Читать книгу The Elephant Never Forgets - Ethel Lina White - Страница 10

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ANNA was first amused, then vaguely irritated by the woman's stupidity; but as she explained the situation in detail it gradually dawned upon her that it was impossible to make any impression on the official mentality. Protests, appeals and even threats were received with the same formula.

"I must have proof of identity. Otherwise it is not in order to pay you this money."

Presently she was forced to acknowledge a state of deadlock. In the circumstances it seemed futile to persist, especially as it was not a question of personal malice. The woman's face wore the dull expression of a limited imagination; otherwise she appeared kind, patient and conscientious.

"Listen, Comrade," said Anna at last. "If you have not the authority to pay this money, will you state the facts to your superior official?"

"I will do that," agreed the woman.

"When?"

After repeated efforts to compromise with "Seychas"—the Russian "Presently"—the official promised to telephone to Leningrad without delay for further instructions.

In spite of the check, Anna returned to the café in a hopeful frame of mind. At the worst, her return to England could be delayed for only a limited period.

"I'll wash out the Jameses altogether," she decided. "And I had better not count on the post office crowd. They'll 'Seychas' until the crow turns white...No, all I have to do is to write to Uncle Charles and ask him to telegraph his authority to pay the draft to Anna Stephanovitch.'"

As she scrawled another note on the atrocious mauve paper she smiled faintly.

"In future I shall have to cultivate Ann Brown," she told herself. "It wasn't clever to ignore her."

The Hampstead mansion was sold, her mother was in the Argentine, her stepfather was in Finchley cemetery; but for all that, Anna was on her homeward way.

Although the tedium of another empty day stretched before her, she was able now to make plans to fit the situation. To begin with the question of finance, it was necessary to budget for a definite period of waiting.

"So many days there and so many days back," she calculated, "and a margin for delay. Charles may have his back up and send the authority with a stinging letter instead of wiring. But I can hang out, if I'm careful."

She finished the letter and then looked around her to find some distraction. As she studied the company, she was struck by the completeness with which she had merged her own identity into the Komsomol. With equality in view, she had roamed the streets without hat or stockings and had worn only her plainest clothes.

For the first time she regretted the distinctive clothes left behind in her wardrobe in London, as she realised that she looked more like her neighbour than herself.

Since she could recognise none of Otto's special circle of youth, she was forced to return to the Jewess's table.

"It wasn't 'good-bye,' Olga, after all," she said. "I ought to be buying my ticket to England. But there has been a check."

Olga looked up indifferently and asked no question. She was too engrossed in herself to spare any interest for Anna's concerns.

"It will be 'good-bye' soon enough," she said. "I expect my summons any moment. Afterwards you will often think of me and you will wonder about my fate. But you must be sure of this. I shall pay the extreme penalty with magnificent courage, and I shall anticipate the period after death—if any—with scientific curiosity."

In her turn Anna made no comment, for she knew that the Jewess flew to extremes—heading for heaven or hell, according to her mood.

"Shall we play draughts?" she asked briskly.

"If you like. One has to pass the time of waiting."

Anna arranged the pieces and made the opening move, which was the signal for Olga to go into a trance. She sat motionless, with her head propped up by her hand, while she stared down at the board.

Presently Anna grew impatient and tried to prod her opponent.

"I'm going out for a few minutes to post my letter," she said. "It's important, although you may not grasp the fact. I'll probably be back long before you've made your move."

Olga did not look up from the squares.

"Good-bye, Comrade," she said.

The outside air was doubly raw after the heat of the café. Anna walked briskly to the post office in a glow of healthy indignation which would have appealed to her uncle, Colonel Brown.

"I'm the injured person," she reminded herself. "If Olga were not a mass of egotism she would come out of her sulks and admit that she and Otto have given me a raw deal. My money's on her back at this moment, while I'm short of my fare home. I've had enough of this sort of comradeship to last me for a long time."

The act of dropping her letter into the slit turned the current of her thoughts. Contact was now definitely established between this winter-witched square and her uncle's modern flat.

When she returned to the café, Olga's chair was occupied by a youth with a bright thin face and a charming smile.

"I've made my move, Comrade," he said, looking up from the board.

"Where's Olga?" asked Anna as she took the vacant chair.

"Gone," he replied. "But it seemed unfriendly to leave you in the lurch. I have time for one quick game before I go back to my work."

Anna found her new opponent a good exchange for Olga. He was quick-witted, for he laid effective snares for her, even while he talked with enthusiasm. He told her of his clerical job, his flatlet, his clothes and even his bed.

"Under the old system, I should be a serf, sleeping in my clothes on top of a stove," he explained. "I should be unable to read or write. Now I continue to educate myself, at night."

"How grateful you must be to the Soviet," said Anna.

"I worship it. I have only hatred for those who would betray it. I would have no pity for them."

Anna wondered uneasily whether the youth knew of her former association with Otto.

"I feel just as you do," she said, speaking with emphasis. "It is an unforgivable crime to betray one's country...How do they know which citizens are disloyal?"

"There are various methods," the youth told her. "One is to arrest some insignificant man and to question him—under certain conditions—until he becomes so weary that he will talk about others who may be important. Then he will be set free. So he has no complaint."

He beamed at her as he produced this proof of philanthropy, but Anna saw the flaw.

"Suppose he incriminated an innocent person?"

"That is unlikely. Each of us makes his own fate. What we did yesterday is waiting to meet us to-morrow."

"But if there was a mistake," persisted Anna, "would it be discovered in time?"

"That depends. Sometimes a suspected person may be imprisoned for months without a trial. At other times, action is swift. For example, only yesterday I was in a house where the husband said good-bye to his wife in the morning, as usual, and went to his office. He did not return to his midday meal, and that evening she heard, over the radio, that he had been shot. That is what the Americans would call 'some hustle.'"

"How ghastly."

"Not at all. The charge was sabotage, and it was proved up to the hilt."

As he spoke, the youth smiled at her in a friendly manner and made his king leap over her remaining pieces.

"That finishes our game," he said. "It was too short. I think your mind was not set on it."

"I'm afraid I didn't concentrate," confessed Anna. "As a matter of fact, I kept wondering what had become of Olga."

The clerk rose from his chair.

"I thought you knew that," he said. "Directly after you went out of the café she was arrested."