their companions. For Salytov, it was almost worse when they did. For in that moment he was left alone with his disfigurement.
The fat German woman avoided looking at him as he approached. No doubt, she would not recognise him from the last time he had visited the shop, before the bomb blast. Perhaps that was just as well, thought Salytov, without exploring his reasons for thinking that.
‘I am looking for Tolya.’
Recognition skittered wildly in her eyes at the sound of his voice. She looked up and stared searchingly into his eyes. ‘You?’
Salytov lifted the angle of his head disdainfully.
‘You have nerve, coming here.’
‘Tolya,’ insisted Salytov.
‘Master will not be happy to see you.’
‘Do you think I care? But I have not come to see your master. I have come for Tolya.’
‘Always Tolya. Still you persecute that boy. He is a good boy. You leave him alone.’
‘I merely wish to speak to him. He is not in any trouble. That is to say, he will not be in any trouble so long as he co-operates with me.’ After a moment, he added, ‘And is not found to have done anything criminal. If that is the case, then, naturally, he will feel the full force of the law come down upon him.’ Salytov rammed the tip of his cane against the floor to reinforce his point.
‘He is not here. Master let him go. After all the trouble.’ From the woman’s scowl, it was clear that she held Salytov responsible.
‘Where is Tolya now?’
The German woman’s nose wrinkled distastefully.
Salytov lifted his cane and slapped it threateningly into his spare hand. ‘I’m sure you don’t want any trouble, like last time. Then your master had Tolya to blame. Now. .’ Salytov pointed the tip of his cane at the woman.
‘I heard he sell pastries in Gostinny Dvor.’
As the door closed behind him, he sensed the explosion of relief, as the customers burst into conversation, far more garrulous and excitable than that which his entrance had quelled.
*
Everywhere Salytov looked, he saw a reflection of himself. He was standing on Sadovaya Street, facing the longest of Gostinny Dvor’s frontages. This stretch of the great bazaar, where the mirror sellers clustered, was known as ‘Glass Line’. Here, the windows of the vaulted arcade were given over to displays of looking glasses of every size and shape, fragmented walls of reflection that threw the observer’s image back in his face. It was not a comfortable place for Lieutenant Salytov to stand. And yet he did not, for the moment at least, turn away or move on.
There was no doubt a streak of masochism in his nature that kept him rooted there, confronting the multiple glimpses of his damaged flesh. It was as if he needed to remind himself what he had suffered, in order to understand who he had become. But however many mirrors he stood before, and however long he looked into them, he would never be able to relate the grotesque stranger he saw to his own sense of himself.