Self-discovery

“The work there had stopped of its own accord, Harry Haritonovich,” Azarov laughed sadly. “There's no one to work there now. And there's no one to disband.” He pictured Krivoshein's corpse again with its bulging eyes and pained grin. The academician rubbed his temples and sighed. “In principle I accept your idea for a commission, but its staff has to be changed slightly.” He pulled the sheet of paper over and took out his pen. “We can leave Ippolit Illarionovich, and the engineer on safety procedures, and we need a technical secretary, too. But not the rest. I'll head the commission myself, taking on, as you put it, this burden myself, to spare you. I want to find out what Krivoshein has been doing.”

“And. what about me?” the scientific secretary asked in a crestfallen voice.

“And you take care of your own duties, Harry Haritonovich.” Hilobok felt very ill: his fears were being justified. “He's estranging me!” He was afraid now and hating the dead Krivoshein much more than he had ever hated the live one.

“There! He's really making trouble again, isn't he?” Hilobok spoke, cocking his head to one side. “Look at all the troubles now! Ah, Arkady Arkadievich, don't you think I can see how you're taking this? Don't you think I understand? You shouldn't pull yourself away from your work and get all upset by this. The whole city will be talking, saying that Azarov had another one at the Institute… and that he's trying to cover it up — you know what people are like now. That Krivoshein, that Valentin Vasilyevich! Didn't I tell you, Arkady Arkadievich, didn't I foretell that he would be only trouble and danger! You shouldn't have supported his project, Arkady Arkadievich!”

Azarov listened, frowned, and felt his brain being overpowered by the usual hopeless numbness — like his neurasthenia coming back. This numbness always hit him after a prolonged conversation with Hilobok and forced him to agree with him. Now his head was buzzing with the thought that it probably takes more mental exertion to withstand babble like this than it does to do mathematical research.

“Why don't I fire him?” The idea popped into his mind. “Throw him out of the institute and that's that. This is humiliating. Yes, but with what cause? He manages his responsibilities. He's got eighteen works published, ten years' seniority. He passed the promotion test (of course, there was no one else taking it at the time) — there's nothing to complain about! And I gave him that favorable response on his dissertation like a fool. Should I fire him for stupidity and ineptness? Well… that would certainly be a new precedent in science.”

“He put in orders, used up materials and equipment, took up a whole building, worked for two years — and here you go, this calamity is all yours!” Hilobok was whipping himself up. “And at my defense… it wasn't just me that he shamed. I'm not that important. But he shamed you, Arkady Arkadievich, too! If I had my way, Arkady Arkadievich, I'd give that Krivoshein plenty for what he did to manage, I mean managed to did, I mean, to do, damn it!” He leaned over the desk, his brown eyes flashing with intense hatred. “It's too bad that we award only honors posthumously, write pleasant obituaries and the like. De mortis aut bene aut nihil, you know! But that Krivoshein should be reprimanded posthumously, so that others would learn a lesson! And a severe reprimand! And it should be entered — “

“ — on the tombstone. That's an idea!” a voice added behind him. “What a viper you are, Hilobok.”

Harry Haritonovich straightened up so fast it looked as though someone had given him a shot of rock salt in the rear. Azarov looked up: Krivoshein stood in the doorway.

“Hello, Arkady Arkadievich, forgive me for showing up without an appointment. May I come in?”

“H — he… hello, Valentin Vasilyevich!” Azarov stood up. His heart was pounding wildly. “Hello… oof, I see you're not… I'm happy to see you in good health! Come in, please!”

Krivoshein shook the barely proffered hand (the academician was relieved to see the hand was warm) and turned to Hilobok. Harry's mouth opened and closed noiselessly.

“Harry Haritonovich, would you please leave us alone? I would be very grateful if you did.”

“Yes, Harry Haritonovich, go,” Azarov said.

Hilobok backed to the door, bumping his head soundly on the wall, felt for the doorknob, and rushed out.

Gathering his wits about him, Arkady Arkadievich took a deep breath to calm his heart, sat behind his desk, and suddenly felt irritated. “Was I the butt of a practical joke?” he thought.

“Would you be so kind, Valentin Vasilyevich, to explain what all this means? What is this business with your, forgive me, corpse, the skeleton, and so on?”