'Turn on the radio! That's an order!'

The music stopped and was replaced by the metallic roar of Levitan's voice; at that moment he was announcing: 'The town was taken by storm, together with an important railway junction…'

Then he listed the generals and units which had distinguished themselves in combat, beginning with General Tolbukhin. Suddenly he said in an exultant voice: 'And also the tank corps commanded by Colonel Novikov.'

Yevgenia gave a quiet sigh. Then, as the announcer went on in his powerful, measured voice, 'Eternal glory to the heroes who have died for the freedom and independence of the Motherland,' she began to cry.

40

Yevgenia left. Now there was nothing to lighten the gloom in the house.

Viktor just sat at his writing desk for hours on end; often whole days went by without him even leaving the house. He was frightened: he felt sure he would meet people who had it in for him; he would be unable to avoid their merciless eyes.

The telephone was now absolutely silent. If it did ring – once every two or three days – Lyudmila would say: 'That's for Nadya.' And she would be right.

Viktor hadn't immediately understood the gravity of what had happened. At first he had even felt relieved to be sitting among his beloved books, in silence, far away from those morose, hostile faces. Soon, however, the silence at home began to oppress him; it made him feel anxious and gloomy. What was happening in the laboratory? How was the work going? What was Markov doing? He grew quite feverish at the thought that he was just sitting at home doing nothing at a time when he might be needed. But it was equally unbearable to imagine them getting on fine without him.

Lyudmila bumped into a friend of hers on the street – Stoinikova, who had a secretarial job in the Academy. She told Lyudmila every detail of the meeting of the Scientific Council; she had taken it down in shorthand from beginning to end.

The most important thing was that Sokolov hadn't spoken. Shisha-kov had said: 'We'd like to hear what you think, Pyotr Lavrentyevich.

You've been a colleague of Shtrum's for a long time.' Sokolov had answered that he had had heart trouble during the night and found it difficult to speak.

Strangely, this news brought Viktor no joy whatsoever.

Markov had spoken on behalf of the laboratory. He had been more measured than anyone else, avoiding political accusations and dwelling instead on Shtrum's unpleasant personality. He even mentioned his talent.

'He's a Party member. He had to speak,' said Viktor. 'He's not to blame.'

Most of the speeches, however, were terrible. Kovchenko had called him a cheat and a rogue. 'And now this Shtrum hasn't even deigned to appear,' he had said. 'He really has gone too far now. We'll have to speak to him in a different language. He's asking for it, after all.'

Grey-haired Prasolov, who used to compare Viktor's researches with those of Lebedev, had said: 'Certain people have managed to draw a quite indecent amount of attention to Shtrum's dubious theorizings.'

Doctor Gurevich had delivered a particularly unpleasant speech. After admitting his own grave mistake in overestimating Shtrum's work, he had remarked on his racial intolerance and said that a man who goes astray in politics must also go astray in the realm of science.

Svechin had spoken of 'the worthy Shtrum' and had quoted words of his to the effect that physics was a unity, that there was no German physics, American physics or Soviet physics.

'I did say something of the sort,' said Viktor. 'But to quote from a private conversation at that kind of meeting is a form of denunciation. '

Viktor was surprised that Pimenov had spoken: he wasn't directly connected with the Institute and no one had compelled him to speak. He confessed to having attached excessive importance to Shtrum's research and to overlooking its faults. It was quite extraordinary. Pimenov had once said that he bowed down before Viktor's work and that it was a joy to be able to assist in its realization.

Shishakov had spoken only briefly. A resolution had been proposed by Ramskov, the Secretary of the Institute Party Committee. It was a harsh one, asking the Administration to amputate the decaying limbs from a healthy collective. What was most hurtful was that the resolution didn't so much as mention Viktor's scientific achievements.

'So Sokolov behaved quite impeccably,' said Lyudmila. 'Where's Marya Ivanovna then? Surely he can't be that frightened?'

Viktor didn't answer.

How peculiar it was. Although the Christian notion of forgiveness was quite alien to him, Viktor didn't feel in the least angry with Shishakov or Pimenov. Nor did he feel resentful towards Svechin, Gurevich or Kovchenko. But one person made him speechless with fury; as soon as he thought of him, he felt such an oppressive rage that he could hardly breathe. It was as though Sokolov were to blame for all the injustice, all the cruelty, that Viktor had suffered. How could Pyotr Lavrentyevich forbid his wife to visit the Shtrums! What base cowardice! What vile cruelty!

What Viktor was unable to admit was that this fury stemmed as much from his own secret guilt concerning Sokolov, as from Sokolov's behaviour towards him.

Lyudmila talked more and more about material matters. Their excess living space, ration cards, salary attestations for the house management committee, the need to transfer to a different store, a ration book for the coming quarter, Viktor's out-of-date passport, the fact that he needed a certificate of employment in order to renew it- all these questions weighed on her day and night. How could they get enough money to live on?

At first Viktor had pooh-poohed all this, saying, 'I'll stay at home and concentrate on theory. I'll build my own laboratory hut.' Now, though, it was no longer a laughing matter. The money Viktor received as a corresponding member of the Academy of Sciences was barely enough to pay for the flat, the dacha and the communal expenses. And he was weighed down by his sense of isolation.

But they had to live!

The idea that he could teach in an Institute of Higher Education now seemed impossible. There was no question of a politically dubious individual having contact with the young.

What could he do?

His position as a well-known scientist made it difficult for him to obtain a more modest post. No personnel officer would be willing to appoint a Doctor of Science as a technical editor or a secondary-school physics teacher. They would just gasp in astonishment.

When the thought of the work he had lost, the humiliations he had undergone and his state of dependency and need became quite unbearable, he thought: 'If only they'd arrest me right now!' But then what about Lyudmila and Nadya? They would still need something to live on.

As for selling strawberries from the dacha… They only had the dacha until May – then the lease had to be renewed. The dacha went with his job, not with being a member of the Academy. And out of pure negligence he'd forgotten to pay the rent; he'd meant to settle his arrears at the same time as he paid for the first six months of the next year. But sums of money that had then seemed trivial now seemed horrifyingly vast.

How could he get some money? Nadya needed a new coat.

By borrowing? But one can't borrow unless one has some hope of repaying. By selling off their belongings? But who'd want to buy china or a piano in the middle of a war? And anyway, he didn't want to do that. Lyudmila loved her collection of porcelain; even now, after Tolya's death, she sometimes took it out and admired it.

He often thought of going to the Military Commissariat, renouncing the exemption he was entitled to as an Academician, and volunteering to serve in the ranks. This thought somehow made him feel calmer.