The Russian Interpreter

by Michael Frayn

  The following day it became rather more serious.

  ‘Will you ask her if she knows anything about the whereabouts of my Nescafé?’ Proctor-Gould asked Manning, putting on his most humorously patient expression.

  ‘Does it really matter?’ said Manning. ‘The tin was almost empty.’

  ‘That tin was,’ conceded Proctor-Gould with a little ironic bow. ‘But there were five more tins in the wardrobe – enough to see me through the whole trip.’

  ‘They’ve gone, too?’

  ‘Every one. I’ve been miming sipping, then opening the wardrobe and raising my eyebrows, but all she does it fetch glasses of tea from the old woman down the corridor. Then she locks them in the wardrobe and raises her eyebrows.’

  Manning put the matter to Raya.

  ‘Oh, the coffee powder,’ she said. ‘Yes, I found all those unwanted tins of coffee powder in the wardrobe this morning, so I took them out and sold them to a friend of mine. Coffee powder fetches a lot of money in Moscow.’

  Proctor-Gould stared gloomily at the floor for a long time when Manning translated this to him, no doubt wondering how he was going to put up with Raya for the rest of his stay without Nescafé to console him. With the money from the Nescafé Raya bought a black-market copy of Dr Zhivago. Proctor-Gould’s distress must have touched her, though, for she stole a volume of Nekrasov he had been given by the Art Literature Publishing House and bought back one of the tins of Nescafé, which she gave to him and made up whenever he wanted.

  ‘It’s got to stop,’ he told Manning, sipping at a cup which Raya had brought him unbidden. ‘I’m not joking, Paul. It can’t go on.’

  He looked nervous. How Raya looked Manning could not tell. She was lying on her stomach on the bed, reading Dr Zhivago, her hair hanging down around the book like a curtain.

  ‘I suppose it’s intended as a practical joke, is it?’ demanded Proctor-Gould. ‘The Slavonic sense of humour?’

  ‘I don’t know, I’m afraid,’ said Manning.

  ‘I thought you were the great expert on the Slavonic temperament?’

  ‘I thought you were?’

  ‘I don’t understand the first thing about these people,’ said Proctor-Gould morosely.

  It was the first time that Manning had seen him really depressed.

  19

  The next time Proctor-Gould sought Manning’s help with Raya it was nothing to do with either an infraction of the rules or theft. They were in the Chaika, being driven back from a meeting.

  ‘Paul,’ said Proctor-Gould suddenly, after a long silence, ‘May I ask your advice on a rather ticklish point?’

  ‘Ask away.’

  ‘It’s about Raya.’

  For some time Proctor-Gould did not take the matter any further. He sat pulling at his ear, and looking out of the window.

  ‘What is it, then?’ asked Manning.

  ‘It’s rather awkward. I don’t know quite how to put it.’

  He sighed. Manning suddenly had the idea that he was going to ask him to take Raya off his hands.

  ‘You were quite a chum of hers at one time, weren’t you?’ said Proctor-Gould.

  Manning looked out of the window as well.

  ‘I suppose you might put it like that,’ he said.

  ‘I mean, I realize you think I’m rather a bastard, having to some extent horned in on you.’

  ‘No, no….’

  ‘Of course you do. It’s only natural. I should feel exactly the same in your place.’

  ‘Honestly, Gordon, there’s no need to feel …’

  ‘I mean, I know all’s fair in love and war …’

  ‘Gordon, there’s really no need to feel, you know …’

  ‘You mean, you don’t feel, well …?’

  ‘Of course not, Gordon. I mean, there’s no need to feel you know…’

  ‘Really? Well, I appreciate that, Paul. It shows a generous spirit, and I appreciate it.’

  ‘I mean …’

  ‘No, no. I appreciate it.’

  They became silent again. They had both been looking at the back of the chauffeur’s head as they spoke, and they both now looked out of the windows again.

  ‘What I was going to say, as a matter of fact, Paul,’ resumed Proctor-Gould finally, ‘was – well – you were rather a pal of Raya’s, weren’t you?’

  ‘A great pal.’

  ‘Yes. Well. The point is, can you remember if she is – what shall I say? – suitably equipped?’

  ‘How do you mean, suitably equipped?’

  Proctor-Gould essayed a man-to-man laugh.

  ‘You know,’ he said.

  ‘No?’

  Proctor-Gould stopped laughing.

  ‘I mean,’ he said heavily, ‘does she take proper precautions in these cases against the possible consequences?’

  At last Manning saw. He was so surprised that he uttered a little squeaking gasp of laughter.

  ‘God knows,’ said Proctor-Gould. ‘It’s an awkward thing to have to ask you. I appreciate that. But I’m in a rather tricky position. I didn’t bring any with me. Stupid of me, I see now, but it simply didn’t occur to me. And not speaking the language, I don’t quite see how to go about getting any.’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘And of course I can’t ask her, either.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s not the sort of thing you can really manage in sign-language.’

  ‘I see your point.’

  ‘And it has always been an inflexible rule of mine not to try any monkey business without some reliable form of contraceptive.’

  ‘Very sensible.’

  ‘I mean, when the occasion has arisen. I wouldn’t put myself down as a great Don Juan. But when the occasion has arisen …’

  ‘Quite.’

  There was a silence. Proctor-Gould worked on his ear again, looking out of the window.

  ‘So,’ he said finally, ‘did she?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Raya. Did she …?’

  ‘Oh. I don’t know.’

  ‘You didn’t …?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I thought you were great pals.’

  ‘Not as great as all that.’

  ‘No. I see. I’m sorry.’

  They were silent again until the car was quite near the hotel.

  ‘Well, then,’ said Proctor-Gould, ‘I’ll ask the driver to stop at the next chemist’s we pass. Perhaps you’d pop in and get me a packet.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘I don’t even know the Russian.’

  Proctor-Gould sighed, and fell silent again. As the car pulled up in front of the hotel he made one last attempt.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘perhaps you’ll just slip upstairs and ask her.’

  ‘Now, Gordon….’

  ‘Even if you don’t know the exact word you could paraphrase it.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Gordon.’

  ‘If you think my presence might embarrass you I’ll wait downstairs.’

  ‘No.’

  The commissionaire was holding the door open.

  ‘This makes things most awkward for me,’ said Proctor-Gould.

  ‘You’ll just have to restrain yourself.’

  ‘It’s not really a question of me restraining myself,’ said Proctor-Gould, looking gloomier than ever. ‘It’s what she’s going to do.’

  He left Manning on the pavement, and disappeared into the hotel. It seemed to Manning, as he watched him go, that his shoulders were visibly bowed.

  20

  Pulled by the strange centripetal force that cities have, Manning and Katerina ended up, as they usually did, on Mokhovaya Street in front of the old university. For some time they had said nothing. Katerina looked ill. She sat down on the low wall which the drunken man had fallen over, and admitted that she felt sick and dizzy with hunger.

  ‘Did you have any lunch today?’ asked Manning.

  She shook her head
.

  ‘Now that’s stupid, isn’t it, Katya?’

  ‘I didn’t feel like it at the time.’

  ‘We’ve been through all this before.’

  ‘I’ve told you – I’ve never eaten much. When Kanysh was here I couldn’t eat knowing he was hungry.’

  ‘Anyway, let’s go and have a proper meal somewhere now.’

  She shook her head again.

  ‘Come on.’

  ‘I honestly don’t want to, Paul.’

  ‘Now be sensible.’

  ‘Don’t try to bully me, Paul. You know you can’t.’

  Manning looked at her helplessly.

  ‘You must have something,’ he said, irresolute.

  For a long time she didn’t reply, but sat with her head in her hands, looking at the pavement. Then she gave a long sigh, and stood up.

  ‘If we can go somewhere quiet I’ll come and watch you eat. I might have some soup.’

  ‘How about the Faculty canteen? It’ll be empty at this time of night.’

  Katerina thought, turning her lower lip over doubtfully with her index finger.

  ‘I haven’t got my pass with me,’ she said at last.

  ‘I’ve got mine. They’ll let you in with me. I don’t suppose there’ll be anyone on the door now.’

  But, as they shortly discovered, there was. The same old woman with the crooked glasses, sitting on the same broken chair.

  ‘No one can come in here without a pass,’ she said.

  ‘She’s forgotten it,’ said Manning. ‘What does it matter?’

  ‘No one can come in here without a pass.’

  ‘Oh, never mind,’ said Katerina, flushing. ‘Let’s go to an Automat instead.’

  ‘No,’ said Manning, beginning to lose his temper. ‘Now we’re here we’re going in.’

  He turned back to the old woman.

  ‘Look, she’s a member of the Philological Faculty. She’s got a pass, but she’s forgotten it. I’ll vouch for her.’

  ‘She can’t come in without a pass.’

  ‘Well, I’m afraid she’s going to.’

  ‘Paul, please don’t make a scene!’ begged Katerina. She was wringing her hands in misery.

  ‘Come on, Katya. We’re going in.’

  ‘Please, Paul!’

  ‘I’ll call the Dean!’ cried the old woman.

  ‘Call him, then! We’ll be in the canteen.’

  But at that moment the dispute abruptly ceased. All three of them had become simultaneously aware that the Dean was already present. It was a creak on the stairs that they had heard. They turned, and there stood Korolenko, on the creaky eleventh stair, silently watching them. They gazed back, their mouths open as if to speak, the speech evaporated.

  Every one was afraid of Korolenko. He was a neatly-built, shortish man, and he carried himself with the unexaggerated correctness of a born professional soldier. His head was bald, and gleamed like a polished helmet in the light over the stairs. His cheeks were sunken, his mouth set in a precise line. His features were completely immobile, apart from a tic which drew the right-hand corner of his mouth up from time to time, as if in a brief ironic smile. Perhaps it was an ironic smile. The complete stillness, the soldier’s willed passivity, from which the spasm surfaced, concealed his nature like a suit of armour. It was surprising he had moved enough to make the stair creak.

  They stared at him, hypnotized, waiting for him to speak first. When he did, it was to say something that Manning found very surprising.

  ‘Katerina Fyodorovna Lippe,’ he said, without expression of any sort.

  He knew her.

  Manning glanced at her. She was looking down, as if bowed before him.

  ‘Did I hear this young man say that you had forgotten your pass?’ asked Korolenko in the same voice.

  Katerina said nothing.

  ‘You have no pass, Lippe. You have no right to enter any part of the university.’

  Katerina looked up.

  ‘Now, that’s not correct, Igor Viktorovich,’ she said pleadingly.

  ‘You were expelled from the post-graduate school of the Philological Faculty three years ago. Since then you’ve had no connexion with the university.’

  ‘Igor Viktorovich, you know that’s not true!’

  Katerina’s voice had risen imploringly, and her eyes were filled with tears.

  ‘You come back to haunt us.’

  ‘Igor Viktorovich!’

  ‘You hang around the university like a lost dog. Have you no work to do? No home to go back to?’

  ‘Please, Igor Viktorovich!’

  ‘You fasten yourself upon people like our English comrade here and fill them up with slanders about our university, about our country.’

  ‘No! That’s not true! Don’t say things like that! Please don’t say things like that!’

  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?’ a
sked 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.’