The Russian Interpreter

‘We’re going to Sheremetyevo,’ said Sasha. ‘You have a seat booked aboard the 8.30 a.m. flight to London.’

‘I’m being deported?’

‘Yes. You’ll be at London by half past ten. We collected all your stuff from your room and packed it up – it’s in the boot. Your thesis and all your notes are in the small brown case. Is there anything you want me to collect from anywhere else to send on later?’

Manning shook his head. They drove slowly through the eastern suburbs into the centre of Moscow, not talking. The sky was growing light. Manning caught a glimpse of the university skyscraper floating over the city on the Sparrow Hills, already brilliantly sunlit, the illuminated red star on its pinnacle extinguished against the perfectly cloudless summer sky. At an intersection in the north of the city the sun burst into the car, shining straight down a long boulevard opening from their right, dazzling them. To Manning the streets and the sunlight looked as ordinary and expected as the walls of his cell. He had not yet adjusted to his sudden release. All he felt was a certain dull irritation that he had not been given time to shave before leaving.

‘We’re going to have a lot of time in hand,’ said Sasha. ‘I don’t know whose idea it was, starting this early. Perhaps we’ll be able to get breakfast at the airport.’

The car cruised slowly out to the north-west. Manning wanted to ask about Konstantin and Raya, but felt that it might imply that he knew of some reason why they should be in trouble. It might be wrong to inquire even about Katerina.

‘What’s happening to Proctor-Gould?’ he asked eventually.

‘I don’t know, Paul.’

‘He was arrested?’

‘Oh, yes. You haven’t heard any of the details?’

‘I haven’t been told anything.’

‘Korolenko was arrested, too, of course.’

‘Korolenko? Have either of them been charged?’

‘I don’t know. There was a lot about it in the papers for a start. It’s all public knowledge – I don’t suppose it matters if I tell you.’

He glanced at one of the men sitting next to Manning. The man raised his eyebrows disclaimingly, and looked out of the window.

‘It was all to do with those books which Gordon was presenting at the Faculty dinner that night,’ said Sasha. ‘Apparently the police had examined them beforehand. According to the papers, the books had been in a suitcase which you had deposited at the Kiev Station. I don’t know whether that’s right…?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, the police took the case away from the station, examined the books, and then replaced them in the left luggage office in order to see who they were intended for. The police said that the book which Proctor-Gould gave to Korolenko had a very heavy binding in which there was some money concealed.’

Manning looked out of the window, warmed and dazzled by the serene sunlight which shot into the car between each building shadow. So it had been royalties after all. The terrible deviousness which Proctor-Gould had imposed upon himself was entirely quixotic. Manning remembered the various moral attitudes he had struck about him, and felt ashamed.

At Sheremetyevo Manning opened the brown paper parcel and put on his tie. They got fresh ham rolls at the buffet, and when the girl had raised steam in the Espresso machine, large capuccino coffees.

‘It’s rather ironical, coming to the airport like this to see you off,’ said Sasha. ‘I told Gordon at that dinner that I was ready to go to England as one of his clients.’

‘Oh,’ said Manning.

They sat, waiting for time to pass. Sasha told Manning the Faculty gossip, but to Manning it sounded unreal and dull, like the annals of some village club. He got permission to go to the men’s room under the supervision of one of the guards to shave.

He had his face close to the mirror, and was absorbed in trying not to breathe and steam up the last few clear inches of the glass, when a finger came between himself and his reflection. He stared at it. In the condensation on the mirror it scribbled a six-pointed squiggle, like two cursive w’s – ‘shsh’ – then deleted it, and was immediately withdrawn.

Manning slowly straightened up, and without turning his head looked into the mirror above the wash-basin next to his. The face reflected in it was Konstantin’s. They gazed at each other in the mirror, neither of them giving any sign of recognition. The guard paced slowly up and down the room, gazing at the floor, tapping his ring idly against each hand-basin as he passed, missing out the two which Manning and Konstantin were using. Without hurrying Konstantin dried his hands, and went into one of the lavatory cubicles on the other side of the room.

Manning finished shaving as quickly as he could, cutting himself messily, and asked the guard for permission to use the lavatory. The man nodded, without ceasing his patrol. Manning locked himself into the cubicle next to Konstantin’s, tore off a piece of toilet paper and scribbled on it:

‘Kostik! You’re safe! How did you know I was out?’