The Porcupine

by Julian Barnes

  ‘What the echo of the wall tells/Is the rotting of the stone and not the souls!’ But the smell coming out of Mother Russia recently was the stink of rotting souls.

  ‘I think you would like to hear a joke now,’ said Atanas.

  ‘How you anticipate our every need.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘That’s how you’ll know to pass me another beer before telling your joke.’

  ‘You have the idleness of a man with two years’ national debt around his neck.’

  ‘Get on with it, Atanas.’

  ‘This is a story of the plains, concerning three men whom I shall name Ghele, Voute and Gyore. It is a particularly appropriate tale for those who cannot fetch their own beer. One day, these three worthy peasants were lazing beside the Iskur river and talking generally among themselves, as people are apt to in such stories.

  ‘ “Now, Ghele,” said one of the others, “if you were a king, and had all the powers of a king, what would you most like to do?”

  ‘Ghele thought for a while and finally said, “Well, that’s a tricky one. I think I would make myself some porridge and put into it as much lard as I liked. Then I wouldn’t need anything else.”

  ‘ “What about you, Voute?”

  ‘Voute thought for quite a bit longer than Ghele, and eventually he said, “I know what I would do. I would bury myself in straw and just lie there for as long as I pleased.”

  ‘ “And what about you, Gyore?” said the other two. “What would you do if you were a king and had all the powers of a king?”

  ‘Well, Gyore thought about this for an even longer time than the others. He scratched his head and shifted around on the bank and chewed on a grassy stalk and thought and thought and got crosser and crosser. In the end, he said, “Damn it. You two have already picked the best things. There isn’t anything left for me.” ’

  ‘Atanas, is that a joke from the period after the Changes, from the dark days of Communism, or from the earlier age of the fascistic monarchy?’

  ‘It is a joke for all epochs and for all people. Beer.’

  ‘General?’

  ‘Mr Prosecutor, sir. First, I would like to express …’

  ‘Don’t. Don’t bother, General. Just tell me.’

  ‘The top document, sir. To begin with.’

  Solinsky opened the file. The first paper was headed simply MEMORANDUM and dated the 16th of November 1971. There was no indication at the top of any government ministry or security department. Just a half-page typed statement with two signatures attached. Not even signatures, initials. The Prosecutor General read it slowly, discarding the jargon automatically as he went. That was one of the few skills you learnt under Socialism: the ability to filter out bureaucratic distortions of the language.

  The memorandum concerned the joint problems of internal dissent and external slander. There were exiles abroad paid by the Americans to broadcast lies about the Party and the government over the radio. And there were weak, easily influenceable people at home who listened to these lies and then attempted to propagate them. Slander of the State, under the criminal law, was a form of sabotage, and to be punished as such. It was at this point that Solinsky’s translation broke down. The saboteurs, he read, were to be ‘discouraged by all necessary means’.

  ‘ “All necessary means”?’

  ‘It is the strongest term,’ replied Ganin. ‘Much stronger than “necessary means”.’

  ‘I see.’ Perhaps the General was developing a sense of humour. ‘And where does this document come from?’

  ‘From the building formerly occupied by the Department of Internal Security on Lenin Boulevard. But the signatures are worth examining.’

  There were two of them. Initials only. KS and SP. Kalin Stanov, then head of the DIS, later found in a stairwell with a broken neck, and Stoyo Petkanov, President of the Republic, Chairman of the Central Committee, titular head of the Patriotic Defence Forces.

  ‘Stanov? Petkanov?’

  The General nodded.

  ‘Where did it turn up?’

  ‘As I said, in the building on Lenin Boulevard.’

  ‘A pity Stanov’s dead.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Has Petkanov’s signature turned up on anything else?’

  ‘Not that we have discovered so far.’

  ‘Any indication that he understood the term “all necessary means”?’

  ‘With respect, Mr Prosecutor …’

  ‘Any evidence of specific cases, any specific authorisation, any instruction from the President, any specific reports back to him about what happened to these … these presumed saboteurs?’

  ‘Not so far.’

  ‘Then how do you imagine this might help me?’ He pushed back his chair and his eyes were shiny olives as he glared sternly at the security chief. ‘There are rules of evidence. I am a lawyer. I am a professor of law,’ he added emphatically. But at that moment he did not feel particularly like one. Years ago a friend of his had seduced a peasant girl, with the help of a few bribes and certain promises he did not intend to keep. The girl, who came from a strict family, finally agreed to go into the woods with him. They had found a quiet spot and started to make love. The girl appeared to thoroughly enjoy the experience, but just as she was approaching her moment of delight, she suddenly opened her eyes and exclaimed, ‘My father is a very honest man.’ Solinsky’s friend said it had taken all his self-control not to burst out laughing.

  ‘Then let me speak to you for a moment as if you were not a professor of law,’ said Ganin. He seemed somehow bulkier today, as he sat across the desk from the thin-faced prosecutor. ‘We in the Patriotic Security Forces, as I have said, trust that your diligence in Criminal Law Case Number 1 will be rewarded, despite … despite recent embarrassing disclosures. It is important to hold this trial, for the good of the nation. It is equally important that the accused be found guilty.’

  ‘If he is guilty,’ Solinsky replied automatically. My father is a very honest man.

  ‘Further, we know that the charges on which he is being tried are not the charges on which he should have been tried but the charges on which he can best be found guilty.’

  ‘This is normal.’

  ‘Further, we know that many other high party officials and assorted criminals have not been brought to trial, so that the former President is, how shall I put it, their representative in court as well.’

  ‘If he were the only one, we could cover him in honey.’

  ‘Exactly. So what you must know — what, sir, you do know — is that the nation expects from this trial something more than a technical verdict of guilty on a charge of minor embezzlement. Which is the direction in which you are heading at the moment, with due respect. The nation expects to be shown that the defendant is the worst criminal in our entire history. This is your task.’

  ‘That is not, alas, a charge under the Criminal Code. But clearly, General, you have some advice for me.’

  ‘It is, I believe, only my job to give you information.’

  ‘Very well, General, then perhaps you could summarise the information you think you are giving me.’ Solinsky’s tone stayed cool, but he was throbbing. He was on the edge of some braying, voluptuous iniquity. He had shinned up a bronze Stalin and was poised over the moustache with hammer and chisel.

  ‘I would put it this way. During the late 1960s the Department of Internal Security came to believe that the Minister of Culture was a dangerously anti-socialist influence and that her father’s intention of designating her officially as his successor was harmful to the best interests of the State. The Special Technical Branch in Reskov Street was working on the inducement of symptoms which counterfeited those of cardiac arrest. On the 16th of November 1971 the President and the head of the DIS, the late General Kalin Stanov, authorised the use of all necessary means against slanderers, saboteurs and anti-state criminals. Three months later Anna Petkanova died of a cardiac arrest from which even our best heart specialists were u
nable to save her.’

  ‘Thank you, General.’ Solinsky was shocked by Ganin’s brutal temptation. ‘I can tell you that you will not make a lawyer.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Prosecutor. I can tell you that such is not my ambition.’

  Ganin left. My father is a very honest man, repeated Solinsky. My father is a very honest man.

  On the thirty-fourth day of Criminal Law Case Number 1, before the Supreme Court, evidence was heard from the following, who were summoned by State Advocates Milanova and Zlatarova:

  1. State Security Major Ognyana Atanasova, personal nurse to the former President. She testified that the former leader’s entire earthly possessions consisted of a single blanket. ‘I can tell you in all responsibility that Stoyo Petkanov has never been free with his money,’ she said. ‘I used to replace his shirt collars, darn his socks and retailor his ties as fashion changed.’

  2. Former Deputy Prime Minister Pavel Marinov. He testified that at the 1960 Moscow Conference of Communist and Workers’ Parties, Chairman Mao told the President that he would make another great helmsman. ‘You are very energetic,’ said Mao, ‘and I shall nominate you for Prime Minister of the International Socialist Republic.’

  3. Former Prime Minister Georgi Kalinov. He testified that it was a myth to believe that the former member of the nomenklatura was a predator. He himself at the moment of speaking possessed in local currency the equivalent of twenty American dollars and was trying to make up his mind whether to invest it in the privatisation process or use it to buy a new pair of shoes. He explained that people had thought him well off because he owned three cars, which he had bought at token prices from the Security Protection Department, the body which provided services to top party and state officials. But he did not consider himself an owner since the Security Protection Department had issued explicit directions that the cars were not to be resold. Asked by Defence Advocate Zlatarova whether the same conditions precluding resale would have applied to the eighteen motor cars referred to by the prosecution as having been owned by the defendant, former Prime Minister Kalinov said he was certain that they would have done.

  4. Ventsislav Boichev, former member of the Politburo. He testified that the dollars given to his son by the former President were intended to have an educational effect and were to encourage the young man’s interest in technology. Asked why his son had spent the money on a Kawasaki and a BMW, Mr Boichev replied that they enhanced the nation’s defence capacity since motor-cycling was still a para-military sport. Asked why his son had not bought popular Soviet-made models, Mr Boichev replied that he did not himself own a driving licence and was not competent to speculate further. He wished to add, however, that for his own part he regretted that the Changes had not occurred back in 1968, and said he personally was willing to be crucified on a red star in the name of his country.

  5. Velcho Ganev, Finance Minister under Petkanov. He testified that he was entirely confident that the entertainment allowances were entirely lawful. The procedure, however, was ‘top secret’. Asked why the lists of those entitled to privileged treatment had been destroyed, Mr Ganev replied that the lists were receipts and not payrolls. It was his understanding of the law that whereas payrolls had to be preserved for fifty years, the same condition did not apply to receipts.

  On the thirty-seventh day of the trial, in the public square opposite the People’s Court, beneath a bare acacia tree on which fake leaves and blossom had been hung, the Devinsky Society of the capital’s second university held a mock auction of memorabilia belonging to the ex-President. Bidders were obliged to declare themselves by name before making their offer, and among those present were Erich Honecker, Saddam Hussein, Emperor Bokassa, George Bush, Mahatma Gandhi, the entire Central Committee of the Albanian Communist Party, Josef Stalin and several claimants of both sexes purporting to be Stoyo Petkanov’s secret lover. Bids were only to be made in hard currency. Comrade Petkanov’s blanket, described as his ‘sole earthly possession’ by the auctioneer, was sold to Erich Honecker for 55 million US dollars. Two pairs of darned socks, plus one hair shirt with a new collar personally stapled to it by State Security Major Ognyana Atanasova, went for 27 million US dollars. The pair of pigskin sandals worn by Comrade Petkanov when he had first made contact with the resistance fighters whom he was to command during the Anti-Fascist Struggle were sold for 35 million US dollars to the official representative of the Mythological Museum. A pair of trousers with a large brown stain on the seat, also worn by Comrade Petkanov during the Anti-Fascist Struggle, went unsold. Emperor Bokassa bought the former President’s genitalia for one dime, and said he would eat them for dinner. Cheques representing successful bids were placed in the mouth of a large effigy of the Second Leader which presided at the sale. Afterwards the effigy, happily swinging by the neck from a branch of the acacia tree, told journalists that he was well satisfied with the result of the sale and had already given all the money to orphans who wished to take up the para-military sport of motor-cycle riding.

  On the thirty-ninth day of the trial, Vesselin Dimitrov, who had previously escaped giving evidence because of an unspecified nervous illness, became the last in a group of seven actors to testify. He explained how his father, the deputy regional secretary of a southern province, had approached a member of the President’s personal entourage, and asked him to recommend to Comrade Petkanov, who was well known for his patronage of the arts, the case of his son, a loyal Communist and zealous worker with the People’s National Theatre, who was also suffering temporary problems in finding accommodation. Two weeks later a three-room apartment in the Sunrise complex had become available, and the actor was able to move in.

  ‘Why did you join the Communist Party in the first place?’

  ‘Because everyone did in my family. It was the way to get on.’

  ‘What did you tell people when you received your apartment?’

  ‘I told them I was lucky. It had suddenly become available. I told them sometimes things worked.’

  ‘The price was substantially reduced. How was this explained?’

  ‘I was told that the apartment came with an artistic subsidy.’

  ‘How did you repay the favour?’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘What did you do in return for obtaining a three-room apartment at one-tenth of its value without even waiting the normal ten, fifteen or twenty years?’

  ‘It wasn’t like that. I never paid anybody back.’

  ‘Did you rehearse and appear in the spontaneous mime celebrations which greeted the accused when he stepped outside his palace on his sixty-fifth birthday?’

  ‘Yes, but it was a voluntary decision.’

  ‘Did you appear in private performances for the President and the higher echelons of the nomenklatura?’

  ‘Yes, but it was always a voluntary decision.’

  ‘Did you report back to a contact in the Department of Internal Security on designated individuals in the People’s National Theatre?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you quite sure? I warn you the files have survived.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No you are not sure?’

  ‘No I did not.’

  ‘I can’t hear you. Would you project your voice a little more?’

  ‘No I did not.’

  ‘Thank you. Mr President, I request that on the basis of his own testimony Mr Dimitrov be formally charged with corruption, embezzlement and perjury.’

  ‘That request, as I have already explained to you six times, Mr Prosecutor General, is not a matter for this court and is therefore refused.’

  [‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ Atanas spat smoke, this time fogging the face of the Prosecutor General.

  ‘Yeah, let’s stop.’

  ‘It’s just actors. They’re all actors. It’s a fucking comedy.’

  ‘Actors, apartments, motorbikes, lunch expenses, shirt collars.’

  ‘Stefan?’

  ‘No, I want to watch. We’ve got
to.’

  ‘We’ve got to. It’s our history.’

  ‘But it’s BORING.’

  ‘History often is when it happens. Then it becomes interesting later.’

  ‘You’re such a philosopher, Vera. And a tyrant.’

  ‘Thank you. Anyway, one day I’ll be an old baba in a headscarf and you’ll be an old fool dribbling into his beer and our grandchildren will come to us and say, Grandparents, were you alive when they tried the monster? We know you’re very, very old, can you tell us about it? And then we’ll be able to.’

  ‘Tell them about actors and motorbikes, you mean.’

  ‘That too. But tell them about him laughing at us. That’s what he’s always done, that’s what he’s still doing. Laughing at us. Tell them why it ended up being about actors and motorbikes.’

  ‘Tyrant.’

  ‘Shh. Watch.’

  ‘Who’s that? Another actor?’

  ‘It’s a banker to say that all the money in the presidential account was there by mistake.’

  ‘It’s a blanket manufacturer to say that they only ever made him one blanket.’

  ‘Shut up, boys. Watch.’]

  That night Peter Solinsky, who slept badly on his study floor, wandered into the sitting-room and discovered the newly framed certificate of rehabilitation hanging on the wall. Further proof of the distance between himself and Maria.

  Her grandfather Roumen Mechkov had been, as they always put it, a loyal Communist and diligent anti-Fascist. In the early 1930s, as the Iron Guard intensified its violent purges, he had accompanied other leading party members into exile in Moscow, where he had remained a loyal Communist and diligent anti-Fascist until some time in 1937, when he had become a Trotskyist deviationist, a Hitlerite infiltrator, a counter-revolutionary agitator, and quite possibly all three simultaneously. No-one had dared ask questions about his disappearance. Roumen Mechkov did not appear in official histories of the local Party, and for fifty years his family had only whispered his name.