The Russian Interpreter

It was late at night, and they were walking down a long, empty road somewhere on the outskirts. On both sides of the road, for as far as the eye could see, the scattered street-lamps shone weakly on tussocks of dusty grass and tall concrete fences. From behind the fences the sudden drenching scent of lilacs came and went.

‘It’s not something that matters,’ said Katerina. ‘I’m not even thinking about it.’

Manning had been telling her about the books. Now he wished he had not. She had scarcely listened, she was so miserable, cross-grained, and metaphysical. Apparently Kanysh had still not written. Manning felt tired – literally sick and tired. An ague of tiredness had set into his bones.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have bothered you with it.’

‘No, you shouldn’t,’ said Katya. ‘You shouldn’t bother yourself with it, either. All you want to do is to discover the contingent causes of contingent states of affairs. What do they matter? If it’s not one reason for these people behaving as they did it’s another. What we ought to use our God-given faculties to discover is the nature of those things which are not contingent, which could not be otherwise.’

‘Surely it’s right for us to try to understand our fellow human beings?’

‘You don’t come to know people by knowing about them. I know you very well, Paul, without knowing anything at all about you. I don’t want to find out what you’ve done in the past, or why you did it. That would be idle curiosity. The answers would be irrelevant to what you now are. They might even conceal you from me.’

‘I don’t see it like that, Katya.’

‘I know. That evening we met Korolenko I could feel the questions you were burning to ask. How did Korolenko know my name? Which of us was telling the truth? What had happened to make me so frightened of him?’

‘I didn’t ask them, Katya.’

‘Only out of consideration. You thought them. You shouldn’t have been interested in such things. What happened in the past has nothing to do with what I am now. Don’t you know that God washes out the past each evening, as if it had never been, and that we are born again each morning? What happened yesterday is just gossip, Paul, just empty gossip.’

Manning didn’t reply. Katerina’s habit of projecting aspects of the truth across the whole screen of the universe suddenly irritated him. Somewhere far away the siren of a train wailed, and there was a crash of shunted trucks. He longed to leave Moscow.

‘I’m glad Raya has left you in peace, anyway,’ said Katerina. ‘She brought out the worst in you. Her friend Konstantin Churavayev is like you, incidentally.’

‘You know him?’

‘His world is bounded by what? who? when? where? He is addicted to information.’

‘What else do you know about him?’

‘Nothing. In any case, it’s not important. Don’t gossip.’

Somewhere behind them a shoe scraped on the uneven roadway. Manning turned round. There was a man silhouetted against one of the yellowy patches of lamplight about thirty yards away. He was walking quietly in the same direction as themselves – the only person in the whole silent length of the street.

‘Stop a moment, Katya,’ said Manning.

He listened. There was silence in the road behind them. The man had stopped, too.

‘What is it?’ said Katya.

They began to walk again. So did the man. Now that he was listening for them, Manning could hear his footsteps fairly distinctly. He was walking close up against the concrete fence, where the cushioning clumps of weedy grass were thickest. Manning waited until he guessed the man was near a street-lamp.

‘Stop,’ he said quietly to Katerina.

‘Now what …?’

‘Sh!’

Again the man had stopped. Manning could see him bending down and doing something to his shoe. The light fell on a cap and an overcoat with upturned collar.

They walked on.

‘Are we being followed?’ said Katerina in a low voice.

‘It looks like it.’

Katerina sighed, and pressed a handkerchief to her mouth nervously. Manning realized she had begun to walk more quickly. He had to hurry to keep up with her.

‘Now, don’t be silly, Katya,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t matter if anyone sees where we’re going. We’re not doing anything wrong.’

‘Please hurry.’

‘It’s silly to panic, Katya. It makes it look as if we’ve got something to hide.’

She hurried along without replying. She had begun to catch her breath in little gasps. Manning could hear the footsteps of their shadow keeping pace with theirs. He scuffed grit and macadam; he had evidently moved out from the rough grass to make better speed.

‘Katya!’ said Manning.

‘Please, Paul!’

‘What does it matter?’

‘I don’t want them to see us together.’

‘We’re not worth anyone’s attention, Katya.’

‘They’ll think I’ve been telling you about my troubles. They’ll say I’ve been telling you lies.’

‘Oh, Katya!’

‘And God knows what you’re mixed up in, with Proctor-Gould and his affairs. They’ll ask me about it. I know they will. They asked me questions before. Asked and asked. I can’t go through all that again.’