Then there was much noise, too much noise, glasses clinked, voices rose, hands slapped shoulders, everybody yelled at once. No one looked at Lavrov.
Only Vasili Ivanovitch approached him slowly and stood looking at him. Their eyes met. Vasili Ivanovitch extended his glass and said: “Let us drink to our children’s happiness, even though you don’t think that they will be happy, and I don’t, either.”
They drank.
At the other end of the room, Victor seized Marisha’s wrist, dragging her aside, and whispered, his white lips at her ear: “You damn fool! Why didn’t you tell me about him?”
She muttered, blinking, her eyes full of tears: “I was scared. I knew you wouldn’t like it, darling.... Oh, darling, you shouldn’t have ...”
“Shut up!”
There were many drinks to follow. Victor had provided a good supply of bottles and Pavel Syerov helped to open them speedily. The trays of pastry were emptied. Dirty dishes were stacked on the tables. A few glasses were broken. Cigarette smoke hung as a motionless blue cloud under the ceiling.
Marisha’s family had left. Galina Petrovna sat sleepily, trying to keep her head erect. Alexander Dimitrievitch snored softly, his head on the arm of his chair. Little Acia had fallen asleep on a trunk in the corridor, her face smeared with chocolate frosting. Irina sat in a corner, watching the crowd indifferently. Comrade Sonia bent under the pink lamp, reading a newspaper. Victor and Pavel Syerov were the center of a group at the buffet that clinked glasses and tried to sing revolutionary songs in muffled voices. Marisha wandered about listlessly, her nose shiny, the white rose wilted and brownish on her shoulder.
Lydia staggered to the piano and put an arm around Marisha’s waist. “It’s beautiful,” said Lydia in a thick, sad voice, “it’s beautiful.”
“What’s beautiful?” Marisha asked.
“Love,” said Lydia. “Romance. That’s it: romance.... Ah, love is rare in this world. They are few, the chosen few.... We wander through a barren existence without romance. There are no beautiful feelings left in the world. Has it ever occurred to you that there are no beautiful feelings left in the world?”
“That’s too bad,” said Marisha.
“It’s sad,” Lydia sighed. “That’s what it is: sad.... You’re a very lucky girl.... But it’s sad.... Listen, I’m going to play something beautiful for you.... Something beautiful and sad....”
She struck the keys uncertainly. She played a gypsy love song, her fingers rushing suddenly into quick, sharp trills, then lingering on long, sad chords, then slipping on the wrong notes, her head nodding.
Andrei whispered to Kira: “Let’s go, Kira. Let me take you home.”
“I can’t, Andrei. I ...”
“I know. You came with him. But I don’t think he’s in a condition to take you home.”
He pointed at Leo across the room. Leo’s head, thrown back, was leaning heavily against an armchair. His one arm encircled Rita’s waist; the other was thrown across the shoulders of a pretty blonde who giggled softly at something he was muttering. Rita’s head rested on his shoulder and her hand caressed his dishevelled hair.
Kira rose silently, leaving Andrei, and walked to Leo. She stood before him and said softly: “Leo, we had better go home.”
He waved sleepily. “Leave me alone. Get out of here.”
She noticed suddenly that Andrei stood behind her. He said: “You’d better be careful of what you say, Kovalensky.”
Leo pushed Rita aside and the blonde slid, giggling, to the floor. He said, frowning, pointing at Kira: “And you’d better keep away from her. And you’d better stop sending her gifts and watches and such. I resent it.”
“What right have you to resent it?”
Leo stood up, swaying, smiling ominously: “What right? I’ll tell you what right. I’ll ...”
“Leo,” Kira interrupted firmly, weighing her every word, her voice loud, her eyes holding his, “people are looking at you. Now what is it you wanted to say?”
“Nothing,” said Leo.
“If you weren’t drunk ...” Andrei began.
“If I weren’t drunk, you’d what? You seem sober. And yet not sober enough not to be making a fool of yourself over a woman you have no right to approach.”
“Well, listen to me, you ...”
“You’d better listen, Leo,” Kira interrupted again. “Andrei finds this the proper time to tell you something.”
“What is it, Comrade G.P.U.?”
“Nothing,” said Andrei.
“Then you’d better leave her alone.”
“Not while you seem to forget the respect that you owe to ...”
“Are you defending her against me?” Leo burst out laughing. Leo’s laughter could be more insulting than his smile, more insulting than a slap in the face.
“Come on, Kira,” said Andrei, “I’ll take you home.”
“Yes,” said Kira.
“You’re not taking her anywhere!” Leo roared. “You’re ...”
“Yes, he is!” Irina interrupted, stepping suddenly between them. Leo stared at her, amazed. With sudden strength, she whirled him about, pushing him into a window niche, while she nodded to Andrei, ordering him to hurry. He took Kira’s arm and led her out; she followed silently, obediently.
Irina hissed into Leo’s face: “Are you insane? What were you trying to do? Yell for all of them to hear that she’s your mistress?”
Leo shrugged and laughed indifferently: “All right. Let her go with anyone she pleases. If she thinks I’m jealous, she’s mistaken.”
Kira sat silently in the cab, her head thrown back, her eyes closed.
“Kira,” Andrei whispered, “that man is no friend of yours. You shouldn’t be seen with him.”
She did not answer.
When they were driving by the palace garden, he asked: “Kira, are you too tired to ... stop at my house?”
She said indifferently: “No. I’m not. Let’s stop.”
When she came home, Leo was sprawled on the bed, fully dressed, asleep. He raised his head and looked at her.
“Where have you been, Kira?” he asked softly, helplessly.
“Just ... just driving around,” she answered.
“I thought you had gone. Forever.... What was it I said tonight, Kira?”
“Nothing,” she whispered, kneeling by his side.
“You should leave me, Kira.... I wish you could leave me.... But you won’t.... You won’t leave me, Kira ... Kira ... will you?”
“No,” she whispered. “Leo, will you leave that business of yours?”
“No. It’s too late. But before ... before they get me ... I still have you, Kira ... Kira ... Kira ... I love you ... I still have you....”
She whispered: “Yes,” pressing his face, white as marble, to the black velvet of her dress.
VI
“COMRADES! THE UNION OF SOCIALIST SOVIET REPUBLICS is surrounded by a hostile ring of enemies who watch and plot for its downfall. But no external enemy, no heinous plot of world imperialists is as dangerous to us as the internal enemy of dissension within our own ranks.”
Tall windows checkered into small square panes were closed against the gray void of an autumn sky. Columns of pale golden marble rose spreading into dim vaults. Five portraits of Lenin, somber as ikons, looked down upon a motionless crowd of leather jackets and red kerchiefs. A tall lectern, like the high, thin stem of a torch, stood at the head of the hall; above the lectern, like the flame of the torch spurting high to the ceiling, hung a banner of scarlet velvet with gold letters: “The All-Union Communist Party is the leader of the world fight for Freedom!” The hall had been a palace; it looked like a temple; those in it looked like an army, stern, silent and tense, receiving its orders. It was a Party meeting.