The Russian Interpreter

Katerina had gone very red in the face, and her voice broke. She sounded as if she was unable to catch her breath. Korolenko, on the other hand, had remained completely impassive. Now he turned to Manning, and the corner of his mouth twitched up, as if ironically deprecating an unpleasant necessity.

‘You must excuse us,’ he said. ‘A small domestic matter. No doubt you have similar problems at English universities.’

‘Look,’ said Manning, ‘I must make it clear at once that never on any occasion have I heard Katerina say anything critical or disloyal.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ replied Korolenko. ‘She has a record of negative contribution.’

The mouth twitched sardonically up again, and he turned to the doorkeeper.

‘She was creating a disturbance here tonight?’

‘She was trying to get in without a pass.’

‘Quite.’

‘It’s my responsibility entirely,’ said Manning. ‘I invited her to eat in the canteen.’

‘I see,’ said Korolenko. ‘As you will no doubt recall, the canteen is not open to members of the general public.’

‘I’m sorry. We’ll go somewhere else.’

‘However, we shouldn’t like you to take away an impression of inflexibility or over-zealous adherence to the rules. So on this occasion I will waive them.’

Manning looked at Katerina. She was screwing her handkerchief around in her hands in anguish, and two tears were running down her cheeks.

‘I think we’d prefer to go away and eat somewhere else now,’ said Manning.

‘No, no, no,’ said Korolenko. ‘I insist.’

‘I think …’

‘As my guests. I will give instructions for the bill to be sent up to me.’

Manning looked at Katerina uncertainly. She would not catch his eye.

‘Please don’t mention it,’ said Korolenko, as they hesitated in silence. ‘Bon appetit.’

He remained on the eleventh stair, watching them. Propelled by his unblinking gaze, they walked slowly across the lobby to the head of the basement stairs, and went down to the canteen. The smell of grease and cabbage rose around them. Inside, the bare bulbs shone on a glass case with three round yellow cakes in it, and on one solitary student at a table, sitting with his elbows on the dirty oilcloth, gulping down soup.

Manning fetched bowls of soup and glasses of tea from the counter. But Katerina would not touch hers. Several times it was on the tip of his tongue to ask her how she knew Korolenko, and whether she had really been expelled. But he did not, and Katerina volunteered nothing. She sat pale and strained, her eyes cast down, saying nothing, nothing at all, waiting only for Manning to finish and escort her past the doorkeeper again.

21

What action Raya took upon Proctor-Gould’s person Manning never discovered. But a day or two later she began to steal his books.

It seemed to affect Proctor-Gould worse than anything that had happened so far. When Manning arrived, summoned by an incoherent telephone message, he found him pacing slowly up and down the room with his hands behind his back, his face haggard with anxiety.

‘Where is she?’ asked Manning.

‘In the bath,’ said Proctor-Gould, nodding at the bathroom door.

‘She’s pinched some books now?’

‘Yes. About ten, I think – all Russian ones. She just picked out all the books I’ve been given by people here to take back.’

‘You’re sure it’s Raya who took them?’

‘Pretty sure. When I came in this afternoon the books were all over the place. I noticed it at once, of course, and started to count them. Raya was lying on the bed here. She looked up straight away and watched me.’

‘Doesn’t she always look up when you come in?’

‘Not necessarily. But this time she watched me very closely, as if she wanted to see exactly what my reaction was.’

‘You think she stole them just to irritate you?’

‘I suppose so,’ said Proctor-Gould, pulling at his ear, his eyes absent. ‘I suppose so.’

‘And were you irritated?’

‘Yes, I was. I shouted at her. Of course, she couldn’t understand any of it.’

‘So you want me to translate the gist of it to her now?’

‘No, no. I don’t want you to translate anything. The time for rational argument seems to have passed. I really just wanted you to advise me. What am I going to do?’

He flopped down into the arm-chair, and gazed mournfully into the unoccupied middle air. Manning felt sorry for him.

‘Look, Gordon,’ he said. ‘Do you still feel any attraction to Raya?’

Proctor-Gould looked at Manning solemnly.

‘I think she’s the most wonderful girl I’ve ever met,’ he said.

‘Nothing that’s happened in the past week or two changes your view?’

‘Nothing at all. No one could be in my line of business without realizing that human relationships are often exceedingly complex. Raya and I have a complex relationship. But then we’re both complicated, difficult people. Could we really expect a simpler one?’

‘But do you think Raya still feels whatever she used to feel for you?’

‘I think so, Paul, I think so. You may not realize, just seeing us for odd moments, but we’re as thick as thieves.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh, like two bugs in a rug.’

‘Even though you can’t say anything to each other except “Yes, please”?’