The Russian Interpreter

‘Poor old helmet,’ she said. ‘Manufactured and issued and worn and punctured and lost and rusted by the forces of historical necessity. Found and touched and lost again by Raissa P. Metelius, lecturer.’

She jumped up restlessly, dropping the helmet, and pulled Manning to his feet.

‘Come on!’ she said.

She was excited and nervous. Manning put his arms round her and kissed her mouth, but after a few seconds she broke away and ran off into the trees. Now she was laughing. He caught up with her and kissed her again. They fell into the wet grass together. Laughing and laughing, Raya sat up and stuffed handfuls of dead leaves into his mouth.

He was sitting up and spitting out the leaves when an unhappy thought occurred to him. It was too good to be true. That was what was wrong with it. She had joined the expedition uninvited – sat opposite him in the train – followed him into the forest – kissed him. The whole thing was being organized not by him but by her. Wasn’t it all somewhat reminiscent of those cases one heard about, where foreigners in Russia were compromised, and then blackmailed into working for Soviet intelligence? The idea was ridiculous. All the same … He stopped where he was, on one knee, a leaf still hanging on his chin. It was a horribly anaphrodisiac thought.

‘What is it?’ asked Raya, alarmed by the expression on his face. She ran back and knelt beside him.

‘Nothing,’ said Manning. ‘I was just wondering …’

‘Wondering what?’

‘If all this wasn’t just some sort of trick.’

‘How do you mean, a trick?’

‘You know, to compromise me. Or Proctor-Gould. The way it’s done sometimes. So the authorities can have some kind of lever against us.’

She stared at him, her hand on his arm, as if he was telling her he had some sort of pain. Then she began to smile.

‘You think I might be working for the K.G.B.?’

‘It was just a sudden thought.’

Raya jumped up and clapped her hands.

‘It was a good thought,’ she said. ‘From the historical-dialectical point of view it was a fruitful and positive thought.’

‘It’s happened, Raya.’

‘Certainly. And will again. I have photographers concealed behind the trees waiting to snap the slightest lewd gesture.’

‘People have been photographed, Raya.’

Suddenly she swung round and shouted across to a thicket of birches some twenty yards away. ‘Quick, Misha – now! While his trousers are still undone!’

Manning’s hand flashed down to his trousers. They were done up. Raya started to laugh, and he began to laugh too. They sat on the ground looking at one another and laughing. She pushed him down, and seized his ears, and banged his head gently up and down on the dead leaves, still laughing helplessly.

11

They walked soberly through the woods, holding hands.

‘All the same,’ said Manning. ‘I don’t know, do I?’

‘No, you don’t.’

‘Are you?’

‘What’s the good of my answering? It would be meaningless.’

‘All the same.’

‘You want a meaningless answer?’

‘It’s better than none’

‘All right, then. I am leading you into a trap.’

‘Don’t joke, Raya.’

‘You see?’

‘I know perfectly well you’re not.’

‘All right – I’m not.’

They walked in silence, looking at the ground.

‘You wouldn’t think we’d only set eyes on one another about four hours ago,’ said Manning.

‘Judging by some of the things that have been said, I’m astonished it’s more than four minutes.’

‘You see my point, though.’

‘Oh, yes.’

They became silent again.

‘Would you mind if people knew you’d held my hand in the woods?’ asked Raya.

‘Of course not.’

‘Well, then.’

‘But we might do more than just hold hands.’

‘Might we?’

‘Well, mightn’t we?’

They stopped and looked at each other gravely. Then Raya lowered her eyes and began to play with the button on his jacket.

‘Am I acting in good faith?’ she asked quietly.

He did not reply.

‘Go on,’ she insisted, still quietly, running her hands over the fabric of his jacket, as she had over the helmet. ‘Tell me what you think. Am I?’

‘I don’t know.’