“Good-bye, Vava.”
“He’s not in,” said the gray-haired woman.
“I’ll wait,” said Comrade Sonia.
The woman shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot and chewed her lips. Then she said: “Don’t see how you can wait, citizen. We’ve got no reception room. I’m only Citizen Syerov’s neighbor and my quarters ...”
“I’ll wait in Citizen Syerov’s room.”
“But, citizen ...”
“I said I’ll wait in Citizen Syerov’s room.”
Comrade Sonia walked resolutely down the corridor. The old neighbor followed, nodding dejectedly, watching the swift heels of Comrade Sonia’s flat, masculine shoes.
Pavel Syerov jumped up when Comrade Sonia entered. He threw his arms wide in a gesture of surprise and welcome.
“Sonia, my dear!” he laughed very loudly. “It’s you! My dear, I’m so sorry. I was busy and I had given orders ... but had I known ...”
“It’s quite all right,” Comrade Sonia dismissed the subject. She threw a heavy brief case on the table and unbuttoned her coat, unwinding a thick, masculine scarf from her neck. She glanced at her wristwatch. “I have half an hour to spare,” she said. “I’m on my way to the Club. We’re opening a Lenin’s Nook today. I had to see you about something important.”
Syerov offered her a chair and pulled on his coat, adjusting his tie before a mirror, smoothing his hair, smiling ingratiatingly.
“Pavel,” said Comrade Sonia, “we’re going to have a baby.”
Syerov’s hand dropped. His mouth fell open. “A ... ?”
“A baby,” Comrade Sonia said firmly.
“What the ...”
“It’s been three months, I know,” said Comrade Sonia.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I wasn’t sure.”
“But hell! You’ll have to ...”
“It’s too late to do anything now.”
“Why the devil didn’t you ...”
“I said it was too late.”
Syerov fell on a chair before her and stared intently at her unruffled calm. “Are you sure it’s mine?” he asked hoarsely.
“Pavel,” she said without raising her voice, “you’re insulting me.”
He jumped up, and walked to the door, and came back, and sat down again, and jumped up. “Well, what in hell are we to do about it?”
“We’re going to be married, Pavel.”
He bent toward her, his closed fist on the table. “You’ve gone crazy,” he said heavily.
She looked at him, silently, waiting.
“You’re crazy, I tell you! I have no such intention.”
“But you’ll have to do it.”
“I will, will I ? You get out of here, you ...”
“Pavel,” she said softly, “don’t say anything you may regret.”
“Listen ... what the ... we’re not living in a bourgeois country. Hell! There’s no such thing as a betrayed virgin ... and you were no virgin anyway ... and.... Well, if you want to go to court — try and collect for its support — and the devil take you — but there’s no law to make me marry you! Marry! Hell! You’d think we lived in England or something!”
“Sit down, Pavel,” said Comrade Sonia, adjusting a button on her cuff, “and don’t misunderstand me. My attitude on the subject is not old-fashioned in the least. I am not concerned over morals or public disgrace or any such nonsense. It is merely a matter of our duty.”
“Our ... what?”
“Our duty, Pavel. To a future citizen of our republic.”
Syerov laughed; it sounded as if he were blowing his nose. “Cut that out!” he said. “You’re not addressing a Club meeting.”
“Indeed,” said Comrade Sonia, “so loyalty to our principles is not part of your private life?”
He jumped up again. “Now, Sonia, don’t misunderstand me. Of course, I am always loyal and our principles ... of course, it is a fine sentiment and I appreciate it ... but then, what’s the difference to the ... future citizen?”
“The future of our republic is in the coming generation. The upbringing of our youth is a vital problem. Our child shall have the advantage of a Party mother — and father — to guide its steps.”
“Hell, Sonia! That’s not at all up to date. There are day-nurseries and, you know, collective training, one big family, the spirit of the collective learned early in life, and ...”
“State nurseries are to be the great accomplishment of the future. At present — they are imperfect. Our child shall be brought up as a perfect citizen of our great republic. Our child ...”
“Our child! Oh, hell! how do I know ...”
“Pavel, are you intimating that ...”
“Oh, no, no, I didn’t mean anything, but ... Hell! Sonia, I was drunk. You should have known better than ...”
“Then you regret it, Pavel?”
“Oh, no, no, of course not. You know I love you, Sonia.... Sonia, listen, honest, I can’t get married right now. Really, I’d like nothing better and I’d be proud to marry you, but look here, I’m just starting, I’ve got a career to think about. I’ve just made such a fine beginning, and ... and it’s my duty to the Party to train and perfect myself and rise ...”
“I could help you, Pavel, or ...” She said it slowly, looking at him. She did not have to finish; he understood.
“But, Sonia ...” he moaned helplessly.
“I’m as upset about it as you are,” she said calmly. “It was a more painful surprise to me than it is to you. But I’m prepared to do what I consider my duty.”
He fell heavily on his chair and said dully, without raising his head: “Listen, Sonia, give me two days, will you? To think it over and get sort of used to the idea and ...”
“Certainly,” she answered, rising, “think it over. My time’s up anyway. Have to run. So long.”
“So long,” he muttered, without looking at her.
Pavel Syerov got drunk, that evening. On the following day, he called at the Railroad Workers Union’s Club. The president said: “Congratulations, Comrade Syerov. I hear you’re going to marry Comrade Sonia. You couldn’t make a better match.” At the Party Cell, the secretary said: “Well, Pavlusha, all set to go far in this world? With such a wife ...” At the Marxist Club, an imposing official, whom he had never met before, smiled, slapping his shoulder: “Come and see me any time, Comrade Syerov. I’m always in to a friend of your future wife.”
That evening, Pavel Syerov called Antonina Pavlovna and swore at Morozov and requested a larger share than he had been getting, and demanded it in advance — and, receiving it, bought drinks for a girl he met on the street.
Three days later, Pavel Syerov and Comrade Sonia were married. They stood before a clerk in the bare room of the Zags and signed a large register. Comrade Sonia signified her intention of retaining her maiden name.
That evening, Comrade Sonia moved into Syerov’s room, which was larger than her own. “Oh, darling,” she said, “we must think of a good revolutionary name for our child.”
A hand knocked on Andrei’s door, a weighty knock followed by a thud, as if a fist had leaned heavily against the panel.
Andrei sat on the floor, studying, with a lamp by his side, with the huge white sheets of drafts spread before him. He raised his head and asked impatiently: “Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Andrei,” a man’s voice answered heavily. “Open the door. It’s me, Stepan Timoshenko.”