The Seventh Function of Language

Andropov continues on the subject of Dimitrov: “If you think about it, it was there for all to see during the Reichstag trial. The conflict between Göring, who is summoned as a witness, and Dimitrov, in the dock, anticipated the fascist aggression to come, the heroic Communists’ resistance, and our final victory. That trial is highly symbolic of the superiority of communism from every point of view, political and moral. Dimitrov is majestic and mocking, and masters the historical dialectic perfectly, even as he risks his life, faced with the angry, fist-waving Göring … What a spectacle! Göring, who just happens to be president of the Reichstag, prime minister and minister of the interior for Prussia. But Dimitrov reverses their roles, and it is Göring who has to respond to his questions. Dimitrov completely demolishes him. Göring is furious: he stamps his feet, like a little boy who’s been told he can’t have any dessert. Facing him, imperious in the dock, Dimitrov reveals the madness of the Nazis to the world. Even the president of the tribunal realizes it. It’s hilarious because you’d think he was asking Dimitrov to forgive fat Göring’s behavior. He says to him—I remember this as if it were yesterday—‘Given that you are spouting Communist propaganda, you should not be surprised if the witness is so agitated.’ Agitated! And then Dimitrov says he is fully satisfied with the prime minister’s response. Ha ha! What a man! What a talent!”

Kristoff sees allusions and deeper meanings everywhere, but he tries to keep things in perspective because he knows that his paranoia makes it difficult for him to assess the KGB chairman’s words correctly. All the same, the fact that he was summoned to Moscow is, indisputably, a clue in itself. He does not wonder if Andropov knows something. He wonders what he knows. And that is a much harder question to answer.

“Back then, people all over the world said: ‘There is only one man left in Germany, and that man is Bulgarian.’ I knew him, Emil, were you aware of that? A born orator. A master.”

While he listens to Andropov praising the great Dimitrov, Comrade Kristoff assesses his own situation. There is nothing more uncomfortable for someone preparing to lie than being uncertain how much the person he is about to lie to knows. At some point, he realizes, he will have to gamble.

And that moment arrives: ending his disquisition on Dimitrov, Andropov asks his Bulgarian counterpart for clarification on the latest reports that have reached his desk in Lubyanka Square. What exactly is this operation in Paris?

So, here we are. Kristoff feels his heart accelerate, but is careful not to breathe more quickly. Andropov bites into a gherkin. He must decide now. Either admit the operation or claim to know nothing about it. But this second option has the disadvantage of making you look incompetent, which, in the world of intelligence, is never a good idea. Kristoff knows exactly how a good lie works: it must be drowned in an ocean of truth. Being 90 percent truthful enables you to render the 10 percent you are attempting to conceal more credible, while reducing the risks of contradicting yourself. You buy time and you avoid becoming muddled. When you lie, you must lie about one point—and one only—and be perfectly honest about the rest. Emil Kristoff leans toward Andropov and says: “Comrade Yuri, you know Roman Jakobson? He’s a compatriot of yours. He wrote some very nice things about Baudelaire.”

37

My Julenka,