The Return of Lanny Budd

by Upton Sinclair

  IX

  But before he had had more than a few nibbles he heard the door open and the light flashed on him again. It was a flashlight, and painful. He closed his eyes and told himself that these were the torturers and that God would give him strength to withstand them,

  For the first time he heard a voice. It spoke in Russian; the word was, ‘Poshol’, and Lanny was not sure of its meaning, but he felt a pull at his shoulder and he made an effort and raised himself. Two men supported him, and he stood somewhat waveringly. The light was shining through the doorway, and he was impelled toward it.

  One of the things to which he had made up his mind was that he would do exactly as he was told and give no sort of provocation. Whatever evil things were done to him would be without cause so far as he was concerned. So he went with somewhat wobbly steps toward the doorway and was gently helped along. He saw two elderly Russians in military jackets with green epaulets; they wore green caps and were armed. They were doubtless jailers, and Lanny could guess that they had no interest in the procedure other than to do what they were told. Quite possibly they were sorry for their prisoners and what they had to do to them.

  They closed the door of the cell and, using the torchlight, led Lanny along a corridor. They came to a stairway, and that was difficult indeed; but apparently the men understood and half carried Lanny step by step up the stairs.

  Lanny had a guess as to where he was—the Prenzlauerberg Prison, which was in East Berlin and had been taken over by the Russians. He had seen it from the outside; it covered an entire block, and all the blocks around it were ruins. It was built like a fortress, and he had heard stories about the cruelties that went on inside it. Now he had no recourse but to pray; to give himself the firm suggestion that God would help him to endure whatever was done to him, and that in the end it would fail. Great numbers of modern men have forgotten how to pray, and the idea embarrasses them. They prefer to use the language of psychology which they have learned in college. It is easy for them to believe in suggestion, but hard for them to believe in that antiquated suggestion called God.

  Lanny had been told by one of the refugees that the warders and attendants in Soviet prisons were often kind; they had no heart for the cruelties. So now he chose to believe that the men who were helping him up the staircase were kind; he knew how to say ‘spasiba’—‘thank you’, so he said it. He was helped along a corridor; and far down it he saw another group approaching, presumably warders with a prisoner. He heard a strange clucking noise, the sound which in the old days one used to make when driving a horse and buggy, to start the horse and to keep him going when he showed signs of flagging. Many years had passed since Lanny had driven a horse and buggy, but he remembered the sound. He observed that his warders, the moment they heard it, stopped him, took him by the shoulders, turned him with his face to the wall and pressed him close. Lanny could guess the purpose of this: he was not permitted to see the other prisoner. If he had turned his head he might have been struck a blow on the side of it; so he stayed patiently with his nose touching the wall until the others had passed by; then he was again turned and led on.

  He was helped up another staircase and along another corridor. Three times he heard the clucking noise, and by that time he had acquired what the Russian scientist Pavlov called a ‘conditioned reflex’. He put his nose automatically against the concrete wall.

  They stopped at a door, and he noticed on it the number 814. The warders opened the door and led their prisoner into a room about ten feet square with one steel-barred window. In the centre was a medium-sized desk, and behind it sat an official wearing a blouse; the rest of him was hidden behind the desk. He might have been a waxworks figure, so still he was. Directly in front of the desk was a very small stool, and the warders led Lanny to it and placed him upon it, exactly as if he too had been a waxworks figure. Then the green-capped pair turned and without a word left the room and closed the door.

  And Lanny knew just what that meant. He had been told about it by refugees and had read the stories of others. He was about to be started upon what the Russians called ‘the Conveyor’; a process, a course of treatment, devised by scientists both psychological and physiological and tested by two decades of observation. He was going to be made to confess to something. What would it be?

  26 GOD’S OPPORTUNITY

  I

  Lanny was so exhausted that everything wavered slightly before him; but he made an effort to concentrate his attention and saw that he was looking at a blonde Russian, perhaps thirty years of age; that meant he was a child of the revolution and would know nothing else. He would know only what the regime had told him and would speak in formulas and clichés. He might be personally good or bad, but that would make very little difference in his conditioned reflexes.

  He pressed a button beside his desk, and what could only be described as a blast of light smote Lanny in the eyes. It came from several electric bulbs set in a curved reflected. To one who had been in darkness so long it was like a blow, and he clapped his two hands over his eyes. No objection was made, and apparently he was free to keep his hands there until they got tired.

  Lanny had heard about this light and knew it would be shining in his face during the entire time of the investigation. He knew also that the ordeal might continue day and night with no respite. There would be a series of examiners. He would be exhausted, but they would be fresh.

  The robot spoke: the first words were German, ‘Ihr Name?’ These two German words told Lanny a good deal. He had been wondering in what language he would be addressed. German words suggested that they had connected him with Herr Fröhlich of R.I.A.S., and the cause of his arrest might well be their displeasure at his broadcasts.

  He replied, ‘Mein Name ist Lanning Prescott Budd’. And when he was asked his age he said, ‘Sieben und tier zig’. Very quickly he observed that the young examiner’s knowledge of the language was faulty; presumably he had learned it from textbooks, and sometimes Lanny had difficulty in understanding his pronunciation. It was advisable not to offend him by making him aware of his deficiencies. He knew no English words, and Lanny knew only a few Russian ones, but they would manage to make out.

  The man first addressed his prisoner as ‘Obvinyaemi Budd’—Accused Budd. This was according to the Soviet law, which had been prepared in the early idealistic days of the revolution. Lanny had visited Petrograd in those early days and had been told all of those wonderful things about brotherhood and freedom and justice. He had been told about just laws, wonderful laws; and he understood that while the reality had degenerated the forms had been kept. So he would not be addressed as ‘Conspirator Budd’ or ‘Scoundrel Budd’ or ‘Fascist Budd’; he would merely be ‘Accused Budd’. And he, in turn, would address his tormentor as ‘Citizen Examiner’—Grazdanin Isledovatel.

  II

  The questioning continued, and he stated that he was a citizen of the United States of America. He took occasion to enter formal protest against any questioning, since he had been brought into Soviet territory by force and against his will. There was a pause after each statement, and Lanny assumed that the official was writing down the reply; but Lanny could not look to see on account of the blazing light.

  The question was asked, ‘What were you doing in West Berlin?’ Lanny replied very politely, ‘Citizen Examiner, I am suffering greatly from this light shining in my face. There is no need of it whatever, because we can both see plainly in this room. I ask that you turn the light off’.

  ‘The light is none of your business, Accused Budd’.

  ‘The light makes it impossible for me to think or to answer your questions properly. I ask that it be turned off’.

  ‘The light will remain’.

  ‘Citizen Examiner, let me inform you that I am familiar with the Soviet law, and I know that you are forbidden to abuse or strike accused persons’.

  ‘Have I struck you, Budd?’

  ‘You are striking me, Citizen Examiner, when you cause th
is light to shine in my face. What is the difference if you strike me with your fist or strike me with atomic particles? I do not know what physical theory you hold, Citizen Examiner, regarding the nature of light, but all authorities on physics are agreed that light is force, light is energy, and you might as well be striking me with your fist’.

  They got into trouble because the examiner apparently did not know the German word ‘Faust’. He must have thought that Lanny was talking about a German drama, or perhaps a French opera; and Lanny was afraid to demonstrate the word, because he might seem to be shaking his fist at a Soviet official. He kept insisting that light was force. ‘Licht ist Kraft!’

  ‘The light will remain’, declared the official.

  ‘Then, Citizen Examiner, I regret to tell you that I will answer no further questions so long as the light remains’.

  ‘You will be made to answer the questions’, persisted the other.

  ‘Citizen Examiner, I refuse formally to answer the questions until the light is turned off. I am perfectly willing to answer your questions and tell you anything I know. But I will not answer under torture’.

  ‘This is unheard of, Accused Budd’.

  ‘Citizen Examiner, I have studied Soviet law and I know that I am within my rights’.

  That was too much for the official, and he raised his voice. ‘Ti sobaka!’ he cried. ‘You Fascist dog!’

  ‘Citizen Examiner, you know that you are not permitted to abuse a prisoner; you are not permitted to use abusive language’.

  ‘You counter-revolutionary bandit, I will break every bone in your body!’

  ‘Citizen Examiner’, responded Lanny in his very best German, ‘Sie müssen korrekt sein’.

  These were magic words. ‘You must be correct!’ The Prussian military caste had taken over an English word and given it a special technical meaning. To be korrekt was to follow the code. The code might be ever so cruel, but you must follow it with calmness, with dignity and propriety. The Soviet official caste knew both the word and the concept; so when Lanny told his questioner that he was not being korrekt he had the man—in vulgar American slang—over a barrel.

  The official—Lanny never did learn his name—calmed down. ‘Accused Budd’, he said almost pleadingly, ‘you must understand my position. I have been ordered to keep the light burning, and what can I do?’

  ‘Citizen Examiner, it is obvious that I cannot keep my hands over my eyes all the time, and the light is hurting me even through my hands. It is obvious that I cannot think or answer questions intelligently so long as I am tortured. I cannot believe that the great Soviet government wishes to make it impossible for me to think clearly and speak the truth’.

  ‘Budd, I am in no position to act in this matter. I am obeying orders’.

  ‘But, Citizen Examiner, the person who has given you this order is violating Soviet law’.

  ‘You claim to know more about Soviet law than my superiors?’

  ‘It happens, Citizen Examiner, that I have paid five visits to the Soviet Union, beginning in the early and glorious days of Lenin. I have read your books and studied your instructions, including your laws’.

  This was most impressive, and it was not necessary that it should be strictly true. To be sure, Lanny had picked up many items of information in the Soviet Union, but most of his present learning was the result of talking with refugees and with several of the Germans employed in R.I.A.S., who had either been through the Conveyor themselves or had heard about it from others who had been through. Most accused persons were ignorant and terrified and did not know that they had any rights. It might be that you would fall into the hands of some brutal tyrant, who would order you beaten or otherwise physically tortured; but there was always a chance that if you asserted your rights with proper dignity you might make an impression.

  III

  Deep in Lanny’s consciousness he was clinging to the formula, ‘God is helping me’; and now what God told him was to be kind to this dumb, bemuddled creature. The creature was doing what he was ordered, and very probably his mind had been so distorted that he thought he was doing right. Anyhow, he was terrified to do otherwise; he had to make a success of this interview, he had to get out of his prisoner whatever he had been told to get. To succeed would be triumph, to fail would be ruin; so make allowances for him and be kind!

  ‘Citizen Examiner’, said Lanny gently, ‘I feel to you as one man of culture to another. I know you are a man of culture or you could not speak the German language as well as you do’. This was one of the fetishes of the Bolsheviks, kultura. All of them wished to be thought cultured persons, and if you yourself were a cultured person and behaved as one, they would have a sneaking respect for you even while they called you a Fascist dog and a Wall-Street bandit, a vile Trotskyite, a bloodthirsty Bukharinist, or just a plain cannibal.

  Lanny went on, ‘I assure you that we will get along better if we are considerate of each other. I assure you that I have no secrets whatever and nothing to hide from you. I appreciate that you are doing your duty, and I am perfectly willing to co-operate with you. I will tell you the truth; but don’t you see that I cannot do it if I am so distressed physically that I am unable to think? Why can we not converse like one friend to another, and let me tell you what you want to know?’

  The answer was, ‘Because, Budd, I know that you will not want to tell me what I want to know’.

  ‘But don’t you see that that is prejudging the case, and prejudging me? Is it not sensible first to give me a chance to tell you what you want to know; then if I refuse to tell you, that will be time enough to subject me to the discomfort of this light? Surely it is common sense to give me a chance to prove my good faith’.

  The Divine assistance proved efficacious; the official pressed the button and the light went off. A sudden blessed relief: Lanny took his hands from his eyes and opened his eyes and blinked them two or three times. He studied this blonde, blue-eyed Russian, who probably had some Scandinavian blood; he was broad-shouldered, heavy set, and had a broad face with high cheekbones and wide mouth. He didn’t look very intelligent, but again he did not look unkind; so Lanny took heart. ‘Thank you, Citizen Examiner’, he said with fervour; and to himself he said, ‘God is helping me. God is helping me’.

  ‘Accused Budd’, said the official, ‘you recently took a trip into Poland’.

  ‘That is correct’, Lanny said.

  ‘You obtained a permit for that trip from the Soviet government’.

  ‘I did’.

  ‘What was the purpose of that trip?’

  ‘I wished to visit Stubendorf, a town in what used to be Upper Silesia. In the old days I had visited Schloss Stubendorf and had friends there. I was trying to track down some paintings which had been in the castle and which I thought it might be possible to buy’.

  ‘And you expect me to believe that you took that long and dangerous journey only to find out about some paintings?’

  ‘Citizen Examiner, to an American it did not seem at all a long journey. I have driven myself by car across my own country—about three thousand miles each way. I have done that many times, sometimes just for pleasure. As for the danger, I had no thought of that. I was travelling in the land of a friendly people who had been our staunch allies in a terrible war. I expected no danger and I encountered none’.

  ‘And you are so much concerned with paintings!’

  ‘Citizen Examiner, that is the way I make my living. I locate paintings and give my opinion of them, and my clients in America purchase them and pay me a ten-per-cent commission; I have been doing that for just twenty-five years. I have been doing it on this present trip to Germany. I bought some paintings in Nurnberg and some in Frankfurt; I can give you the names of the paintings and the client and the prices that were paid and so on, if you wish’.

  This offer met with a cold reception. ‘That is not necessary’, said the official. ‘We quite understand that all spies have to have their camouflage. You do not deny that y
ou are a spy, I presume?

  ‘Citizen Examiner, I deny that I am a spy at the present time. I was a spy against the Nazis and I did my small part to help overthrow them. But I have never been a spy against the Soviet Union, and I have never taken any action against the Soviet Union’.

  ‘Yet you come here to Berlin and abuse the Soviet Union over the radio!’

  ‘We must not let ourselves be drawn into a political discussion, Citizen Examiner. I have my opinions and you have yours. It is our practice in America to express our opinions freely, and I have done that over the radio; but surely you realise that expressing opinions over the radio is exactly the opposite of spying. The two things are incompatible. If I wished to spy upon the Soviet Union I would pretend to approve of everything it does. When I publicly state that I consider the blockade of Berlin unjustified I make it impossible to pose as approving of your course. Knowing what I believe, would you, for example, take me as a friend and trust me with your confidences regarding the affairs of the Soviet Union?’

  ‘I am not here to answer questions but to ask them’, replied the Russian grimly. He was not so dumb after all.

  IV

  This process was a slow one. Every time that Lanny answered the other wrote. He wrote slowly, and meantime Lanny sat and waited and tried to guess what was coming next and to prepare his answer; then he would repeat to himself Parsifal’s formula, ‘God is helping me’. He didn’t ask God to help him; he told himself that God was helping him, and furthermore he told himself that this was not mere autosuggestion but the statement of a fact that was going on in the mysterious deeps of his infinite spirit. Lanny’s spirit and God’s spirit were mingled and mutually engaged in a creative process. Whether God was also in the spirit of the broad-faced young Russian and on what terms He was operating there was a question with which Lanny had no time to concern himself.